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236
TO WHISKEY.
GREAT Pow'r, that warms the heart and live
And puts the bluid a' in a fever,
If dull and heartless I am ever,
A blast o' thee
Makes me as blyth, and brisk, and clever
As ony bee.
And puts the bluid a' in a fever,
If dull and heartless I am ever,
A blast o' thee
Makes me as blyth, and brisk, and clever
As ony bee.
I wat ye are a cunning chiel,
O' a' your tricks I ken fu' weel,
For aft ye hae gien me a heel,
And thrown me down,
When I shook hands wi' heart so leel,
Ye wily loun.
O' a' your tricks I ken fu' weel,
For aft ye hae gien me a heel,
And thrown me down,
When I shook hands wi' heart so leel,
Ye wily loun.
When fou o' thee on Scottish grun',
At fairs I've aft' had muckle fun,
An' on my head wi' a guid rung,
Gat mony a crack;
An' mony a braw chiel in my turn,
Laid on his back.
At fairs I've aft' had muckle fun,
An' on my head wi' a guid rung,
Gat mony a crack;
An' mony a braw chiel in my turn,
Laid on his back.
An' here, tho' stick be laid aside,
An' swankies fight in their bare hide;
Let me o' thee ance get a swig,
I'll tak my part,
An' bite and—, gouge and tread
Wi' a' my heart.
An' swankies fight in their bare hide;
Let me o' thee ance get a swig,
I'll tak my part,
An' bite and—, gouge and tread
Wi' a' my heart.
237
Great strength'ning pow'r, without thy aid
How cou'd log-heaps be ever made?
To tell the truth, I'm sair afraid,
('Twixt ye and me)
We'd want a place to lay our head,
Had'nt been for thee.
How cou'd log-heaps be ever made?
To tell the truth, I'm sair afraid,
('Twixt ye and me)
We'd want a place to lay our head,
Had'nt been for thee.
But when the chiels are fou' o' thee,
Och? how they gar their axes flee,
Then God hae mercy on the tree,
For they hae nane,
Ye'd think (the timber gaes so free)
It rase its lane.—
Och? how they gar their axes flee,
Then God hae mercy on the tree,
For they hae nane,
Ye'd think (the timber gaes so free)
It rase its lane.—
Without thee how cou'd grass be mawn?
Grain shear'd, and into barn-yards drawn?
An' when auld wives wi' faces thrawn
Ly in the strae,
I doubt, gin ye ware nae at han',
There'd be great wae.
Grain shear'd, and into barn-yards drawn?
An' when auld wives wi' faces thrawn
Ly in the strae,
I doubt, gin ye ware nae at han',
There'd be great wae.
But it wou'd tak a leaf and mair
To tell o' a' your virtues rare;
At wedding, gossipping and fair,
Baith great and sma'
Look unco dowff if ye'r na there,
Great soul o' a'.
To tell o' a' your virtues rare;
At wedding, gossipping and fair,
Baith great and sma'
Look unco dowff if ye'r na there,
Great soul o' a'.
Then foul befa' the ungratefu' deil
That wou'd begrudge to pay right weel,
For a' the blessings that ye yiel
In sic a store;
I'd nae turn round upo' my heel
For saxpence more.
That wou'd begrudge to pay right weel,
For a' the blessings that ye yiel
In sic a store;
I'd nae turn round upo' my heel
For saxpence more.
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