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Since life’s but a bubble, what bubblers are they,
Who trifle and bubble their moments away,
Our business is pleasure, in pleasure we roll.
And divide all our hours ’twixt the fair & ⟨the⟩ bowl;
Then here goes my boy,
Such charms near can cloy.
For love is the topmast, the high top of joy.
Can kings, after toils or the tumults of state,
Thus boldly defy all the cares of the great?
Can they thus enjoy the few moments they live,
Or relish the innocent freedom they give?
’Tis out of their scope,
Whilst cares interlope,
For liquor and love are our anchors of hope.
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THE AULD YELLOW-HAIR'D LADDIE.
THE yellow-hair’d laddie sat down on yon brae.
Cries, Milk the ews, lassie, let nane of them gae;
And ay she milked, and ay she sang,
The yellow-hair’d laddie shall be my goodman.
And ay she milked, and ay fbe fang, etc.
The weather is cauld and my claithing is thin;
The ews are new clipped, they winna bught in:
They winna bught in tho’ I shou’d die,
O yellow-hair’d laddie, be kind to me:
They winna bught in tho' I shou’d die, etc.
The good wife cries butt the house, Jenny,come ben,
The cheese is to mak, and the butter’s to kirn.
Tho’ butter, and cheese, and a’ shou’d sour,
I'll crack and kiss wi’ my love ae ha’f hour;
It’s ae ha’f hour, and we’s e’en mak it three,
For the yellow-hair’d laddie my husband shall be.
Printed by J. & M. Robertson, Saltmatket, 1802.
