Four Popular Songs (1)/The drygate brig
SONGS.
———
The Drygate Brig.
Last Monday night at sax o'clock,
To Mirran Gibbs I went, man,
To snuff, am' crack an' toom the cap.
It was my haill intent, man;
Sae down I sat and pried the yill,
Syne luggit out my sneeshin mill,
An’ took a pinch wi’ right good will
O beggar's brown, (the best in town,)
Then sent it roun’ about the room
To gie ilk ane a scent, man.
Our club consisted,—let me see—
O augh! auld canty carles man,
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.
But what are a’ sic mighhty schemes,
When ance the spell is broke man?
A set o' maut-inspiring whims.
That end in perfect smoke, man:
An what (illegible text)e some disaster keen.
Can chase the glamour frae our een.
An bring us to oursels again?
As was the fate o my o d pate,
When that night late I took the gate,
as crouse as ony cock man,
For, sad misluck without my hat
I doiting cam awa man,
And when I down the Drygate cam,
the win' began to blaw man;
When I cam to the Drygate brig.
The win blew aff my gude brown wig,
That whirled like ony whirligig,
As up it flew out o' my view,
While I stood glowring, waefu blue,
wi’ wide extended jaw man.
When I began to grape for t syne.
thrang poutrin wi‘ my staff, man
I coupet owre a muckle stane.
and skailed my pickle snuff man
My staff out o my had did jump
An struck my snout a dreadfu' thump,
Whilk raised a most confounded lump.
But whar it flew I never knew.
Yet sair I rue this mark sae blue,
it leuks sae fleesome waff man
O, had you seen my waefu' plight,
your mirth had been bu sma', man
An' yet a queerer antic sight
I trow ye never saw man
I’ve lived thir fyfty years an' mair,
But solemn y I here declare
I ne er before met loss sae sair
My wig flew aff I tint my staff.
I skailed my snuff I peeled mv loof,
an’ brak my snout an’ a’ man.
Now wad ye profit by my loss?—
then, tak advice frae me. man.
And ne’er let common sense tak wing
on fumes o' barley-bree man;
For drink can heeze a man sae high,
vs mak his head maist touch the sky.
But down he tumbles by-an’-by
wi sic a thud ’mang stanes an mud.
That aft it s gude if dirt and b uid
be a he has to dree, man.