Robert Burns - Scotch DrinkRobert Burns - Scotch Drink
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Let other poets raise a fracas
Bout vines, and wines, an drucken Bacchus,
An crabbit names an stories wrack us,
An grate our lug:
I sing the juice Scotch bear can mak us,
In glass or Jug.
O thou, my Muse! guid auld Scotch drink!
Whether thro` wimplin worms thou jink,
Or, richly brown, ream owre the brink,
In glorious faem
Inspire me, till I lisp an wink,
To sing thy name!
Let husky wheat the haughs adorn,
An aits set up their awnie horn,
An Pease and beans, at e`en or morn,
Perfume the plain:
Leeze me on thee, John Barleycorn,
Thou king o` grain!
On thee aft Scotland chows her cood,
In souple scones, the wale o` food!
Or tumbling in the boiling flood
Wi` kail an beef;
But when thou pours thy strong heart`s blood
There thou shines chief.
Food fills the wame, an keeps us livin;
Tho life`s a gift no worth receivin
When heavy-dragg`d wi pine an grievin;
But oil`d by thee
The wheels o` life gae down-hill, scrievin,
Wi` rattlin glee.
Thou clears the head o` doited Lear,
Thou cheers the heart o` drooping Care;
Thou strings the nerves o` Labour sair,
At `s weary toil;
Thou ev`n brightens dark Despair
Wi` gloomy smile.
Aft, clad in massy siller weed,
Wi gentles thou erscts thy head;
Yet humbly kind in time o` need,
The poor man`s wine:
His wee drap parritch, or his bread,
Thou kitchens fine.
Thou art the life o` public haunts;
But thee, what were our fairs and rants?
Ev`n godly meetings o` the saunts,
By thee inspir`d,
When, gaping, they besiege the tents,
Are doubly fir`d.
That merry night we get the corn in,
O sweetly, then, thou reams the horn
Or reekin on a New-Year mornin
In cog or bicker,
An just a wee drap sp`ritual burn in,
An gusty sucker!
When Vulcan gies his bellows breath,
An ploughmen gather wi their graith,
O rare! to see thee fizz an freath
I` th` lugget caup!
Then Burnewin comes on like death
At every chaup.
Nae mercy, then, for airn or steel:
The brawnie, bainie, ploughman chiel,
Brings hard owrehip, wi sturdy wheel,
The strong forehammer,
Till block an studdie ring an reel,
Wi dinsome clamour.
When skirlin` weanies see the light,
Thou maks the gossips clatter bright,
How fumblin coofs their dearies slight;
Wae worth the name!
Nae howdie gets a social night,
Or plack frae them.
When neebors anger at a plea,
An just as wud as wud can be,
How easy can the barley-brie
Cement the quarrel!
It`s aye the cheapest lawyer`s fee,
To taste the barrel.
Alake! that e`er my Muse has reason,
To wyte her countrymen wi` treason!
But monie daily weet their weason
Wi` liquors nice,
An hardly, in a winter season,
E`er spier her price.
Wae worth that brandy, burnin trash!
Fell source o` monie a pain an brash!
Twins monie a poor, doylt, drucken 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` whisky-punch
Wi honest men!
O Whisky! soul o` plays an pranks!
Accept a Bardie`s gratefu thanks!
When wanting thee, what tuneless cranks
Are my poor verses!
Thou comes—-they rattle i` their ranks,
At ither`s arses!
Thee, Ferintosh! O sadly lost!
Scotland lament frae coast to coast!
Now colic grips, an barkin hoast
May kill us a`;
For loyal Eorbes` charter`d boast
Is taen awa!
They curst horse-leeches o` th` Excise,
Wha mak the whisky stells their prize!
Haud up thy han`, Deil! ance, twice, thrice!
There, seize the blinkers!
An bake them up in brunstane pies
For poor damn`d drinkers.
Fortune! if thou`ll but gie me still
Hale breeks, a scone, an whisky gill,
An rowth o` rhyme to rave at will,
Tak a` the rest,
An deal`t about as thy blind skill
Directs thee best.
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