On A Scotch Bard, Gone To The West Indie（2 / 3）

  that's owre the sea!
  he saw misfortune's cauld nor-west
  lang mustering up a bitter blast;
  a jillet brak his heart at last,
  ill may she be!
  so, took a berth afore the mast,
  an' owre the sea.
  to tremble under fortune's cummock,
  on a scarce a bellyfu' o' drummock,
  wi' his proud, independent stomach,
  could ill agree;
  so, row't his hurdies in a hammock,
  an' owre the sea.
  he ne'er was gien to great misguidin,
  yet coin his pouches wad na bide in;
  wi' him it ne'er was under hiding;
  he dealt it free:
  the muse was a' that he took pride in,
  that's owre the sea.
  jamaica bodies, use him weel,
  an' hap him in cozie biel:
  ye'll find him aye a dainty chiel,
  an' fou o' glee:
  he wad na wrang'd the vera deil,
  that's owre the sea.
  farewell, my rhyme-composing billie!
  your native soil was right ill-willie;
  but may ye flourish like a lily,
  now bonilie!
  i'll toast you in my hindmost gillie, ↑返回顶部↑