Page images
PDF
EPUB

Wae worth that brandy, burning trash!
Fell source o' monie a pain an' brash!
Twins monie a poor, doylt, druken hash,
O' half his days;

An' sends, beside, auld Scotland's cash
To her warst faes.

Ye Scots, wha wish auld Scotland well, Ye chief, to you my tale I tell,

Poor plackless devils like mysel,

It sets you ill,

Wi' bitter, dearthfu' wines to mell,

Or foreign gill.

May gravels round his blather wrench,
An' gouts torment him inch by inch,
Wha twists his gruntle wi' a glunch
O' sour disdain,

Out owre a glass o' whiskey punch
Wi' honest men!

O whiskey! soul o' plays an' pranks!
Accept a Bardie's gratefu' thanks!

When wanting thee, what tuneless cranks

!

Are my poor verses -they rattle i' their ranks

Thou comes

At ither's a-!

Thee, Ferintosh! O sadly lost!
Scotland lament frae coast to coast!
Now colic grips, an' barkin' hoast,

May kill us a';

For loyal Forbes' charter'd boast,
Is ta'en awa!

Thae curst horse-leeches o' th' Excise,
Wha mak the whiskey stells their prize!
Haud up thy han', Deil! ance, twice, thrice!
There, seize the blinkers!

An' bake them up in brunstane pies

For poor d-n'd drinkers.

Fortune! if thou'll but gie me still
Hale breeks, a scone, an' whiskey gill,
An' rowth o' rhyme to rave at will,

Tak' a' the rest,

An' deal't about as thy blind skill

Directs thee best.

Scotch drink is a favourite topic with the northern poets; three instances may be given of poems in its praise by our old minstrels. The earliest of these is good classical Scotch, and named "Allane-a-Maut." It begins thus:

"Quhen he wes zung, and cled in grene,
Haifand his hair about his ene,
Baith men and women did him mene;

Quhen he grew on zon hillis hie

Quhy sowld not Allane honorit be?"

The second is in a homelier dialect, and is as well known

in the north of England as in the south of Scotland ;it is also called "Allan-o-Maut."

"Gude Allan-o-Maut was ance ca'd bear,
And he was cadged frae wa' to wear,

And dragglet wi' muck and syne wi' rain,
Till he diet and came to life again."

The name of the third is "John Barleycorn;" it is in the ballad style, and has, as will be shown, been successfully imitated by Burns. Fergusson, in his "Drink Eclogue," makes brandy and whiskey with little propriety-in an allegorical sense-hold conversation with an Edinburgh hostess :

"Twa chappin' bottles panged wi' liquor fu',

Brandy the tane, the tither whiskey blue,
Grew cankered, for the twa were het within,
And het-skinned fouk to flytin soon begin;

The Frenchman fizzed and first wad foot the field,

While paughty Scotsman scorned to beenge or yield.”

Brandy assumes a lordly tone; speaks with scorn of the native cordial, and boasts how he chased hysterics from ladies, and cheered even priests in the closet instead of prayers. Whiskey, calmly and mildly-says he inspired poets with song, and made Allan Ramsay's chaunter

"chirm fu' clear,

Life to the soul and music to the ear."

Brandy appeals to the landlady, who settles the matter at once. The Excise, she observes, has hindered the importation of the right Cogniac, and that the spirit in the bottle, which gives itself such aristocratic airs, is

"Whiskey, tinctured with the saffron's dye."

"I here enclose you," says Burns, on the 20th of March, 1786, to one of his correspondents, "my Scotch Drink.' I hope, some time before we hear the gowk, to have the pleasure of seeing you at Kilmarnock, when I intend we shall have a gill between us, in a mutchkin stoup."

THE AUTHOR'S

EARNEST CRY AND PRAYER

TO THE

SCOTCH REPRESENTATIVES

IN THE

HOUSE OF COMMONS.

"Dearest of distillation! last and best!

How art thou lost!

PARODY ON MILTON.

YE Irish lords, ye knights an' squires,
Wha represent our brughs an' shires,
An' doucely manage our affairs

In parliament,

To you a simple Bardie's prayers

Are humbly sent.

Alas! my roupet Muse is hearse!

Your honour's heart wi' grief 'twad pierce, To see her sittin' on her a―

Low i' the dust,

An' scriechin' out prosaic verse,

An' like to brust!

Tell them wha hae the chief direction,
Scotland an' me's in great affliction,
E'er sin' they laid that curst restriction
On aquavitæ ;

An' rouse them up to strong conviction,
An' move their pity.

Stand forth, an' tell yon Premier youth, The honest, open, naked truth:

Tell him o' mine an' Scotland's drouth,

His servants humble:

The muckle devil blaw ye south,

If ye dissemble!

Does ony great man glunch an' gloom? Speak out, an' never fash your thumb! Let posts an' pensions sink or soom

Wi' them wha grant 'em :

If honestly they canna come,

Far better want 'em.

In gath'rin votes you were na slack; Now stand as tightly by your tack; Ne'er claw your lug, an' fidge your back, An' hum an' haw;

But raise your arm, an' tell your crack

Before them a'.

« PreviousContinue »