ON A SCOTCH BARD, GONE TO THE WEST INDIES

A' ye wha live by sowps o' drink, [sups]
A' ye wha live by crambo-clink, [rhyme]
A' ye wha live an' never think,
Come mourn wi' me!
Our billie's gi'en us a' a jink, [fellow, the slip]
An' owre the sea.

Lament him, a' ye rantin core, [jovial set]
Wha dearly like a random-splore; [frolic]
Nae mair he'll join the merry roar,
In social key;
For now he's taen anither shore,
An' owre the sea!

The bonnie lasses weel may wiss him, [wish for]
And in their dear petitions place him,
The widows, wives, an' a' may bless him
Wi' tearfu' e'e;
For weel I wat they'll sairly miss him [wot, sorely]
That's owre the sea!

O Fortune, they hae room to grumble!
Hadst thou taen aff some drowsy bummle, [drone]
Wha can do nought but fyke an' fumble, [fuss]
'Twad been nae plea; [grievance]
But he was gleg as ony wumble, [lively, auger]