| |
| WHAN father Adie first pat spade in | |
| The bonny yeard of antient Eden, | |
| His amry had nae liquor laid in, | |
| To fire his mou’, | |
| Nor did he thole his wife’s upbraidin’ | 5 |
| For being fou. | |
| |
| A caller burn o’ siller sheen, | |
| Ran cannily out o’er the green, | |
| And whan our gutcher’s drouth had been | |
| To bide right sair, | 10 |
| He loutit down and drank bedeen | |
| A dainty skair. | |
| |
| His bairns a’ before the flood | |
| Had langer tack o’ flesh and blood, | |
| And on mair pithy shanks they stood | 15 |
| Than Noah’s line | |
| Wha still hae been a feckless brood | |
| Wi’ drinking wine. | |
| |
| The fuddlin’ Bardies now-a-days | |
| Rin maukin-mad in Bacchus’ praise, | 20 |
| And limp and stoiter thro’ their lays | |
| Anacreontic, | |
| While each his sea of wine displays | |
| As big’s the Pontic. | |
| |
| My muse will no gang far frae hame, | 25 |
| Or scour a’ airths to hound for fame; | |
| In troth, the jillet ye might blame | |
| For thinking on’t, | |
| Whan eithly she can find the theme | |
| Of aqua font. | 30 |
| |
| This is the name that doctors use | |
| Their patient noddles to confuse; | |
| Wi’ simples clad in terms abstruse, | |
| They labour still, | |
| In kittle words to gar you roose | 35 |
| Their want o’ skill. | |
| |
| But we’ll hae nae sick clitter-clatter, | |
| And briefly to expound the matter, | |
| It shall be ca’d good Caller Water, | |
| Than whilk, I trow, | 40 |
| Few drogs in doctors’ shops are better | |
| For me or you. | |
| |
| Tho’ joints are stiff as ony rung, | |
| Your pith wi’ pain be fairly dung, | |
| Be you in Caller Water flung | 45 |
| Out o’er the lugs, | |
| ’Twill mak you souple, swack and young, | |
| Withouten drugs. | |
| |
| Tho’ cholic or the heart-scad teaze us, | |
| Or ony inward pain should seize us, | 50 |
| It masters a’ sic fell diseases | |
| That would ye spulzie, | |
| And brings them to a canny crisis | |
| Wi’ little tulzie. | |
| |
| Wer’t na for it the bonny lasses | 55 |
| Would glowr nae mair in keeking glasses, | |
| And soon tine dint o’ a’ the graces | |
| That aft conveen | |
| In gleefu’ looks and bonny faces, | |
| To catch our ein. | 60 |
| |
| The fairest then might die a maid, | |
| And Cupid quit his shooting trade, | |
| For wha thro’ clarty masquerade | |
| Could than discover, | |
| Whether the features under shade | 65 |
| Were worth a lover? | |
| |
| As simmer rains bring simmer flow’rs | |
| And leaves to cleed the birken bowers, | |
| Sae beauty gets by caller show’rs, | |
| Sae rich a bloom | 70 |
| As for estate, or heavy dow’rs | |
| Aft stands in room. | |
| |
| What makes Auld Reikie’s dames sae fair, | |
| It canna be the halesome air, | |
| But caller burn beyond compare, | 75 |
| The best of ony, | |
| That gars them a’ sic graces skair, | |
| And blink sae bonny. | |
| |
| On May-day in a fairy ring, | |
| We’ve seen them round St. Anthon’s spring, | 80 |
| Frae grass the caller dew draps wring, | |
| To weet their ein, | |
| And water clear as chrystal spring, | |
| To synd them clean. | |
| |
| O may they still pursue the way | 85 |
| To look sae feat, sae clean, sae gay! | |
| Then shall their beauties glance like May, | |
| And, like her, be | |
| The goddess of the vocal spray, | |
| The Muse, and me. | 90 |
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