3
The ancient Bards, to sknw their skill,
Plac'd Muses on Parnassus O;
But let them fable as they will,
My Muses are the lasses, O.
Fairfa', &c.
The drunkard cries, the joys o' wine
A' ither mirth surpasses, O;
But he ne'er kent the bliss divine,
That I hae wi' the lasses, O.
Fairfa', &c.
When I am wi' the chosen few,
The time fu' quickly passes, O,
But days are hours, and less, I trow,
When I am wi' the lasses, O.
Fairfa', &c.
When joys abound, then let a round
Of overflowing glasses, O,
Gae brisk about, an clean drink out;
The toast be-- 'Bonnie lasses,' O.
Fairfa', &c.
THE FRIEND AND PITCHER.
The wealthy fool with gold in store,
Will still desire to grow the richer;
Give me but these, I ask no more;
My charming girl, my friend and pitcher.
