I never sooner siller got, But a’ my pouches it would plot, And scorch them fair, it was sae hot; Then to get clear Of it, I swill’d it down my throat, In ale or beer. Thus, a’ my failing was my glass, An’ anes to please a bonny lass, I, like a silly amorous ass, Drew forth my gully, An’ through an’ through at the first pass, Ran Mr. Willy. Sae far this mad, though merry fit, I was sair vexed, and forced to flit, They plagu’d me sae wi’ pay and sit, Quo’ they, You thief, How durst you try to steal a bit Forbidden beef? O then, I humbly plead that _vos_, Would make it your continual _mos_, Wi’ hearts sincere an’ open _os_, You’d often pray, _A tali malo libera nos, O Dominie_. For, hark, I’ll tell you what they think, Since I left handling pen an’ ink: Wae worth that weary soup o’ drink He lik’d sae weel, He drank it a’, left not a clink His throat to swill. He lik’d, still sitting on his doup, To view the pint or cutty stoup, And sometimes lasses overcoup, Upo’ their keels, This made the lad at length to loup, And tak his heels. Then was it not a grand presumption, To ca’ him doctor o’ the function? He dealt too much in barley-unction For his profession: He never took a good injunction Frae kirk or session. An’ to attend, he was not willing, His school, sae lang’s he had a shilling, But lov’d to be where there was filling Good punch or ale, For him to rise was just like killing Or first to fail. His fishing-wand, his sneeshing box, A fowling piece, to shoot muir cocks, An’ hunting hare through craigs and rocks, This was his game, Still left the young anes, so the fox Might worry them. When he committed a’ these tricks, 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 changed his coat to red and blue, An’ like a sot Did the poor Clerk convert into A Royal Scot.