Clear keltie aff an’ fill again
Withoot corneigh bein’ cryit,
The drink’s aye best that follows a drink.
Clear keltie aff and try it.

Be’t whisky gill or penny wheep,
Or ony ither lotion,
We ’bood to ha’e a thimblefu’ first,
And syne we’ll toom an ocean!…

“To Luna at the Craidle-and-Coffin
To sof’n her hert if owt can sof’n:—

Auld bag o’ tricks, ye needna come
And think to stap me in your womb.

You needna fash to rax and strain.
Carline, I’ll no be born again

In ony brat you can produce.
Carline, gi’e owre—O what’s the use?

You pay nae heed but plop me in,
Syne shove me oot, and winna be din,

—Owre and owre, the same auld trick,
Cratur withoot climateric!…

“Noo Cutty Sark’s tint that ana,
And dances in her skin—Ha! Ha!

I canna ride awa’ like Tam,
But e’en maun bide juist whaur I am.

I canna ride—and gin I could,
I’d sune be sorry I hedna stude,

For less than a’ there is to see
’ll never be owre muckle for me.

Cutty, gin you’ve mair to strip,
Aff wi’t, lass—and let it rip!”…

Ilka pleesure I can ha’e
Ends like a dram ta’en yesterday.

And tho’ to ha’e it I am lorn
—What better ’ud I be the morn?…

My belly on the gantrees there,
The spigot frae my cullage,
And wow but how the fizzin’ yill
In spilth increased the ullage!

I was an anxious barrel, lad,
When first they tapped my bung.
They whistled me up, yet thro’ the lift
My freaths like rainbows swung.

Waesucks, a pride for ony bar,
The boast o’ barleyhood,
Like Noah’s Ark abune the faem
Maun float, a gantin’ cude,

For I was thrawn fu’ cock owre sune,
And wi’ a single jaw
I made the pub a blindin’ swelth,
And how’d the warld awa’!…

from A Drunk Man Looks at Throbbing Thistle