University of Virginia Library

Lucky SPENCE's Last Advice.

Three times the carlin grain'd and rifted,
Then frae the cod her pow she lifted,
In bawdy policy well gifted,
When she now faun
That death nae longer wad be shifted,
She thus began:
My loving lasses I maun leave ye,
But dinnae wi' your greeting grieve me,
Nor wi' your draunts and droning deave me,
But bring's a gill;
For faith, my bairns, ye may believe me,
'Tis 'gainst my will.
O Black-ey'd Bess, and mim mou'd Meg,
O'er good to work or yet to beg,
Lay sunkets up for a sair leg,
For whan ye fail,
Your face will not be worth a feg,
Nor yet your tail.
Whane'er ye meet a fool that's fow,
That ye're a maiden gar him trow,
Seem nice, but stick to him like glew,
And whan set down,
Drive at the jango till he spew,
Syne he'll sleep soun.
When he's a-sleep, then dive and catch,
His ready cash, his rings or watch:
And gin he likes to light his match
At yor spunk-box,
Ne'er stand to let the fumbling wretch,
E'en tak the pox.
Cleek a' ye can by hook or crook,
Ripe ilka pouch frae nook to nook.
Be sure to truff his pocket book,
Saxty pound Scots
Is nae deaf nits: in little bouk
Lie great bank-notes,
To get amends of whinging fools,
That's frighted for repenting stools,
Wha aften when their metal cools,
Turn sweir to pay,
Gar the kirk-boxie heal the dools,
Anither day.
But dawt red-coats, and let them scoup
Free, for the fou of cutty-stoup;
To gie them up, ye need nae hope
E'er to do well;
They'll rive your brats and kick your doup,
And play the de'il.
There's ae sair cross attends the craft,
That curs'd Correction house, where aft
Vile Hangie's tauze your riggings saft
Makes black and blae,
Enough to put a body daft,
But what'll ye say?
Nane gathers gear withouten care,
Ilk pleasure has of pain a share;
Suppose then they should tirl ye bare,
And gar ye fike,
E'en learn to thole, 'tis very fair,
Ye're neibour-like.
Forby, my looves, count upo' losses;
Your milk-white teeth, and cheeks like roses,
Whan jet-black hair, and brigs of noses,
Fa' down wi' dads;
To keep your hearts up 'neath sic crosses,
Set up for bawds.
Wi' well criesh'd loofs I hae been canty,
Whane'er the lads wad fain hae faund ye;
To try the auld game Taunty Ranty,
Like cussers keen,
They took advice of me your aunty,
If ye were clean.
Then I took up my siller ca',
And whistl'd ben whiles ane, whiles twa;
Round in his lug, that there was a
Poor country Kate,
As halesome as the well of Spaw,
But unco blate.
Sae whane'er company came in,
And were upo' a merry pin,
I slade away wi' little din,
And muckle mense,
Left conscience judge, it was a' ane
To lucky Spence.
My bennison come on good doers,
Who spend their cash on bawds and whores;
May they ne'er want the wile of cures
For a sair snout;
Foul fa' the quacks wha that fire smoors
And puts nae out.
My malison light ilka day
On them that drink and dinna pay,
But tak a snack and rin away;
May't be their hap,
Never to want a gonnorhea,
Or rotten clap.
Lass, gi'e us in anither gill,
A mutchken, jo, let's tak our fill;
Let death syne registrate his bill,
Whan I want sense;
I'll slip awa' wi' better will,
Quo' Lucky Spence.