To you, Sir, this summons I’ve sent,
Pray, whip till the pownie is fraething;
But if you demand what I want,
I honestly answer you – naething. –
Ne’er scorn a poor Poet like me,
For idly just living and breathing,
While people of every degree
Are busy employed about – naething. –
Poor Centum per centum may fast,
And grumble his hurdies their claithing;
He’ll find, when the balance is cast,
He’s gane to the devil for – naething. –
The Courtier cringes and bows,
Ambition has likewise its plaything;
A Coronet beams on his brows,
And what is a Coronet? – naething. –
Some quarrel the Presbyter gown,
Some quarrel Episcopal graithing,
But every good fellow will own
Their quarrel is all about – naething. –
The lover may sparkle and glow,
Approaching his bonie bit gay thing;
But marriage will soon let him know,
He’s gotten a buskit up naething. –
The Poet may jingle and rhyme,
In hopes of a laureate wreathing,
And when he has wasted his time,
He’s kindly rewarded with naething. –
The thundering bully may rage,
And swagger and swear like a heathen;
But collar him fast, I’ll engage
You’ll find that his courage is naething. –
Last night with a feminine Whig,
A Poet she could na put faith in,
But soon we grew lovingly big,
I taught her, her terrors were naething. –
Her Whigship was wonderful pleased,
But charmingly tickled wi’ ae thing;
Her fingers I lovingly squeezed,
And kiss’d her and promised her – naething. –
The priest anathemas may threat,
Predicament, Sir, that we’re baith in;
But when honor’s reveille is beat,
The holy artillery’s naething. –
And now I must mount on the wave,
My voyage perhaps there is death in;
But what of a watery grave!
The drowning a Poet is naething. –
And now as grim death’s in my thought,
To you, Sir, I make this bequeathing:
My service as long as ye’ve ought,
And my friendship, by God, when ye’ve naething. –