Thomas Humphry Ward, ed. The English Poets. 1880–1918.rnVol. III. The Eighteenth Century: Addison to Blake
Robert Fergusson (17501774)Extract from Caller Water
W
The bonny yeard of antient Eden
His amry had nae liquor laid in,
To fire his mou’,
Nor did he thole his wife’s upbraidin’
For being fou.
Ran cannily out o’er the green,
And whan our gutcher’s drouth had been
To bide right sair,
He loutit down and drank bedeen
A dainty skair.
Had langer tack o’ flesh and blood,
And on mair pithy shanks they stood
Than Noah’s line,
Wha still hae been a feckless brood
Wi’ drinking wine.
Rin maukin-mad in Bacchus’ praise,
And limp and stoiter thro’ their lays
Anacreontic,
While each his sea of wine displays
As big ’s the Pontic.
Or scour a’ airths to hound for fame;
In troth, the jillet ye might blame
For thinking on ’t,
Whan eithly she can find the theme
Of aqua font.
Their patients’ noddles to confuse;
Wi’ simples clad in terms abstruse,
They labour still,
In kittle words to gar your roose
Their want o’ skill.
And briefly to expound the matter,
It shall be ca’d good Caller Water,
Than whilk, I trow,
Few drogs in doctors’ shops are better
For me or you.
Your pith wi’ pain be fairly dung,
Be you in Caller Water flung
Out o’er the lugs,
’Twill mak you souple, swack and young,
Withouten drugs.
Or ony inward pain should seize us,
It masters a’ sic fell diseases
That would ye spulzie,
And brings them to a canny crisis
Wi’ little tulzie.
Would glowr nae mair in keeking-glasses,
And soon tine dint o’ a’ the graces
That aft conveen
In gleefu’ looks and bonny faces,
To catch our ein.
And Cupid quit his shooting trade,
For wha thro’ clarty masquerade
Could then discover,
Whether the features under shade
Were worth a lover?