The poetical works of William Nicholson With a memoir by Malcolm M'L. Harper ... Fourth edition |
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ON SILLER. |
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 | The poetical works of William Nicholson |  |
ON SILLER.
Oh! Siller, but thou costs us dear,
By ony ither kind o' gear!
Now, fient a ane thy price need speer,
But knaves or fools;
For few can e'er thy price come near—
By honest rules.
By ony ither kind o' gear!
Now, fient a ane thy price need speer,
But knaves or fools;
For few can e'er thy price come near—
By honest rules.
Thou gars Religion tine her haud;
Mak's her a slow, saft-fingered jade;
And looses Folly, ravin' mad
Wi' pride and nonsense;
Mak's honest Honour sick and sad,
And smoors poor Conscience.
Mak's her a slow, saft-fingered jade;
And looses Folly, ravin' mad
Wi' pride and nonsense;
Mak's honest Honour sick and sad,
And smoors poor Conscience.
For thee we sell our finest feelin's—
Pity and Love, thae gentle yealin's;
E'en sacred Friendship gets her drillin's,
Though deep imprest;
And feigns her flame wi' bows and kneelin's,
For self-int'rest.
Pity and Love, thae gentle yealin's;
E'en sacred Friendship gets her drillin's,
Though deep imprest;
And feigns her flame wi' bows and kneelin's,
For self-int'rest.
155
For thee we toil baith night and day,
Till bluid turns thin and locks grow grey,
And ither dools, in dark array,
Aroun' us muster;
And crazy joints to climb life's brae—
A weary wister.
Till bluid turns thin and locks grow grey,
And ither dools, in dark array,
Aroun' us muster;
And crazy joints to climb life's brae—
A weary wister.
For thee I crossed my youthfu' fancy,
Forsook my bloomin' smilin' Nancy,
And pu'd a docken for a tansy,
And cursed my life
Wi' tap o' a' things maist unchancy—
A haverel wife!
Forsook my bloomin' smilin' Nancy,
And pu'd a docken for a tansy,
And cursed my life
Wi' tap o' a' things maist unchancy—
A haverel wife!
My haill designs she's aye for balkin'
When I'm for peace, then she's for talkin';
When dull, she skirls like a maukin,
And laughs and girns:
When I'm for sleepin', she's for waukin',
And peels my shins.
When I'm for peace, then she's for talkin';
When dull, she skirls like a maukin,
And laughs and girns:
When I'm for sleepin', she's for waukin',
And peels my shins.
Then, gif she getna a' her will,
She feigns her fits, flytes, and fa's ill;
To a' her neibours roun' does tell
How ill I'm till her;
And aye the owre-word o' the knell,
Her waefu' siller!
She feigns her fits, flytes, and fa's ill;
To a' her neibours roun' does tell
How ill I'm till her;
And aye the owre-word o' the knell,
Her waefu' siller!
Now, every comfort I maun tine—
The joys o' wit, the joys o' wine,
The chimes o' music and o' rhyme,
And comrades dear,
And thole her loud eternal whine
About her gear.
The joys o' wit, the joys o' wine,
The chimes o' music and o' rhyme,
And comrades dear,
And thole her loud eternal whine
About her gear.
156
Let never better be his weird,
Each social tie that could discard
For glancin' gowd, or dirty yird,
Or empty fame:
May cankered Care tug at his beard,
And sullen dame.
Each social tie that could discard
For glancin' gowd, or dirty yird,
Or empty fame:
May cankered Care tug at his beard,
And sullen dame.
But L---d, gif ance her head were hidden,
I'se ne'er again be woman-ridden;
My former frien's should a' be bidden,
In social ring;
The dool-string I should soon get rid on,
And dance and sing!
I'se ne'er again be woman-ridden;
My former frien's should a' be bidden,
In social ring;
The dool-string I should soon get rid on,
And dance and sing!
| The poetical works of William Nicholson | |