The comical stories of Thrummy Cap and the Ghaist (NLS104185773)/Soda Water

by John Burness

SODA WATER.

Puir Scotland’s scaith is whisky rife,
The very king o’ curses;
Breeds ilka ill, care, trouble, strife,
Ruins health and empties purses.
It fills a peaceful land vvi’ strife,
The ale-house fills wi’ roarin’;
It fills wi’ broils domestic life,
An’ fills the kirk wi’ snoarin’.

’Twas on a bonny morn in May,
Twa three chiels did forgather,
The night before, they’d gane astray,
And were a’ drunk thegither;
Wi’ pain their pows were like to part,
Their very tongues did russel;
Wi’ shilpit look and shiverin’ heart,
And throats as dry’s a whissel.

O for a drink of something cool,
Says ane, for Pm maist faintin’;
Then let’s go in, another says,
For my puir head’s just rentin,

And I've the very best receipt,
The stomach fumes to scatter;
Then loose nae time and let us get
A waught o' Soda Water.

Water will never do, says ane,
Gie me some cheese that's mittie,
And then a bumper o'good gin,
Or sterling aquavitæ:
To make you right this is the plan,
'Twill make you fair and fatter;
But says the chiel that first began,
There's nought like Soda Water.

If Soda Water be sae good,
Gang ye and drink
But, I wad hae it understood,
That I'd prefer a gill;
Water's a blessing, nae doubt, fixt,
And may it ne'er be missing;
But when wi' whisky it is mixt,
It's then a double blessing.

On fixed air the hale house rang,
And pointed observations,
For some were right and some were wrang,
And some were out of patience.
Ye dinna seem to be in haste,
For a' your chitter chatter;
Come bring it in, and let us taste
This self same Soda Water.

Unto ilk man a bottle's plac'd,
In silent expectation,

That they wad better be in haste
After so much oration;
It's just to be, or not to be,
To take an unkenn'd doze,
Short sighted man can hardly see
An inch before his nose.

I'll ask 'hi favour frae ilk man,
And ye will surely grant it,
To drink it up as quick's you can,
Nor take time to decant it;
Like-bugle-horns then in a raw,
They glower up to the lift,
And it was hardly down when twa
O' them began to rift.

That's curious stuff, it's made me weel,
I ne'er drank this before,
Wi' that the Soda Water chiel
Got up wi' sic a roar;
I'm gone, I'm poison’d, fatal drink!
For me there is no cure;
When o'er his cheeks, black streams like (illegible text)
Ran gushing to the floor.

He held the bottle up to break,
Nae langer life expeckin',
Syne read the label round it's neck,
The real Japan Blackin;
He's ill before, but now he's worse,
Wi' grit and ga he's partin',
And twixt ilk boak he gaed a curse
Against real Day and Martin.