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The ait 's a callant fine and guid
To meet i' the mornin' airlie:
But gie me for the ingle neuk
My gossip — bearded Barley!
Kail-brose at noon is weel eneuch,
I'll gar it welcome rarely;
But ilka hour frae dawn till night
For rantin' Bree o' Barley!
Is it potheen, scream'd Denis, ye mane?
As the song has it, ane o' your ain:—
When Pathrick brew'd a power o' malt,
And Tim Dahomy cam' to prie,
They found the brewin' had one fault:
It was not quite enough for three.
They were na fu'
But yet it's thrue
That baith thegither counted three,
Whyles each ane saw
The ither twa
Thru mixins o' the barley-bree.

Ye've corrapted the taxt athegither,
As ye do wi' our auld bonnie sangs,
Meanin' airs. To believe ye the thrang's
A' frae Ireland. It's thrue, by the Powers.
Then Bull: Why, the most of them's ours.
Weel, weel, it's a' made i' the heather:
There's little of choice, I'm a-thinking.
Only gie me the drinking!
Glenlivat or potheen's all one.
Bedad, but that's thrue whin all's done.
Whereat but they all cried Hear! hear!
And Sandy with fresh cheer
Loosen'd anither stave.
(Holy — Madam! without lave.)
I will na ask for silk attire,
And siller I can spare,
Gin I've a toddy by the fire
And on the sideboard mair.
For Barley is my darlin,' my darlin,' my darlin';
For Barley is my darlin'—
His christen'd name is Beer.
Give me our home-brew'd English ales,
For breakfast, lunch, or stirrup-cup,
And our old English madrigals
For music!

—May be just a sup
O' the brandy poonch? You haven't named your drink.
Waal! replied Enoch, Cocktails, not to wink
At Cobblers in desult'ry times.—
Weel! different drinks suit differing climes.
Let ilka poet choose his rhymes!
We've nae sae like laws as in France.—
The Ladies might prefer a dance,
Said Denis, and arose,
And tow'rd an Irish jig his toes
Accommodating made advance.
— But hauding wi' our drappies,
Under favour o' the Leddies,
Seeing toddy's on the tapis,
That's a vile drink, your Bourbon, sae quickly it unsteadies.
— Yaas! ze Bourbon is canaille.
— Whereon Enoch took a smile,
Acting contempt; and Wait awhile
Until good Bourbon you've known.
Mayn't be good for mixing; take it straight!
Then you'll own —
But I reckon it's some late.
And the Frenchman rose with him:
For the dawn a kinder dim
Light slid between the blinds.
Our Host was playing with the rinds
Of lemons; but our Hostess rose serene,
Like as the harvest moon is seen,
And, standing royal as a Queen,
Said — We thank you for your presence here last night —
Afforded much delight —
King and myself are owing
And beholden to your friendship much
(The slightest touch
Of irony); but King has been
A traveler — travel-spent.
Stand not upon the order of your going,
But go at once!

We went.