When Vulcan gies his bellows breath, An' ploughmen gather wi' their graith, [implements] O rare to see thee fizz an' freath [froth] I' th' lugged caup! [two-eared cup] Then Burnewin comes on like death [The Blacksmith] At ev'ry chaup. [blow]
Nae mercy, then, for airn or steel; [iron] The brawnie, banie, ploughman chiel, [bony, fellow] Brings hard owre-hip, wi' sturdy wheel, The strong forehammer, Till block an' studdie ring an' reel [anvil] Wi' dinsome clamour.
When skirlin' weanies see the light, [squalling babies] Thou maks the gossips clatter bright How fumblin' cuifs their dearies slight-- [dolts] Wae worth the name! Nae Howdie gets a social night, [Midwife] Or plack frae them. [small coin]
When neibors anger at a plea, [lawsuit] An' just as wud as wud can be, [mad] How easy can the barley-bree [-brew] Cement the quarrel! It's aye the cheapest lawyer's fee To taste the barrel.
Alake! that e'er my Muse has reason To wyte her countrymen wi' treason; [blame] But mony daily weet their weasan' [throat] Wi' liquors nice, An' hardly, in a winter's season, E'er spier her price. [ask]
Wae worth that brandy, burning trash! Fell source o' mony a pain an' brash? [illness] Twins mony a poor, doylt, drucken hash, [Robs, stupid, drunken oaf] O' half his days; An' sends, beside, auld Scotland's cash To her warst faes.
Ye Scots, wha wish auld Scotland well, Ye chief, to you my tale I tell, Poor plackless devils like mysel' [penniless] It sets you ill, [becomes] Wi' bitter, dearthfu' wines to mell, [meddle] Or foreign gill.
May gravels round his blather wrench, [ladder] An' gouts torment him, inch by inch, Wha twists his gruntle wi' a glunch [face, growl] O' sour disdain, Out owre a glass o' whisky punch Wi' honest men!
O Whisky! soul o' plays an' pranks! Accept a bardie's gratefu' thanks! When wanting thee, what tuneless cranks [creakings] Are my poor verses! Thou comes--they rattle i' their ranks At ither's arses!
Thee, Ferintosh![25] O sadly lost! Scotland, lament frae coast to coast! Now colic-grips an' barkin' hoast [cough] May kill us a'; For loyal Forbes' charter'd boast Is ta'en awa!
Thae curst horse-leeches o' th' Excise, [These] Wha mak the whisky stells their prize-- [stills] Haud up thy hand, deil! Ance--twice--thrice! There, seize the blinkers! [spies] An' bake them up in brunstane pies [brimstone] For poor damn'd drinkers.