Poems, on sacred and other subjects and songs, humorous and sentimental: By the late William Watt. Third edition of the songs only--with additional songs |
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LAMENT On the Dearth of Tobacco. |
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 | Poems, on sacred and other subjects |  |
349
LAMENT On the Dearth of Tobacco.
Frien's o' the spleuchan and the mull,
Come, let us join, wi' true good-will,
To forward a Tobacco Bill
To Parliament;
Nor cease to pray and flyte, until
Some aid be sent.
Come, let us join, wi' true good-will,
To forward a Tobacco Bill
To Parliament;
Nor cease to pray and flyte, until
Some aid be sent.
Guid-guide's! was e'er the like o't heard?
Frae that sma' weed to be debarr'd!
Is this the promised great reward
They shored us lang,
Wha did them and their country guard
Frae en'mies strang?
Frae that sma' weed to be debarr'd!
Is this the promised great reward
They shored us lang,
Wha did them and their country guard
Frae en'mies strang?
Awa'! we winna be content
Till they've done something thereanent:
For instance, ta'en three-score per cent.
Aff our Tobacco:
That wad be news 'tween this and Lent
For folk to crack o'!
Till they've done something thereanent:
For instance, ta'en three-score per cent.
Aff our Tobacco:
That wad be news 'tween this and Lent
For folk to crack o'!
Drinkers may mourn the dearth o' maut,
And curers grudge the price o' saut,
And miser's dread they'll die for faut,
Wi' ruefu' face;
But mulls and spleuchans toom to claut
'S a sadder case.
And curers grudge the price o' saut,
And miser's dread they'll die for faut,
Wi' ruefu' face;
But mulls and spleuchans toom to claut
'S a sadder case.
Wow, sirs! it pains the heart indeed
To be deprived o' what we need:
Oh! had that dear Virginian weed
Ne'er cross'd the waves!
But what sair words? since we're decreed
To be its slaves.
To be deprived o' what we need:
Oh! had that dear Virginian weed
Ne'er cross'd the waves!
But what sair words? since we're decreed
To be its slaves.
Scarce dare ane tak' a pinch o' snuff,
Or, wi' a lichted pipe, play fuff,
Beside a jug o' reamin' stuff,
In taprooms snug,
Lest famine for a fortnight cuff
Our sairest lug.
Or, wi' a lichted pipe, play fuff,
Beside a jug o' reamin' stuff,
In taprooms snug,
Lest famine for a fortnight cuff
Our sairest lug.
350
O Ministers o' our frail state,
Whase word can stamp the bill o' fate,
Nae langer wrangle and debate,
Wi' logic skill,
Else we maun starve, “nae distant date,”
Wha toom the mull!
Whase word can stamp the bill o' fate,
Nae langer wrangle and debate,
Wi' logic skill,
Else we maun starve, “nae distant date,”
Wha toom the mull!
Nae doubt but cash ye sairly need;
But letna greenin' turn to greed;
Weel we supported that sad feid
Ye had wi' France,
By whilk ye've led us a' indeed
A bonnie dance.
But letna greenin' turn to greed;
Weel we supported that sad feid
Ye had wi' France,
By whilk ye've led us a' indeed
A bonnie dance.
The waes o' war we lang did mourn,
And pray'd that peace might soon return;
But, och! in famine's dreary urn
Her blessings lie,
And hafflins we the favour spurn,
Wi' grieved sigh.
And pray'd that peace might soon return;
But, och! in famine's dreary urn
Her blessings lie,
And hafflins we the favour spurn,
Wi' grieved sigh.
Owre ruin's deep abyss ye hover:
Retrench, retrench! or, faith, ye're over!
Ilk placeman snib, that wons 'tween Dover
And Johnnie Groats;
Likewise Clan-W---fe, frae poor Hanover,
Might wear waur coats.
Retrench, retrench! or, faith, ye're over!
Ilk placeman snib, that wons 'tween Dover
And Johnnie Groats;
Likewise Clan-W---fe, frae poor Hanover,
Might wear waur coats.
Syne might cash in our pouches jingle,
And ilka nerve wi' pleasure tingle,
And folk in social pleasure mingle,
To break a joke,
While seated round the bleezin' ingle,
To tak' their smoke.
And ilka nerve wi' pleasure tingle,
And folk in social pleasure mingle,
To break a joke,
While seated round the bleezin' ingle,
To tak' their smoke.
But, leezanee! I greatly doubt
This change will never come about:
Our statesmen may baith darn and clout
The constitution,
Yet rapid comes, beyond dispute,
Its dissolution.
This change will never come about:
Our statesmen may baith darn and clout
The constitution,
Yet rapid comes, beyond dispute,
Its dissolution.
The curse o' debt hings owre the nation,
Beyond the power o' liquation:
A thousand millions! what taxation
Could stap its gab?
Item—a sultan-coronation,
To fleece our fab!
Beyond the power o' liquation:
351
Could stap its gab?
Item—a sultan-coronation,
To fleece our fab!
Oh war! thou offspring of the devil,
And source o' mony a waefu' evil,
Whether thou foreign be or civil,
Want's in thy train;
Hence dear Tobacco will us grieve still—
A matchless bane.
And source o' mony a waefu' evil,
Whether thou foreign be or civil,
Want's in thy train;
Hence dear Tobacco will us grieve still—
A matchless bane.
| Poems, on sacred and other subjects | |