"I'm leaving you, my weel-won gear, "Stick to my never-tailing rule, And crooked, crooked are the ways, E'en o' the best believers. They're fules that fecht 'bout kirk or state, A' parties ye maun flatter; Do ocht to bring a grist your gate, Your kirk maun be the happer. Frae politics nae good I got, They made me sick and sorry; But gin that ye can sell your vote, Be either Whig or Tory! "It matters little wha's in power, ""Tween love o' drink, and love o' gear, It's weel eneugh as lang's that folk, "Avoid, avoid it, Johnny dear, It's waur than stupid nonsense; U Oh! what I've spent is lying here, A wecht upon my conscience. I never paid e'en for a jug, O' puir weak whisky toddy; But something whispered in my lug- "The lasses, they will set their caps, Nae doubt, to catch the miller ; Avoid their tea and coukie traps, They'll lay them for your siller. And then their mothers lay sic schemes, They'll turn e'en muckle men to weans, They're never but they're laying schemes, To catch the thrifty fallows; But ye'll avoid the cunning dames, As ye would do the gallows; They're far mair crafty than the men, If e'er they catch you dreamin; They'll hae you buckled e'er ye ken, Beware! beware o' women!" Wi' that the body sough'd awa, And a' his troubles ended; It's for sic rantin' roarin' boys, Then fill your glasses to the brim, CHARLOCH BAN.* To an old Highland tune. The simmer birds are gane, Yet I rove the woods alane, Charloch Ban, Charloch Ban. You promised you'd be here, When the Autumn leaf grew sere, And ah noo its winter drear, Charloch Ban, Charloch Ban. O then ye were my pride, When ye said I'd be your bride, Charloch Ban, Charloch Ban. Ye were a joy to see, Wi' thy tartans waving free, Fair Charlie. |