Ye glaiket, gleesome, dainty damies, Wha by Castalia’s wimplin’ streamies, Lowp, sing, and lave your pretty limbies, Ye ken, ye ken, That strang necessity supreme is ’Mang sons o’ men. I hae a wife and twa wee laddies, They maun hae brose and brats o’ duddies; Ye ken yoursels my heart right proud is— I need na vaunt, But I’ll sned besoms—thraw saugh woodies, Before they want. Lord help me thro’ this warld o’ care! I’m weary sick o’t late and air! Not but I hae a richer share Than mony ithers; But why should ae man better fare, And a’ men brithers? Come, Firm Resolve, take thou the van, Thou stalk o’ carl-hemp in man! And let us mind, faint heart ne’er wan A lady fair; Wha does the utmost that he can, Will whyles do mair. But to conclude my silly rhyme (I’m scant o’ verse, and scant o’ time)— To make a happy fire-side clime To weans and wife, That’s the true pathos and sublime Of human life. CROWDIE EVER MAIR O that I had ne’er been married, I wad never had nae care; Now I’ve gotten wife and bairns, An’ they cry “crowdie!” ever mair. Ance crowdie, twice crowdie, Three times crowdie in a day; Gin ye crowdie ony mair, Ye’ll crowdie a’ my meal away. Waefu want and hunger fley me, Glowrin’ by the hallen en’; Sair I fecht them at the door, But aye I’m eerie they come ben. ‘BRAW SOBER LESSONS’ (EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND) I lang hae thought, my youthfu’ friend, A something to have sent you, Tho’ it should serve nae ither end Than just a kind memento; But how the subject theme may gang, Let time and chance determine; Perhaps it may turn out a sang, Perhaps turn out a sermon. Ye’ll try the world soon, my lad, And, Andrew dear, believe me, Ye’ll find mankind an unco squad, And muckle they may grieve ye: For care and trouble set your thought, Ev’n when your end’s attained; And a’ your views may come to nought, Where ev’ry nerve is strained. I’ll no say men are villains a’; The real harden’d wicked, Wha hae nae check but human law, Are to a few restricked: But oh! mankind are unco weak, An’ little to be trusted; If self the wavering balance shake, It’s rarely right adjusted! Yet they wha fa’ in fortune’s strife, Their fate we shouldna censure; For still th’ important end of life They equally may answer. A man may hae an honest heart, Tho’ poortith hourly stare him; A man may tak a neibor’s part, Yet hae nae cash to spare him.