Page:The Book of Scottish Song.djvu/602

584

, push about the glass,

An' mak' the cheerfu' ingle glow;

Time, a rogue that ne'er knew grace,

Will urge alike his steady pace,

Whether we are blest or no.

Fill thritty bouts for ane o' his,

Toom ninety glasses for his three;

For a' their saws and prattles, this

The best and beaten road to bliss

Wiser men have fund than we.

If you can be blest the day,

Ne'er defer it till the morn:

Peril still attends delay,

As all fools will find, whan they

Have their happie hour forborne.