LET ither bards exhaust their stock
Of heav'nly names, on heav'nly folk,
An god an goddesses invoke
Tae guide the pen,
While, just as well, a barber's block
Woud ser their en.
Nae muse hae I, like guid Scotch drink,
It mak's the dormant saul to think,
Gars wit and rhyme thegither clink,
In canty measure,
An even tho half fou we wink,
Inspires wi pleasure.
Whiles dullness stands for modest merit,
And impudence for manly spirit ;
Tae ken what worth each does inherit,
Just try the bottle,
Sen roun the glass, an dinna spare it,
Ye'll see their mettle.
O woud the gods but grant my wish !
My constant pray'r woud be for this,
That luve sincere, with health an peace,
My lot they'd clink in,
With now an then the social joys
0 frien'ly drinkin.
And when youth's rattlin days are done,
An age brings on life's afternoon,
Then, like a simmer's setting sun,
Brichtly serene,
Smiling, leuk back, an slidder down
Tae rise again.
[Semple 53]