Κυριακή 5 Απριλίου 2009









DRINK AND THE DEVIL

To William Stewart


In honest Bacon's ingle-neuk,

Here maun I sit and think;

Sick o' the warld and warld's fock, 

And sick, d-mn'd sick o' drink!


I see, I see there is nae help,

But still down I maun sink;

Till some day, laigh enough, I yelp, 

 'Wae worth that cursed drink!'


 Yestreen, alas! I was sae fu',

 I could but yisk and wink;

 And now, this day, sair, sair I rue,

 The weary, weary drink. -


Satan, I fear thy sooty claws,

I hate thy brunstane stink,

And ay I curse the luckless cause, 

The wicked soup o' drink. —


In vain I would forget my woes

In idle rhyming clink,

For past redemption d-mn'd in Prose

I can do nought but drink. -


For you, my trusty, well-try'd friend, 

May Heaven still on you blink;

And may your life flow to the end, 

Sweet as a dry man's drink!