The Linnet (1819, Falkirk)/An Improved Touch on the Times

by Anonymous

A NEW IMPROVED

TOUCH ON THE TIMES.

 

Now here's to every honest heart,the poor man's friend, and a' that,For feags I mean to tak their part,while I ha'e breath to draw that,For a' that, an' a' that,I'll tell the truth, an' a' that;We're like to ha'e a kittle time,for want o' trade, an' a' that.

The filler it is ill to win,and ill to ware, an a' that;You'll hardly get your Sixpence afffor threepence-worth, an'a' that.For a' that, an' a' that,A fairly you may ca' that;They'll neither gi'e you meal on trust,Nor tak their price for a' that.

I'm wae to see the tradesmen chaps,their shillings thin, an' a' that;The merchant ca's't no worth a groat,it winna do ava that.For a' that, an' a' that,Tobacco done, an' a' that;An' weans grinnin' roun' the fire,wi' hungry kytes, an' a' that.

They're sendin' braw new filler owrefrae Lunnin town, an' a' that;They'll tak the auld trash in like stour,an' gar ye pay for a' that.For a' that, an' a' that,An' whar's the gude o' a' that?Twa Shillings for a peck o'meal,it is a shame for a' that.

And our braw gentry, honest men,get tea an' toast, an a' that;Their puddins, pies, and cocks and hens,and kail, and beef, and a' that. An' a' that, an' a' that;They'll fit an' hash at a' that,Till a' their weel swell'd kytes belyve,are bent like drums, an' a'that.

They'll spend as much in ae night's time,on wine an rum, an' a'that,And catching hizzies by the wayme,in cozie nooks. an' a' that.For a' that, an' a' that,They're costly gear for a' that,They'll pay a guinea fer a wench,for warm breeks, an' a that.

There's some of them awa' to France;to spend their time, an a that;They think they'll hae a better chancefor cheaper wine, an'a' that.For a' that, an a' that.They'll get a cheat for a' that;They'll come again, an' a' their tailsbetween their feet, for a' that.

The Farmers now may cock their nose,their corn's dear, and a' that;Poor bodies now will scarce get brose,when they get tea, an'a' that.For a' that, an'a' that',Their milk is dear, an' a'thatTheir butter, cheese, and eggs, and hens, is double paid, for a' that,

Their fathers us'd to tak their brose,wi' servant-chields, an' a that;And wore a pair o' plaiden hose,and hudden breeks, an' a' that:For a' that. an' a' that,But now they winna shaw that;Foags they maun hae their silken hose,and jockey boots, an' a' that.

The carls now that sell the drink,they're cunnin blades, for a' that;Though they be hurling in the click,they're thankless brutes for a' that.For a' that, an' a' that,They'll sit and chat for a that;Till a' your cash be fairly spent,syne kick you out for a'that.

Although the times be very tight,the lasses dinna shaw that;They'll hae their tappies curl'd right,like water-dogs, an a' that.For a' that, an' a' that,Their morning-caps, an a'that;And wallops hanging at their lugs,like bridle-reins, an' a' that.

They'll hae their stays and muslin gowns,their habit-shirts, an'a' that;But fu' that pride can a' be seen,their wages disna draw that. For a' that, an' a' that,Their fathers pay for a' that;It gars the carls gang right bare,to get them clad, for a' that.

You'll hardly ken the servant-lassby the goodwife, for a' that;When they get on their braw pelisse,and hairy muffe, an' a' that.For a' that, an a' that,Their feathers, caps, an' a' that,Their faces black as ony deil,wi' blads o'crape, an'a' that.

But if the times don't alter soon,they'll get a turn for a' that;They'll get their mither's maunky-gown,and tartan plaid, an' a' that.For a that, an' a' that,A toy-mutch, an' a' that,A cutty-sark o' harn sheet,a worset brat, an' a' that.

Behad till ance they get a man,just gir it be their sa' that,They'll need to tak the scrimpest planto ware their groat, an' a' that.For a' that, an' a' that,And (illegible text) tea, an' a' that;They'll need to tak their braw pelissefor hippens yet, for a' that.

But surely times will tak a turn,let's live in hopes, for a'that;Although at present we do mourn,we may get trade for a' that.For a that, an a' that,And milk an meal an' a' that,Syne well forget this weary time,and never mind we saw that.

 

Divider from 'The Linnet', a chapbook printed in Falkirk in 1819