Legal & Other Lyrics By George Outram: Containing a number of new pieces & fifteen illustrations by Edward J. Sullivan |
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THE FACULTY ROLL |
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43
THE FACULTY ROLL
Ye Barristers of England,
Your triumphs idle are,
Till ye can match the names that ring
Round Caledonia's Bar.
Your John Doe, and your Richard Roe,
Are but a paltry pair:
Look at those who compose
The flocks round Brodie's Stair;
Who ruminate on Shaw and Tait,
And flock round Brodie's Stair.
Your triumphs idle are,
Till ye can match the names that ring
Round Caledonia's Bar.
Your John Doe, and your Richard Roe,
Are but a paltry pair:
Look at those who compose
The flocks round Brodie's Stair;
Who ruminate on Shaw and Tait,
And flock round Brodie's Stair.
Although our Brough'm you've stolen,
To brush your Chancery—
He may be spared—our hoary Baird
Can sweep as clean as he;
And though you've got some kindly Scotts,
To breathe your southland air,
We've the rest, and the best,
To stand by Brodie's Stair—
To garrison old Morison,
To stand by Brodie's Stair.
To brush your Chancery—
He may be spared—our hoary Baird
Can sweep as clean as he;
And though you've got some kindly Scotts,
To breathe your southland air,
We've the rest, and the best,
To stand by Brodie's Stair—
To garrison old Morison,
To stand by Brodie's Stair.
We'll still stand by our colours—
Our Brown, Reid, White, and Gray;
We'll still extol our Northern Lights—
You've seen their distant Rae.
We still can boast of glorious names,
Who love their country's fare,
And ne'er roam from their Home,
But study Brodie's Stair—
The pages con of Morison,
And study Brodie's Stair.
Our Brown, Reid, White, and Gray;
We'll still extol our Northern Lights—
You've seen their distant Rae.
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Who love their country's fare,
And ne'er roam from their Home,
But study Brodie's Stair—
The pages con of Morison,
And study Brodie's Stair.
Should enemies e'er venture
To threaten us with war,
We'll rouse broad Scotland to our aid,
From Dingwall to Dunbar.
The Lothians, Ross, and Sutherland,
The powers of hell would dare
To the field, ere they'd yield
One step of Brodie's Stair—
One foot of Erskine's Institute,
One step of Brodie's Stair.
To threaten us with war,
We'll rouse broad Scotland to our aid,
From Dingwall to Dunbar.
The Lothians, Ross, and Sutherland,
The powers of hell would dare
To the field, ere they'd yield
One step of Brodie's Stair—
One foot of Erskine's Institute,
One step of Brodie's Stair.
The insolent invaders
Should never move Shank More;
Our Marshall's Steele, the knaves should feel,
Within their bosom's core.
Have at them with a plump of Spiers,
And if that shock they bear,
Let the thieves meet our Neaves,
Ere they tread on Brodie's Stair—
Ere their foot pollute the Institute
Of Erskine or of Stair.
Should never move Shank More;
Our Marshall's Steele, the knaves should feel,
Within their bosom's core.
Have at them with a plump of Spiers,
And if that shock they bear,
Let the thieves meet our Neaves,
Ere they tread on Brodie's Stair—
Ere their foot pollute the Institute
Of Erskine or of Stair.
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We've some things worth defending,
And that our foes shall see;
Though ours is not a land of gold,
'Tis the land of Ivory—
And hearts behind our Greenshields beat,
Than Ophir's stores more rare—
Ready still, come who will,
To fight for Brodie's Stair—
Resolved each Section to defend,
Of Erskine or of Stair.
And that our foes shall see;
Though ours is not a land of gold,
'Tis the land of Ivory—
And hearts behind our Greenshields beat,
Than Ophir's stores more rare—
Ready still, come who will,
To fight for Brodie's Stair—
Resolved each Section to defend,
Of Erskine or of Stair.
Our Hall is all surrounded
By Forrest, Loch, and Shaw—
A Park, such as you never trod,
A Hill you never saw.
We rest among the summer Hay,
Beside the Gowan fair,
With a Rose at our nose,
While we think on Brodie's Stair,
Or ponder on old Morison,
Or think of Brodie's Stair.
By Forrest, Loch, and Shaw—
A Park, such as you never trod,
A Hill you never saw.
We rest among the summer Hay,
Beside the Gowan fair,
With a Rose at our nose,
While we think on Brodie's Stair,
Or ponder on old Morison,
Or think of Brodie's Stair.
We gather Wood and Burnett,
When bleak December blows;
We're snug within, although without
The Wilde is White with snows.
Our Taylor, and our Hozier,
Defy the wintry air—
And the while to beguile,
We run through Brodie's Stair—
With Thomson's Acts, through Lord Kames' Tracts,
And Fountainhall, and Stair.
When bleak December blows;
We're snug within, although without
The Wilde is White with snows.
Our Taylor, and our Hozier,
Defy the wintry air—
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We run through Brodie's Stair—
With Thomson's Acts, through Lord Kames' Tracts,
And Fountainhall, and Stair.
We've three Milnes, and six Millers,
Although no meal we make;
We've two Weirs, and a Lister large,
Although no fish we take;
A Horsman too, without a horse—
A Hunter, but no hare—
Yet our Horn wakes the morn,
With a note from Brodie's Stair,
While echoes court the full report
Of Morison or Stair.
Although no meal we make;
We've two Weirs, and a Lister large,
Although no fish we take;
A Horsman too, without a horse—
A Hunter, but no hare—
Yet our Horn wakes the morn,
With a note from Brodie's Stair,
While echoes court the full report
Of Morison or Stair.
Our table's poorly furnished—
Our Cook has little toil—
Sometimes a fowl to Currie,
Sometimes a joint to Boyle;
But still Cheape's head and Trotters is
The dish beyond compare—
To suggest Shaw's Digest,
And the sweets of Brodie's Stair—
To give a zest to Shaw's Digest,
And the sweets of Brodie's Stair.
Our Cook has little toil—
Sometimes a fowl to Currie,
Sometimes a joint to Boyle;
But still Cheape's head and Trotters is
The dish beyond compare—
To suggest Shaw's Digest,
And the sweets of Brodie's Stair—
To give a zest to Shaw's Digest,
And the sweets of Brodie's Stair.
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For wisdom, where's the mortal
Who claims to be our peer,
When Solomon was David's son,
And Davidson is here?
But for religion!—Clerks, alas!
And Bells we have to spare—
But of faith not a breath
Is heard near Brodie's Stair;
Our most devout have Dirleton's Doubts,
As well as Brodie's Stair.
Who claims to be our peer,
When Solomon was David's son,
And Davidson is here?
But for religion!—Clerks, alas!
And Bells we have to spare—
But of faith not a breath
Is heard near Brodie's Stair;
Our most devout have Dirleton's Doubts,
As well as Brodie's Stair.
When politicians wrangle,
We shun the idle brawl;
We've but one Torrie in our ranks,
And ne'er a Whig at all.
The schoolmaster abroad may roam—
For him we do not care,
Because we've the Tawse,
And the rules of Brodie's Stair—
The lessons sage of Erskine's page,
And the rules of Brodie's Stair.
We shun the idle brawl;
We've but one Torrie in our ranks,
And ne'er a Whig at all.
The schoolmaster abroad may roam—
For him we do not care,
Because we've the Tawse,
And the rules of Brodie's Stair—
The lessons sage of Erskine's page,
And the rules of Brodie's Stair.
And still as merry Christmas
Concludes our peaceful year,
Our Pyper lends his minstrelsy,
Our bounding hearts to cheer.
Poor as we are, for his reward,
A Penney we can spare,
Though we've got but one Groat,
And some notes in Brodie's Stair—
Some doubtful bills in Dallas' Styles,
And some notes in Brodie's Stair.
Concludes our peaceful year,
Our Pyper lends his minstrelsy,
Our bounding hearts to cheer.
Poor as we are, for his reward,
A Penney we can spare,
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And some notes in Brodie's Stair—
Some doubtful bills in Dallas' Styles,
And some notes in Brodie's Stair.
Our live-stock's scarce; we have but
A solitary Hog;
One L'Amy on his Trotters stumps,
Secure from Wolf or dog.
But still whene'er he wanders forth
We dread a Tod is there,
On the watch for a catch
Should he slip from Brodie's Stair,
Or seek his food in Spottiswood,
Or slip from Brodie's Stair.
A solitary Hog;
One L'Amy on his Trotters stumps,
Secure from Wolf or dog.
But still whene'er he wanders forth
We dread a Tod is there,
On the watch for a catch
Should he slip from Brodie's Stair,
Or seek his food in Spottiswood,
Or slip from Brodie's Stair.
But, Barristers of England,
Come to us lovingly,
And any Scot who greets you not
We'll send to Coventry.
Put past your brief, embark for Leith,
And when you're landed there
Any wight with delight
Will point out Brodie's Stair;
Or lead you all through Fountainhall,
Till you enter Brodie's Stair.
Come to us lovingly,
And any Scot who greets you not
We'll send to Coventry.
Put past your brief, embark for Leith,
And when you're landed there
Any wight with delight
Will point out Brodie's Stair;
Or lead you all through Fountainhall,
Till you enter Brodie's Stair.
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