ON A SCOTCH BARD, GONE TO THE WEST INDIES. A' Ye wha live by fowps o' drink, Come mourn wi' me! Qur billie's gien us a' a jink, An' owre the Sea. Lament Lament him a' ye rantin core, Wha dearly like a random-fplore, Nae mair he'll join the merry roar, In focial key; For now he's taen anither fhore, An' owre the Sea! The bonnie laffes weel may wifs him, And in their dear petitions place him: The widows, wives, an' a' may bless him, Wi' tearfu' e'e; For weel I wat they'll fairly miss him That's owre the Sea. O Fortune, they hae room to grumble! Hadft thou taen aff fome drowsy bummle, Wha can do nought but fyke an' fumble, 'Twad been nae plea; But he was gleg as ony wumble, That's owre the Sea! Auld, Auld, cantie Kyle may weepers wear, An' ftain them wi' the faut, faut tear; 'Twill mak her poor auld heart, I fear, In flinders flee: He was her Laureat monie a year, That's owre the Sea! He faw Misfortune's cauld Nor-west Lang mustering up a bitter blaft; A Jillet brak his heart at last, Ill may she be! So, took a birth afore the mast, An' owre the Sea. To tremble under Fortune's cummock, On scarce a belly fu' o' drummock, Wi' his proud, independent ftomach, Could ill agree; So, row't his hurdies in a hammock, An' owre the Sea. He He ne'er was gien to great misguiding, Yet coin his pouches wad na bide in; Wi' him it ne'er was under hiding ; He dealt it free: The Mufe was a' that he took pride in, That's owre the Sea, Jamaica bodies, use him weel, An' hap him in a cozie biel: Ye'll find him ay a dainty chiel, And fou o' glee; He wad na wrang'd the vera Deil, That's owre the Sea, Fareweel, my rhyme-compofing billie! Your native foil was right ill-willie; But may ye flourish like a lily, Now bonnilie! I'll toaft ye in my hindmoft gillie, Tho' owre the Sea! ΤΟ |