Cockle-Leerie-La.
[William Miller.]
There is a country gentleman, who leads a thrifty life,
Ilk morning scrapin' orra things thegither for his wife:
His coat's o' glowin' ruddy brown, and wavilet wi' gold—
A crimson crown upon his head, well-fitting one so bold.
If ithers pick where he did scrape, he brings them to disgrace,
For, like a man of mettle, he siclike meets face to face;
He gi'es the loons a letherin', a crackit croon to claw—
There is nae gaun about the buss wi' Cockie-leerie-la!
His step is firm and evenly, his look both grave and sage—
To bear his rich and stately tail should have a pretty page;
And, though he hauds his head fu' hie, he glinteth to the grun,
Nor fyles his silver spurs in dubs wi' glowrin' at the sun:
And whyles I've thocht had he a haun wharwi' to grip a stickie,
A pair o' specks across his neb, an' roun' his neck a dickie,
That weans wad laugh, an' haud their sides, an' cry—"Preserve us a'.
Ye're some frien' to Doctor Drawblood, douce Cockie-leerie-la!"
So learn frae him to think nae shame to work for what ye need,
For he that gapes till he be fed, may gape till he be dead;
An' if ye live in idleness, ye'll find unto your cost,
That they wha winna work in heat will hunger in the frost.
An' hain wi' care ilk sair-worn plack, and honest pride will fill
Your purse wi' gear—e'en far-aff frien's will bring grist to your mill;
An' if, when grown to be a man, your name's without a flaw,
Then rax your neck, and tune your pipes to—Cockie-leerie-la!