John Alcohol, my foe, John, Ye’ve blear’d out a’ my een, And lighted up my nose, John, A fiery sign atween! My hands wi’ palsy shake, John, My locks are like the snow; Ye’ll surely be the death o’ me, John Alcohol, my foe. John Alcohol, my foe, John, T’was love to you, I ween, That gart me rise sae ear’, John, And sit sae late at e’en; The best o’ friens maun part, John; It grieves me sair, ye know; But “we’ll nae mair to yon town,” John Alcohol, my foe. John Alcohol, my foe, John, Ye’ve wrought me muckle skaith; And yet to part wi’ you, John, I own I’m unko’ laith; But I’ll join the temperance ranks, John, Ye needna say me no; It’s better late than ne’er do weel, John Alcohol, my foe. _Home Tidings_, January, 1886. ―――― TED HENDERSON MY JO. Ted Henderson,[45] my Jo, Ted, When we were fast acquent, On giving Bobbies martial drill Your mind was wholly bent: But burglars have revolvers now, And mobs to riot go, And Hugh thinks you behind the times, Ted Henderson, my Jo. Ted Henderson, my Jo, Ted, It is a little hard The men in blue you won’t review Again in Scotland Yard. That you were not alone to blame Is what we all well know, But take your pension and depart, Ted Henderson my Jo. _Moonshine_, March 13, 1886. ――――:o:―――― The following imitations are selected from some _New Temperance Songs_, written by the Rev. R. S. Bowie, of Glasgow:―― THE WIFE’S APPEAL. Tune――“_O Willie brewed a Peck o’ Maut._” O never touch the drunkard’s cup, It drumly makes your sparkling e’e, And changes a’ your features sae, My kind gudeman nae mair I see. Then get na fou’, no, ne’er get fou’, Aye keep the wee drap oot your e’e; And at cock-craw, when day does daw, You’ll blyther far than drunkards be. Ne’er waste your hours wi’ _merry_ boys, Who to strong drink for pleasure flee; For if at night they _merry_ be, You know the pains next morn they dree. Then get na fou’, etc. “The moon, that frae her silver horn, Pours radiance over tower and tree,” Should never shine “to wile folk hame,” Frae tipplin’ o’ the barley bree. Then get nae fou’, etc. Shun a’ the gilded snares o’ vice, “The cuckold coward loon is he,” Who dare not say that wee word No! And act the man where’er he be. Then get na fou’, etc. ―――― TIB’S SANG――“OOR TAM HAS JOINED THE TEMPLARS NOO.” Tune――“_Duncan Gray._”