Legal & Other Lyrics By George Outram: Containing a number of new pieces & fifteen illustrations by Edward J. Sullivan |
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 | FRAGMENTS |
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 | Legal & Other Lyrics |  |
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FRAGMENTS
THE BARLEY-FEVER
Oh the Barley-fever!
The Barley-fever, the Barley-fever!
It sticks like a burr, or a plough in a fur,
An' it fells a man like a cleaver.
Yer beard turns lang, an' yer head turns bald,
An' yer face grows as white as the lipo' a scald;
Yer tae end is het, and the tither is cauld,
Like a rat wi' its tail in a siever.
The Barley-fever, the Barley-fever!
It sticks like a burr, or a plough in a fur,
An' it fells a man like a cleaver.
Yer beard turns lang, an' yer head turns bald,
An' yer face grows as white as the lipo' a scald;
Yer tae end is het, and the tither is cauld,
Like a rat wi' its tail in a siever.
Oh the Barley-fever!
The Barley-fever, the Barley-fever!
It gars the best soul grow as toom as a bowl,
An'as flat as the doup o'a weaver.
The Typhus tak's folk that are no very clean,
The Scarlet's content wi'a fat fozy wean;
But the Barley tak's rich, poor, clean, dirty, fat, lean,
The infidel and the believer.
The Barley-fever, the Barley-fever!
It gars the best soul grow as toom as a bowl,
An'as flat as the doup o'a weaver.
The Typhus tak's folk that are no very clean,
The Scarlet's content wi'a fat fozy wean;
But the Barley tak's rich, poor, clean, dirty, fat, lean,
The infidel and the believer.
THE MILLER
The Miller's rung did deeds o' weir,For mortal fray it aye was ready;
The Miller kent neither sloth nor fear
When he fought for king or bonnie leddy!
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His skin was teugher than bend-leather;
He could pu' against his ain mill-wheel,
Or snap in bits his horse's tether.
THE FULE'S SANG
Leddies they sing leddies' sangs,An' men they sing men's,
An' fules they sing foolish sangs,
As a' the world kens;
But a' the fule's foolish sangs
That e'er cam' frae the moon,
Were naething to a sang I heard,
To a very foolish tune,
That a fule sang to me.
THE ALEHOUSE
A' human joys come to an endSome time or ither:
The songsters had nae mair to spend,
An' though the weather
Was maist enough to kill a brute,
Auld Luckie cam' an' drave them out.
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WOMAN
Like a clear rippling streamGlancing in the sunny beam
So artless pure does woman seem—
Whistle o'er the lave o't!
She's like (as we in beuks may read)
The daisy blooming on the mead,
A helpless, sweet, bit bonny weed—
Whistle o'er the lave o't!
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