Page:Scotland's skaith, or, The sad effects of drunkenness (1).pdf/24

 24 Gae her meat--and claise and-siller; Gae her bairnies wark and lair; Lastly, ga'e this cot-house till her, Wi' four sterling pounds a year. Willie, hark’ning, wiped his een aye ;- Oh! what sins ha'e I to rue! But, say, wha's this angel, Jeanie; Wha, quo' Jeanie, but Buccleugh! Here, supported-cheered-and cherished, Nine blessed months I've lived an mair; Seen these infants clad and nourished, Dried my tears and tint despair: Some times serving, some times spinning, Light the lanesome hours gae round; Lightly too, ilk quarter rinning, Brings your angel's helping pound! Eight pounds mair, cried Willie, fondly, Eight pounds: mair, will do nae harm, And, O Jean, gin friends were kindly, Eight pounds soov might 'stock a farm. There ance nuair to thrive by ploughing, Freed frae a' that peace destroys ; Idle wasle and drucken ruin, War, and a' its murdering joys! 'Thrice he kissed his lang lost treasure; Thrice ilk bairn-but could nae speak; Tears of luve, and hope, and pleasure, Streamed in silence down his cheek.