The works of Allan Ramsay :: :: University of Virginia Library

Auld Reeky mourn in Sable Hue,
Let Fouth of Tears dreep like May Dew,
To braw Tippony bid Adieu,
Which we with Greed
Bended as fast as she cou'd brew,
But ah! she's dead.

To tell the Truth now Maggy dang,
Of Customers she had a Bang;
For Lairds and Souters a' did gang
To drink bedeen,
The Barn and Yard was aft sae thrang,
We took the Green.

And there by Dizens we lay down,
Syne sweetly ca'd the Healths arown,
To bonny Lasses black or brown,
As wel oo'd best;
In Bumpers we dull Cares did drown,
And took our Rest.

When in our Poutch we fand some Clinks,
And took a Turn o'er Bruntsfield-Links,
Aften in Maggy's at Hy-jinks,
We guzl'd Scuds,
Till we cou'd scarce wi hale out Drinks
Cast aff our Duds.

We drank and drew, and fill'd again,
O wow but we were blyth and fain!
When ony had their Count mistain,
O it was nice,
To hear us a' cry, Pike ye'r Bain
And spell ye'r Dice.

Fou closs we us'd to drink and rant,
Until we did baith glowre and gaunt,
And pish and spew, and yesk and maunt,
Right swash I true;
Then of auld Stories we did cant
Whan we were fou.

Whan we were weary'd at the Gowff,
Then Maggy Johnston's was our Howff;
Now a' our Gamesters may sit dowff,
Wi' Hearts like Lead,
Death wi' his Rung rax'd her a Yowff,
And sae she died.

Maun we be forc'd thy Skill to tine?
For which we will right sair repine;
Or hast thou left to Bairns of thine
The pauky Knack
Of brewing Ale amaist like Wine?
That gar'd us crack.

Sae brawly did a Pease-scon Toast
Biz i' the Queff, and flie the Frost;
There we gat fou wi' little Cost,
And muckle Speed,
Now wae worth Death, our Sport's a' lost,
Since Maggy's dead.

Ae Simmer Night I was sae fou,
Amang the Riggs I geed to spew;
Syne down on a green Bawk, I trow
I took a Nap,
And soucht a' Night Balillilow
As sound's a Tap.

And whan the Dawn begoud to glow,
I hirsl'd up my dizzy Pow,
Frae 'mang the Corn like Wirricow,
Wi' Bains sae sair,
And ken' nae mair than if a Ew
How I came there.

Some said it was the Pith of Broom
That she stow'd in her Masking-loom,
Which in our Heads rais'd sic a Foom,
Or some wild Seed,
Which aft the Chaping Stoup did toom,
But fill'd our Head.

But now since 'tis sae that we must
Not in the best Ale put our Trust,
But whan we're auld return to Dust,
Without Remead,
Why shou'd we tak it in Disgust
That Maggy's dead.

Of warldly Comforts she was rife,
And liv'd a lang and hearty Life,
Right free of Care, or Toil, or Strife,
Till she was stale,
And ken'd to be a kanny Wife
At brewing Ale.

Then farewell Maggy douce and fell,
Of Brewers a' thou boor the Bell;
Let a' thy Gossies yelp and yell,
And without Feed,
Guess whether ye're in Heaven or Hell,
They're sure ye're dead.

Epitaph.

O Rare Maggy Johnston.

Maggy Johnston liv'd about a Mile Southward of Edinburgh, kept a little Farm, and had a particular Art of brewing a small Sort of Ale agreeable to the Taste, very white, clear and intoxicating, which made People who lov'd to have a good Pennyworth for their Money be her frequent Customers. And many others of every Station, sometimes for Diversion, thought it no Affront to be seen in her Barn or Yard.

A Name the Country People give Edinburgh from the Cloud of Smoak or Reek that is always impending over it.

She sold the Scots Pint, which is near to two Quarts English, for Twopence.

He dings, or dang, is a Phrase which means to excel or get the better.

Fields between Edinburgh and Maggy's, where the Citizens commonly play at the Gowff.

A drunken Game, or new Project to drink and be rich; thus, the Quaff or Cup is fill'd to the Brim, then one of the Company takes a Pair of Dice, and after crying Hy-jinks, he throws them out: The Number he casts up points out the Person must drink, he who threw, beginning at himself Number One, and so round till the Number of the Person agree with that of the Dice, (which may fall upon himself if the Number be within Twelve;) then he sets the Dice to him, or bids him take them: He on whom they fall is obliged to drink, or pay a small Forfeiture in Money; then throws, and so on: But if he forget to cry Hy-jinks he pays a Forfeiture into the Bank. Now he on whom it falls to drink, if there be any Thing in Bank worth drawing, gets it all if he drinks. Then with a great Deal of Caution he empties his Cup, sweeps up the Money, and orders the Cup to be fill'd again, and then throws; for if he err in the Articles, he loses the Privilege of drawing the Money. The Articles are, (1) Drink, (2) Draw, (3) Fill, (4) Cry Hy-jinks, (5) Count just, (6) Chuse your doublet Man, viz. when two equal Numbers of the Dice is thrown, the Person whom you chuse must pay a Double of the common Forfeiture, and so must you when the Dice is in his Hand. A rare Project this, and no Bubble I can assure you; for a covetous Fellow may save Money, and get himself as drunk as he can desire in less than an Hour's Time.

Pike ye'r Bain. Is a Cant Phrase, when one leaves a little in the Cup, he is advised to pike his Bone, i.e. Drink it clean out.

Reach'd her a Blow.

Or fright the Frost or Coldness out of it.

The two following Stanzas are a true Narrative.

On that slid Place where I 'maist brake my Bains,
To be a Warning I set up twa Stains,
That nane my venture there as I have done,
Unless wi' frosted Nails he clink his Shoon.