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 4 Restor'd to land, revere the hand, That ‘sav’d from stormy waves, Abhor the haunts o’ Cormorants, That gorge Intemp’rance' slaves.

Gin the drouthy meet the couthy, O’ the causey’s crap, Need the drouthy gar the couthy, Gang an’ hae a drap? Oh Friendship’s low will never glow Where stoups an’ glasses shine; Gin Bacchus’ bowl maun warm the soul, Thera’s little heat to tine!

Dinna leave your litle bodies I’ the smoky toun ; Lead them thro’ the flow’ry roadies, Where the burnies croon; Or lat them play on gow'ny brae, Nor gloom their sunny joy; But blythely sing their jingo-ring, Nor blush to be a boy!

Or lat them rove thro’ leafy grove, An’ hear the cushie coo; Or playfu’ lave in sparkling wave, An’ dip like snowy mew; Then sheilies fair an’ steenies rare. They’ll pick for hamel ploys; But, ah, the shame, should they bring hame A father’s drunken noise !

Poor Mary-Ann wi’ sic a man, The yoke is hard to draw: An’ sad you mane, he drank his lane. Fat was to sair ye a’; But gin ye’d heed a body’s rede, That wails yer weary task. When whirl’d again in Pleasure-train, Oh, dinna fill the flask!