Steek the doors, haud out the frost,
Come, Willie, gie's about your toast;
Till it lads and lilt it out,
And let us hae a blythesome bout.
Up wi''t! there, there!
Dinna cheat but drink fair:
Huzza, huzza, and huzza lads yet!
ALLAN RAMSAY (1686-1758).
Look up to Pentland's tow'ring taps,
Buried beneath big wreaths o' snaw,
O'er ilka cleugh, ilk scaur and slap,
As high as ony Roman wa'.
Driving their ba's frae whins or tee,
There's no nae gowfer to be seen,
Nor dousser fouk, wysing a-jee
The byast bouls on Tamson's green.
Then fling on coals, and ripe the ribs,
And beek the house baith butt and ben,
That mutchkin stoup it hauds but dribs,
Then let's get in the tappit hen!
Gude claret best keeps out the cauld,
And drives awa' the winter soon;
It makes a man baith gash and bauld,
And heaves his saul ayont the moon.
Leave to the gods your ilka care,
If that they think us worth their while, They can a rowth o' blessings spare,
Which will our fashious fears beguile.
For what they hae a mind to do,
That will they do, should we gang wud; If they command the storms to blaw, Then upo' sight the hailstanes thud.
But soon as ere they cry, Be quiet,
The blattering winds daur nae mair move,
But cour into their caves, and wait
The high command o' supreme Jove.
Let neist day come as it thinks fit,
The present minute's only ours;
On pleasure let's employ our wit,
And laugh at fortune's feckless pow'rs.
WHEN I hae a saxpence under my thoom,
Then I'll get credit in ilka toun;
But aye when I'm puir they bid me gang by:
Oh, poverty parts gude company.
Todlin' hame, todlin' hame,
Couldna my love come todlin' hame?
Fair-fa' the gudewife, and send her gude sale, She gies us white bannocks to relish her ale, Syne if that her tippeny chance to be sma', We'll tak a good scour o't, and ca't awa: Todlin' hame, todlin' hame,
As round as a neep come todlin' hame.
My kimmer and I lay down to sleep,
Wi' twa pint-stoups at our bed's feet;
And aye when we wauken'd, we drank them dry:
What think ye of my wee kimmer and I?
Todlin' butt and todlin' ben,
Sae round as my love comes todlin' hame.
Leeze me on liquor, my todlin' doo,
Ye're aye sae good humour'd when weeting
When sober sae sour, ye'll fecht wi' a flea, That 'tis a blythe sight to the bairns and me, When todlin' hame, todlin' hame,
When round as a neep ye come todlin' hame.
BLYTHE, blythe, and merry was she,
Blythe was she butt and ben;
And weel she loo'ed a Hawick gill,
And leugh to see a tappit hen.
She took me in, and set me doon,
And heght to keep me lawing free;
But, cunning carline that she was,
She gart me birl my bawbee.
We loo'ed the liquor weel enough;
But waes my heart, my cash was done,
Before that I had quench'd my drouth,
And laith I was to pawn my shoon.
When we had three times toom'd our stoup,
And the neist chappin new begun,
In started, to heeze up our hope,
Young Andro wi' his cutty gun.
The carline brought her kebbuck ben,
Wi' girdle-cakes weel toasted broon,
Weel does the canny kimmer ken,
They gar the swats gae glibber doon.
We ca'd the bicker aft about;
Till dawning we ne'er jee'd our bun,
And aye the cleanest drinker out
Was Andro wi' his cutty gun.
He did like ony mavis sing,
And as I in his oxter sat,
He ca'd me aye his bonnie thing,
And mony a sappy kiss I gat.
I hae been east, I hae been west,
I hae been far ayont the sun;
But the blythest lad that e'er I saw
Was Andro wi' his cutty gun.
O GUDE ale comes and gude ale goes,
Gude ale gars me sell my hose,
Sell my hose and pawn my shoon,
Gude ale hauds my heart aboon:
Gude ale keeps me bare and busy,
Brandy mak's me dull and dizzy,
Gars me sleep and sough i' my shoon:
Gude ale hauds my heart aboon.
O in the sweetest plums there's stones,
And in the fairest beef there's bones;
Rum turns ye rude, wine mak's ye pale,
There's life and love and soul in ale;
Gude ale's the medicine oft spaed of,
The very stuff that life is made of,
Dropt in a receipt from the moon,
To haud men's sinking hearts aboon.
May he rub shoulders wi' the gallows,
Wha wad keep gude ale frae gude fellows;
May he gape wide when suns are south,
And never drink come near his drouth;
But here's to him, where'er he roam,
Wha loves to see the flagons foam,
For he's a king o'er lord and loon-
Gude ale hauds my heart aboon.
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