The Jolly Beggars : Merry Andrew
Sir Wisdom's a fool when he's fou; Sir Knave is a fool in a session; He's there but a 'prentice I trow, But I am a fool by profession. My grannie she bought me a beuk, An' I held awa to the school; I fear I my talent misteuk, But what will ye hae of a fool? For drink I would venture my neck; A hizzie's the half of my craft; But what could ye other expect Of ane that's avowedly daft? I ance was tied up like a stirk, For civilly swearing and quaffin; I ance was abus'd i' the kirk, For towsing a lass i' my daffin. Poor Andrew that tumbles for sport, Let naebody name wi' a jeer; There's even, I'm tauld, i' the Court A tumbler ca'd the Premier. Observ'd ye yon reverend lad Mak faces to tickle the mob; He rails at our mountebank squad, - It's rivalship just i' the job. And now my conclusion I'll tell, For faith I'm confoundedly dry; The chiel that's a fool for himsel', Guid Lord! he's far dafter than I.