ON A SCOTCH BARD GONE TO THE WEST INDIES. A Ye wha live by fowps o' drink, A' ye wha live by crambo-clink, wha live and never think, Come, mourn wi' me! Our billie's gien us a' a jink, An' owre the Sea. Lament him a' ye rantan core, Wha dearly like a random-fplore; Nae mair he'll join the merry roar, In focial key; For now he's taen anither shore, An' owre the Sea! The bonie laffes weel wifs him, may And in their dear petitions place him: The widows, wives, an' a' may bless him, Wi' tearfu' e'e; For weel I wat they'll fairly miss him That's owre the Sea! O Fortune, they hae room to grumble! Hadft thou taen aff fome drowsy bummle, Wha can do nought but fyke an' fumble, "Twad been nae plea; But he was gleg as onie wumble, That's owre the Sea! Auld, cantie KYLE may weepers wear, An' ftain them wi' the faut, faut tear: "Twill mak her poor, auld heart, I fear, In flinders flee: He was her Laureat monie a year, That's owre the Sea! He faw Misfortune's cauld Nor-west Lang-mustering up a bitter blaft; A Jillet brak his heart at last, Ill may fhe be! So, took a birth afore the mast, An' owre the Sea. To tremble under Fortune's cummock, On scarce a bellyfu' o' drummock, Wi' his proud, independant ftomach, Could ill agree; So, row't his hurdies in a hammock, An' owre the Sea. He ne'er was gien to great misguidin, Yet coin his pouches wad na bide in; Wi' him it ne'er was under hidin; He dealt it free: The Muse was a' that he took pride in, That's owre the Sea. Jamaica bodies, ufe him weel, An' hap him in a cozie biel: Ye'll find him ay a dainty chiel, An' fou o' glee : He wad na wrang'd the vera Diel, That's owre the Sea. Fareweel, my rhyme-compofing billie! Your native foil was right ill-willie; But may ye flourish like a lily, I'll toast you in my Now bonilie! hindmoft gillie, Tho' owre the Sea! |