The songs and poems of Robert Tannahill With biography, illustrations, and music |
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THE TRIFLER'S SABBATH-DAY. |
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 | The songs and poems of Robert Tannahill |  |
168
THE TRIFLER'S SABBATH-DAY.
Loud sounds the deep-mouthed parish bell,
Religion kirkward hies,
John lies in bed and counts each knell,
And thinks 'tis time to rise.
Religion kirkward hies,
John lies in bed and counts each knell,
And thinks 'tis time to rise.
But, O how weak are man's resolves!
His projects ill to keep,
John thrusts his nose beneath the clothes,
And dozes o'er asleep.
His projects ill to keep,
John thrusts his nose beneath the clothes,
And dozes o'er asleep.
Now fairy fancy plays her freaks
Upon his sleep-swell'd brain;
He dreams—he starts—he mutt'ring speaks,
And waukens wi' a grane.
Upon his sleep-swell'd brain;
He dreams—he starts—he mutt'ring speaks,
And waukens wi' a grane.
He rubs his een—the clock strikes twelve—
Impell'd by hunger's grup,
One mighty effort backs resolve—
He 's up—at last he 's up!
Impell'd by hunger's grup,
One mighty effort backs resolve—
He 's up—at last he 's up!
Hunger appeased, his cutty pipe
Employs his time till two,—
And now he saunters through the house,
And knows not what to do.
Employs his time till two,—
And now he saunters through the house,
And knows not what to do.
He baits the trap—catches a mouse—
He sports it round the floor;
He swims it in a water tub—
Gets glorious fun till our!
He sports it round the floor;
He swims it in a water tub—
Gets glorious fun till our!
And now of cats, and mice, and rats,
He tells a thousand tricks,
Till even dulness tires herself,
For hark—the clock strikes six!
He tells a thousand tricks,
Till even dulness tires herself,
For hark—the clock strikes six!
169
Now view him in his easy chair
Recline his pond'rous head;
'Tis eight—now Bessie rakes the fire,
And John must go to bed!
Recline his pond'rous head;
'Tis eight—now Bessie rakes the fire,
And John must go to bed!
| The songs and poems of Robert Tannahill | |