3
Whase rule was aye nae room to gie
To ony needless quarrels, man;
Gude yill, plain snuff, and social crack,
Was a’ we had to gie or tak,
Aud we could be as blythe, in fact,
Wi' siccan fare, when gathered there,
As they whase share o’ gowd and gear
Could match a duke’s or earl's, man.
The sneeshin mill, the cap gude round,
The joke the crack an’ a’ man
Bout markets, trade and daily news,
to wear the time awa, man;
Ye never saw a blyther set
O' queer auld-fashioned bodies met,
For fient a grain o‘ pride, nor pet,
Nor eating care gat footing there,
But friendship rare, aye found sincere,
And hearts wothout a fiaw, man.
To cringing courtiers, kings may b’aw
How rich they are an’ great man,
But kings could match na us at a’.
Wi a their regal state; man,
For Mirran‘s swats sae brisk an’ fell,
in' Turiier's snuff, sac sharp an’ sneil.
Made ilk ane quite forget himsel;
Made young the auld inflamed the cauld
And fired the saul wi’ projects bauld,
That daured the power o' fate, man.
