No breaks
from 9 a.m. to now. Again. Grateful that the last meeting ended early,
though!
____________________________________
On A
Scotch Bard, Gone To The West Indies
By Robert
Burns
A' ye wha
live by sowps o' drink,
A' ye wha
live by crambo-clink,
A' ye wha
live and never think,
Come,
mourn wi' me!
Our
billie 's gien us a' a jink,
An' owre
the sea!
Lament
him a' ye rantin core,
Wha
dearly like a random splore;
Nae mair
he'll join the merry roar;
In social
key;
For now
he's taen anither shore.
An' owre
the sea!
The bonie
lasses weel may wiss him,
And in
their dear petitions place him:
The widows,
wives, an' a' may bless him
Wi'
tearfu' e'e;
For weel
I wat they'll sairly miss him
That's
owre the sea!
O
Fortune, they hae room to grumble!
Hadst
thou taen aff some drowsy bummle,
Wha can
do nought but fyke an' fumble,
'Twad
been nae plea;
But he
was gleg as ony wumble,
That's
owre the sea!
Auld,
cantie Kyle may weepers wear,
An' stain
them wi' the saut, saut tear;
'Twill
mak her poor auld heart, I fear,
In
flinders flee:
He was
her Laureat mony a year,
That's
owre the sea!
He saw Misfortune's
cauld nor-west
Lang
mustering up a bitter blast;
A jillet
brak his heart at last,
Ill may
she be!
So, took
a berth afore the mast,
An' owre
the sea.
To
tremble under Fortune's cummock,
On a
scarce a bellyfu' o' drummock,
Wi' his
proud, independent stomach,
Could ill
agree;
So, row't
his hurdies in a hammock,
An' owre
the sea.
He ne'er
was gien to great misguidin,
Yet coin
his pouches wad na bide in;
Wi' him
it ne'er was under hiding;
He dealt
it free:
The Muse
was a' that he took pride in,
That's
owre the sea.
Jamaica
bodies, use him weel,
An' hap
him in cozie biel:
Ye'll
find him aye a dainty chiel,
An' fou
o' glee:
He wad na
wrang'd the vera deil,
That's
owre the sea.
Farewell,
my rhyme-composing billie!
Your
native soil was right ill-willie;
But may
ye flourish like a lily,
Now
bonilie!
I'll
toast you in my hindmost gillie,
Tho' owre
the sea!
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