 | The songs and poems of Robert Tannahill |  |
179
THE MORALIST.
“Barbarous!” cried John; in humanising mood,To Will, who 'd shot a blackbird in the wood;
“The savage Indian pleads necessity,
But thou, barbarian wretch! hast no such plea.”
Hark!—click the alehouse door—his wife comes in:
“Dear, help's man, John!—preserve me, what d 'ye mean?
Six helpless bairns—the de'il confound your drouth!—
Without ae bit to stop a single mouth.”
“Get hame,” cried John, “else, jade! I'll kick your ---!”
Sure such humanity is all a farce.
| The songs and poems of Robert Tannahill | |