Horace in Homespun by Hugh Haliburton [i.e. J. L. Robertson] A New Edition with Illustrations by A. S. Boyd |
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Hughie in Praise of the Native Brew. |
 | Horace in Homespun by Hugh Haliburton [i.e. J. L. Robertson] |  |
226
Hughie in Praise of the Native Brew.
Nice-gabbit Fortune, wi' her wines,
And a' thing braw aboot her!—
The ware that on my dresser shines
Is hamely pig an' pewter.
Yet wha, in gold or siller cup,
For foreign drink wad hanker,
If bauld John Barleycorn fill up
His toddy-bowl or tankar'?
And a' thing braw aboot her!—
The ware that on my dresser shines
Is hamely pig an' pewter.
Yet wha, in gold or siller cup,
For foreign drink wad hanker,
If bauld John Barleycorn fill up
His toddy-bowl or tankar'?
It's braw, nae doot, to read aboot
A vine-clad skelp o' mountain,
Wi' pendants purpling lika shoot
In clusters past a' countin';
Yet beardit John will hauld his ain
Wi' Bacchus and his vine-trees,
Whether wide-racing owre the plain
Or resting on the gantrees
A vine-clad skelp o' mountain,
Wi' pendants purpling lika shoot
In clusters past a' countin';
Yet beardit John will hauld his ain
Wi' Bacchus and his vine-trees,
Whether wide-racing owre the plain
Or resting on the gantrees
227
He shaws, in sooth, as braw a youth
Wi' awns on end, or nae beard;
But see him stoor, in pith mature,
Bedeckit wi' a grey-beard!
O fair is ilka youthfu' thing:
But mair than half their beauty
Lies in the promise o' their Spring,
The Harvest o' their duty.
Wi' awns on end, or nae beard;
But see him stoor, in pith mature,
Bedeckit wi' a grey-beard!
O fair is ilka youthfu' thing:
But mair than half their beauty
Lies in the promise o' their Spring,
The Harvest o' their duty.
The townsman airtin' to the hills
Does weel to charge his pistol;
But what avails to geizened gills
A toom bedizened crystal?
Will siller stopper mend his drouth,
Or recommend the liquor?
Gie me the neat, the naked truth,
And never mind the bicker!
Does weel to charge his pistol;
But what avails to geizened gills
A toom bedizened crystal?
Will siller stopper mend his drouth,
Or recommend the liquor?
Gie me the neat, the naked truth,
And never mind the bicker!
It's no' upon the ware ye think
When weary for a waught o't;
It's no' the veshel that ye drink
When takin' doun a draught o't:
Let but the caup be clean an' fou—
There's naething mair anent it,
Unless it be weel-pleased to view
The fair hands that present it!
When weary for a waught o't;
It's no' the veshel that ye drink
When takin' doun a draught o't:
228
There's naething mair anent it,
Unless it be weel-pleased to view
The fair hands that present it!
Gie foreign wights their foreign wines,
The produce o' their country;
And let abee the ware that shines
On sideboards o' the gentry.
Auld Nature turns the tap for a',
Wherever men are plantit;
And, by her gude an' gracious law,
We hae the browst we wantit.
The produce o' their country;
And let abee the ware that shines
On sideboards o' the gentry.
Auld Nature turns the tap for a',
Wherever men are plantit;
And, by her gude an' gracious law,
We hae the browst we wantit.
| Horace in Homespun by Hugh Haliburton [i.e. J. L. Robertson] | |