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Ane by ane we paid our quota,
Ane by ane we stacher'd hame;
Al' I'm vera certain not a
Soul amang us but thought shame.
O, my head! how lang will mortals
Dare great Nature's laws transgress?
Rushing headlong through the portals
That lead to such wretchedness.
But yestreen I left my dwelling
Wi' a mind serenely gay;—
Now my vera een are telling
What a man for drink must pay.
Temperance! thy couch of roses
Wisdom ever loves to share;
While Intemperance reposes
On the thorny breast o' Care.
Shun, then shun the road to ruim,—
Through the tavern's gate it lies ;
And believe me, while so doing,
On the wings of Joy ye'll rise.
