Gen. Albert Pike's poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Oh, Jamie brewed a bowl o' punch,
And a' his friends to help cam' in;
A jollier set of chiels than they
Thegither'll ne'er be seen again.
They were na fu', they were na fu'
But just a wee drap in their e'e;
The cock might craw and the day might daw',
But where the punch was, aye they'd be.

Now brew the punch, McGuire, said he,
And mak' it strang and make it guid,
For naething i' the warld's like punch
To warm the heart or stir the bluid.
For we're na fu', we are na fu',
But just a drappie in our e'e;
The cock may craw, the day may daw',
But where the punch is aye we'll be.

So Charley Boteler brought the bowl—
A huge big bowl, a mighty ane,
Wherein if ony man should fa'
He'd droon, if not himsel', his pain;

351

For Charley, too, he was na fu',
But just a drappie in his e'e;
The cock might craw, the day might daw',
But where the punch was, aye'd be he.

And neist cam' Jonah Hoover in,
And brought the lemons for his share,
And said “We'll ha'e a time to-night,
Gin I never drink a jorum mair,
For I'm na fu', I'm na that fu'
But just a drappie in my e'e;
The cock may craw, the day may daw',
But where the punch is, aye I'll be.”

George Gideon wi' the sugar cam',
And dinged it i' the mighty bowl,
And cried “Mak' haste, boys, wi' your brew!”—
For George ye see 's a thirsty soul:
He was na fu', was na that fu',
But just a drappie in his e'e;
The cock might craw, the day might daw',
But where the punch was, aye'd be he.”

And Arnold Harris brought the tea,
Sma' was the use he had for that,
Sin' when its taste and water's too,
He i' th' Auld Seventh had clean forgat.

352

He was na fu', was na that fu',
But just a drappie in his e'e;
The cock might craw, the day might daw',
But where the punch was, aye'd be he.

Then fu' of quips and jokes, and jests,
Cam' waubling in douce Johnny Coyle
Wi' ane big jug of Farintosh,
Auld as himself, and smooth as oil,
He was na fu, &c.

George French popped in the lumps of ice,
Nae sign was that his heart was cauld,
And aye he trilled a merry sang,
And syne a funny story tauld.
He was na fu', &c.

At last McGuire lugs out a wheen
Great bottles filled wi' generous wine,
Whilk wi' the lave the brew completes,
A nectar glorious and divine.
They were na fu', they were na fu',
But just a drappie in their e'e,
The cock might craw, the day might daw',
But where the punch was aye they'd be.

353

So now the brew 's a' mixed and made,
We'll gather round it stoup in hand,
And a blither set ye shall na find
In Pagan or in Christian land.
For we're na fu', we're na that fu',
But just a droppie in our e'e;
The cock may craw, the day may daw',
But where the punch is, aye we'll be.

So here's to me, and here's to you,
To present and to absent friends,
And here's to him who patient takes
The ills misfortune to him sends.
For we're na fu', &c.

Time taks our friends aff fast eneugh,
And while we live we'll part wi' nane;
Aft as they err, we'll still forgi'e
Their errors, mindfu' o' our ain.
For we're na fu', &c.

Wha first shall fail to drain his cup,
Nae true man shall henceforth be ca'ed;
Wha last shall fill his goblet up,
And drink it, shall be Prince and Lord.

354

For we're na fu,' we are na fu',
But just a drappie in our e'e;
The cock may craw, the day may daw',
But where the punch is, aye we'll be.

1860.