Legal and other lyrics; with explantory notes and a glossary . 0 whisky, An here I am ! Ance I was ill, and to mak ap bis bill,The I doctor cam like stour, Wi a forpit <» scpiills, an laxative pills, My illness sair to cure.]!•• swore I was in a consumption—I rwore be had nae gumption : 142 HEKE I AM. He said I might tak the riskie— I said I wad tak my dram, —Sae I tippt aff a bottle o whisky, An here I am ! When I was in love, my mettle to prove, My sweetheart behaved unco queer;She ance saw me fou, an she cad me a sow, An said I was portable beer !Her love I cast aff a houp I ran t
Legal and other lyrics; with explantory notes and a glossary . 0 whisky, An here I am ! Ance I was ill, and to mak ap bis bill,The I doctor cam like stour, Wi a forpit <» scpiills, an laxative pills, My illness sair to cure.]!•• swore I was in a consumption—I rwore be had nae gumption : 142 HEKE I AM. He said I might tak the riskie— I said I wad tak my dram, —Sae I tippt aff a bottle o whisky, An here I am ! When I was in love, my mettle to prove, My sweetheart behaved unco queer;She ance saw me fou, an she cad me a sow, An said I was portable beer !Her love I cast aff a houp I ran to a linn to loup it—But as I was rinnin sae briskly, I thought I wad tak a dram—Sae I tippt aff a bottle o whisky An here I am ! I ance gaed aff, like a sober calf, To sail the warld round,But as we cam back, the ship Avas a wrack, An we were just gaun to be drowned;The passengers lustily sang out,The crew whomelled into the long boat,An how I got out o the plisky, I dinna ken whether I swam—But I tippt aff a bottle o whisky, An here I am !. >00/? /BARRISTERS Round— W? fe three poor Mariners We be three poor Barristers,With minds lmt ill at case,we never arc retainedIn any kind of pliWe pace the Eouse around, around, around,Where litigants abound, abound, abound,Where fees arc rife,^i it for our lifeWe cannol ttikc a pound, a pound, a pound. All ! little I their clients know, Who tin t to legal -kill,What injury their doers <1, Employing whom t hey will,And leaving as around, around, around, 1-44 WE BE THREE POOR BARRISTERS. ~No chance to be renowned, renowned, renowned, Though we have store Of wit and loreThat might the world astound, astound, astound. We wonder what their agents think— Or if they think at all—Who still employ these little men, With voice so thin and small,You scarce can hear a sound, a sound, a sound,While we walk idly round, around, around—With lungs to makeThe rafters shakeAnd vaulted roofs rebound, rebound, rebound. As for th
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