JEEMSIE MILLER


There's some that mak' themsels a name
Wi' preachin', business, or a game,
There's some wi' drink hae gotten fame
And some wi' siller:
I kent a man got glory cheap,
For nane frae him their een could keep,
Losh! he was shapit like a neep,
Was Jeemsie Miller!

When he gaed drivin' doon the street
Wi' cairt an' sheltie, a' complete,
The plankie whaur he had his seat
Was bent near double;
And gin yon wood had na been strang
It hadna held oor Jeemsie lang,
He had been landit wi' a bang,
And there'd been trouble.

Ye could but mind, to see his face,
The reid mune glowerin' on the place,
Nae man had e'er sic muckle space
To haud his bonnet:
An owre yon bonnet on his brow,
Set cockit up owre Jeemsie's pow,
There waggit, reid as lichtit tow,
The toorie on it.