Page:Water warbler (1).pdf/5

 5 To a' that toil to deal1 the soil, An' sow the seed o’ truth, Now let me tell a potent spell, Alike for age an’ youth:— Ne'er gie the cap a stronger drap, Than stroup o' traekie pours ;— Then rosy health an’ growin wealth Will cheer like simmer showr’s!

THE RINDERPEST. Tune—“ Scots, Wha Hae" Stots, by fanners purely bred, Stots, whase sires hae freely bled, Must we stamp your gory bed? Nor find a remedy? Stots, that droop the ruefu’ head, Stots, on which John Bull is fed, Say you’ll gang, but won’t be sped In Railway truckery.

If you held your Highlan’ way, Snoov’d alang frae brae to brae , Cauler streams would thirst allay, An’ cool your burnin’ e’e. That your flesh and fat may thrive, Let the drover gently drive Where the road will yield a rive O’ nature’s greenery.

Stots, aft crowded head and tail, Swiftly whirled on rattling rail, Where nor grass nor water-pail Relieves your misery; By your pest and by your pains. By your trucks wi’ filthy stains, By your steam-bewilder’d brains, Loud bellow—you’ll be free!