University of Virginia Library

A DRINK ECLOGUE.

LANDLADY, BRANDY and WHISKY.
On auld worm-eaten skelf, in cellar dunk,
Whare hearty benders syn'd their drouthy trunk,
Twa chappin bottles, pang'd wi' liquor fu',
Brandy the tane, the tither Whisky blue,
Grew canker'd; for the twa war het within,
An' het-skin'd fock to flyting soon begin,
The Frenchman fizz'd, and first wad foot the field,
While paughty Scotsman scorn'd to beenge or yield.
BRANDY.
Black be your fa! ye cottar loun mislear'd,
Blawn by the porters, chairmen, city-guard;
Ha'e ye nae breeding, that you shaw your nose
Anent my sweetly gusted cordial dose.
I've been near pauky courts, and aften there
Ha'e ca'd hystericks frae the dowy fair;
And courtiers aft gaed greening for my smack,
To gar them bauldly glour, and gashly crack,
The priest, to bang mishaunters black, and cares,
Has sought me in his closet for his prayers.
What tig then takes the fates, that they can thole,
Thrawart to fix me in this weary hole,
Sair fash'd wi' din, wi' darkness, and wi' stinks,
Whare cheery day-light thro' the mirk ne'er blinks.

WHISKY.
But ye maun be content, and mauna rue,
Tho' erst ye've bizz'd in bonny madam's mou';
Wi' thoughts like thae your heart may sairly dunt;
The warld's now chang'd, its no like use and wont;
For here, wae's me! there's nouther lord nor laird
Come to get heartscad frae their stamack skair'd:
Nae mair your courtier louns will shaw their face,
For they glowr eiry at a friend's disgrace:
But heeze your heart up—Whan at court you hear
The patriot's thrapple wat wi' reaming beer;
Whan chairman, weary wi' his daily gain,
Can syn his whistle wi' the clear champaign;
Be hopefu', for the time will soon row round,
Whan you'll nae langer dwall beneath the ground.

BRANDY.
Wanwordy gowk! did I sae aften shine
Wi' gowdin glister thro' the chrystal fine,
To thole your taunts, that seenil hae been seen
Awa frae luggie, quegh, or truncher treein;
Gif honour wad but lat, a challenge shou'd
Twin ye o' Highland tongue and Highland blude;
Wi' cairds like thee I scorn to file my thumb,
For gentle spirits gentle breeding doom.

WHISKY.

BRANDY.
Tho' lairds take toothfu's o' my warming sap,
This dwines nor tenants gear, nor cows their crap:
For love to you, there's mony a tenant gaes
Bare-ars'd and barefoot o'er the Highland braes:
For you nae mair the thrifty gudewife sees
Her lasses kirn, or birze the dainty cheese;
Crummie nae mair for Jenny's hand will crune
Wi' milkness dreeping frae her teats adown:
For you o'er ear' the ox his fate partakes,
And fa's a victim to the bludey aix.

WHISKY.
Wha is't that gars the greedy Bankers prieve
The maiden's tocher, but the maiden's leave:
By you when spulzied o' her charming pose,
She tholes in turn the taunt o' cauldrife joes;
Wi' skelps like this fock sit but seenil down
To wether-gammond or how-towdy brown;
Sair dung wi' dule, and fley'd for coming debt,
They gar their mou'-bits wi' their incomes mett,
Content eneugh gif they ha'e wherewithal
Scrimply to tack their body and their saul.

BRANDY.
Frae some poor poet, o'er as poor a pot,
Ye've lear'd to crack sae crouse, ye haveril Scot!
Or burgher politician, that embrues
His tongue in thee, and reads the claiking news;
But waes heart for you! that for ay maun dwell
In poet's garret, or in chairman's cell,
While I shall yet on bien-clad tables stand,
Bouden wi' a' the daintiths o' the land.

WHISKY.
Troth I ha'e been 'ere now the poet's flame,
And heez'd his sangs to mony blythsome theme.
Wha was't gar'd Allie's chaunter chirm fu' clear,
Life to the saul, and music to the ear:
Nae stream but kens, and can repeat the lay
To shepherds streekit on the simmer brae,
Wha to their whistle wi' the lav'rock bang,
To wauken flocks the rural fields amang.

BRANDY.
But here's the brouster-wife, and she can tell
Wha's win the day, and wha shou'd wear the bell:
Ha'e done your din, an' lat her judgment join
In final verdict 'twixt your pley and mine.

LANDLADY.