Th A h E C A P（4 / 4）

is na is

postscript

let half-starv&039;d sves warr skies

see future es, rich-cst&039;rg, rise;

their lot auld stnd ne&039;re envies,

but, blythe and frisky,

she eyes her freeborn, artial boys

tak aff their whisky

what tho&039; their phoeb kder wars,

while fragrance bloos and beauty chars,

when wretches ran, faish&039;d swars,

the scented groves;

or, hounded forth, dishonour ars

hungry droves!

their gun&039;s a burden on their shouther;

they downa bide the stk o&039; powther;

their bauldest thought&039;s a hank&039;rg swither

to stan&039; or r,

till skelp—a shot—they&039;re aff, a&039;throw&039;ther,

to save their sk

but brg a stchan frae his hill,

cp his cheek a highnd gill,

say, such is royal e&039;s will,

an&039; there&039;s the foe!

he has nae thought but how to kill

a at a blow

nae cauld, fat-hearted doubtgs tease hi;

death es, wi&039; fearless eye he sees hi;

wi&039;bidy hand a wele gies hi;

an&039; when he fa&039;s,

his test draught o&039; breath lea&039;es hi

fat huzzas

sas their len een ay steek,

an&039; raise a philophic reek,

an&039; physically caes seek,

cli an&039; sean;

but tell whisky&039;s na greek

i&039;ll tell the rean

stnd, y auld, respected ither!

tho&039; whiles ye oistify your leather,

till, whare ye sit on craps o&039; heather,

ye te your da;

freedo an&039; whisky gang thegither!

take aff your dra!