On A Scotch Bard, Gone To The West Indie（2 / 2）

he saw misfortune's cauld nor-west

lang mustering up a bitter blast;

a jillet brak his heart at last,

ill may she be!

so, took a berth afore the mast,

an' owre the sea.

to tremble under fortune's cummock,

on a scarce a bellyfu' o' drummock,

wi' his proud, independent stomach,

could ill agree;

so, row't his hurdies in a hammock,

an' owre the sea.

he ne'er was gien to great misguidin,

yet coin his pouches wad na bide in;

wi' him it ne'er was under hiding;

he dealt it free:

the muse was a' that he took pride in,

that's owre the sea.

jamaica bodies, use him weel,

an' hap him in cozie biel:

ye'll find him aye a dainty chiel,

an' fou o' glee:

he wad na wrang'd the vera deil,

that's owre the sea.

farewell, my rhyme-composing billie!

your native soil was right ill-willie;

but may ye flourish like a lily,

now bonilie!

i'll toast you in my hindmost gillie,

tho' owre the sea!