20 THE DOMINIE DEPOS'D.
Too aft my thirſty-throat to cool, I went to viſit the punch bowl, Which makes me now wear reddiſh wool Inſtead o' black; Or I muſt foot the cutty-ſtool Wi deil a plack.
The chappen ſtoup, the pint an' gill, Too aft I cauſed for to fill, Ay loving thoſe wha wou'd fit ſtill, An' wet the mouth, Ne'er minding that the TULLO-HILL, Leads people ſouth.
O but that loving laird Kingſwells My bleſſings flow where his foot ſwells, Lang life to him whate'er befals, God be his guide, He's cur'd a thouſand thirſty fauls, An' mine beſide.
O had I but thae days again, Which I fae freely ſpent in vain, I'd ſtrive ſome better for to ken, What future chance Shou'd blaw me here out o'er the main, And fae near France.
"But ſince what ails maun ay befal "The chiel that will be prodigal; "When waſted to the very ſpaul "He turns his tuſk, "For want o' comfort to his faul, "On hungry huſk.”
Now
