William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. The Book of Georgian Verse. 1909.
The Sitting of the SessionRobert Fergusson (17501774)
P
Cours near the yird wi’ blinking light;
Cauld shaw the haughs, nae mair bedight
Wi’ simmer’s claes.
They heeze the heart o’ dowy wight
That thro’ them gaes.
For ye’ll weet mony a drouthy mou’;
That’s lang a eisning gane for you.
Withouten fill
O’ dribbles frae the gude brown cow,
Or Highland gill.
Pitts ilk chiel’s whittle i’ the pye,
Can criesh the slaw-gaun wheels whan dry,
Till Session’s done,
Tho’ they’ll gie mony a cheep and cry
Or twalt o’ June.
You’ll tak your liquor clean cap out,
Synd your mouse-wabbs wi’ reaming stout,
While ye ha’e cash,
And gar your cares a’ tak the rout,
An’ thumb ne’er fash.
Will white as ony snaw-ba’ shine;
Weel does he lo’e the lawen coin
Whan dossied down,
For whisky gills or dribbs of wine
In cauld forenoon.
Tak tent as fock gang back and fore;
The fient ane there but pays his score,
Nane wins toll-free,
Tho’ ye’ve a cause the house before,
Or agent be.
And has na lous’d his siller pocks,
Ye need na think to fleetch or cox;
‘Come, shaw’s your gear;
Ae scabbit yew spills twenty flocks,
Ye’s no be here.’
Crack on, my lads!—for flyting’s free;
For gin ye shou’d tongue-tacket be,
The mair’s the pity,
Whan scalding but and ben we see
Pendente lite.
Grain unco sair wi’ weighty cases;
The clark in toil his pleasure places,
To thrive bedeen;
At five-hour’s bell scribes shaw their faces,
And rake their ein.
‘Ah! Weels me on your bonny buik!
The benmost part o’ my kist nook
I’ll ripe for thee,
And willing ware my hindmost rook
For my decree.’
Withouten rim fock out to keep;
A donnart chiel, whan drunk, may dreep
Fu’ sleely in,
But finds the gate baith stay and steep,
Ere out he win.