THE SHARK;
OR LANG MILLS DETECTED.
“Yes, while I live, no rude or sordid knaveShall walk the world in credit to his grave.“ —POPE.
YE weaver blades! ye noble chiels!
Wha fill our land wi' plenty,
And mak our vera barest fiels
To waive wi' ilka dainty;
Defend yoursels, tak sicker heed,
I warn you as a brither;
Or Shark's resolved, wi' hellish greed,
To gorge us a' thegither,
At ance this day.
In Gude's-name will we ne'er get free
O' thieves and persecution!
Will Satan never let abee
To plot our dissolution!
Ae scoun'rel sinks us to the pit,
Wi' his eternal curses,
Anither granes,—and prays,—and yet
Contrives to toom our purses,
Maist every day.
A higher aim gars Willy think,
And deeper schemes he's brewin';
Ten thousan' fouk at ante to sink
To poverty and ruin!
Hail mighty patriot Noble soul!
Sae generous, and sae civil,
Sic vast designs deserve the whole
Applauses of the devil
On ony day.
In vain we've toiled wi' head and heart,
And constant deep inspection,
For years on years, to bring this art
So nearly to perfection;
The mair that art and skill deserve,
The greedier Will advances;
And saws and barrels only serve
To heighten our expenses
And wrath this day.
But know, to thy immortal shame,
While stands a paper-spot,
So long, great Squeeze-the-poor! thy fame,
Thy blasted fame shall rot;
And as a brick or limestane kiln
Wi' sooty reek advances;
So grateful shall thy mem'ry still
Be to our bitter senses,
By night or day.
Lang Willy Shark wi' greedy snout
Had sneaked about the C—n—l,
To eat his beef and booze about,
Nor proved at drinking punch ill;
Till, Judas-like, he got the bag,
And squeezed it to a jelly;
Thae war the days for Will to brag,
And blest times for the belly
Ilk ither day.