6
When he committed all these tiicks,
For which he weel deserv’d his licks,
Wi’ red coats he did intermix,
When he foresaw
The punishment the kirk inflicts
On fowks that fa’.
Then to his thrift he bade adieu,
When wi’ his tail he stopp’d his mou’.
He chang’d his coat to red and blue,
And like a sot
Did the poor Clerk convert into
A Royal Scot.
And now fowks use me at their wills,
My name is blawn out-o’er the hills,
At banquets, feasts, a’ mouths it fills,
’Twixt each here’s t’thee.
It’s sore traduc’d at kilns and milns,
And common smithy.
Then Dominies, I you beseech,
Keep very far from Bacchus’ reach,
He drowned a’ my cares to preach,
Wi’ his maut bree,
I’ve wore sair banes by mony a bleech
O’ his tap-tree:
If Venus does possess your mind,
Her anticks ten times warse ye’ll find,
For to ill tricks she’s ay inclin’d,
For proticks past,
She blew me here before the wind;
Cauld be her cast.
