Young Lochinvar (2)/Scottish Whisky

SCOTTISH WHISKY.

Ye social sons of Scotia's isle,
⁠Who love to rant and roar, Sir.

To drink, to dance, to langh, to sing,
⁠And hie withouten care, Sir;
Attend and listen to my lays,
⁠'Twill make you blithe and friskie;
I sing, who dare my theme despise?
⁠In praise of guid Scots Whisky.
⁠O my cheering, care-dispelling,
⁠Heart-reviving Whisky;
⁠Thou brightens up the gloom of life,
⁠That aft look dark and duskie.

Let Frenchmen o' their bev'rage boast,
⁠The juice of Gallic vine. Sir,
And Dons and Portuguese rehearse
⁠The praises o' their wine, Sir;
I don't envy them with their tons,
⁠Gi'e me a little caskie
O' Caledonia's nectar pure,
⁠The real Scottish Whisky.
⁠O my cheering, &c.

Jamaica Rum it's but a hum,
⁠So is the best Antigua;
And Holland's gin no worth, a pin,
⁠Compar'd wi' dear Kilbegie.
⁠Whoever wants to take a house,
⁠Or have a jovial pliskie,
⁠They only need to weet their mou's
⁠Wi' real Scottish Whisky.
⁠O my cheering, &c.