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The besoms ! O they smiled to me — an' yet
They couldiia' help it. (Mysel'j I just was thinkin' foo we'd get
They Gairmans skelpit.)
I'm wearied wi' them, for it's aye the same
\Miaiire'er we gang, Oor Captain thinks we've got his een to blame,
But man ! he's wrang ! I winna say he's no as smairt a lad
As ye micht see Atween twa Sawbiths — aye, he's no sae bad.
But he's no me !
Weel, let the limmers bide ; their bonnie lips
Are fine an' reid, But me an' Weel urn's got to get to grips
Afore we're deid, An' gin he thinks he hasna' met his match
He'll sune be wiser — Here's to mysel' ! Here's to the auld Black Watch I
An' damn the Kaiser !
— Violet Jacob.
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