O Life! Thou Art A Galling Load,

God Knows, I'm No The Thing I Should Be, Nor Am I Even The Thing I Could Be.

Now Simmer Blinks On Flowery Braes, And O'er The Chrystal Streamlets Plays; Come Let Us Spend The Lightsome Days In The Birks Of Aberfeldy.

I Love Drinking Now And Then. It Defecates The Standing Pool Of Thought. A Man Perpetually In The Paroxysm And Fears Of Inebriety Is Like A Half-drowned Stupid Wretch Condemned To Labor Unceasingly In Water; But A Now-and-then Tribute To Bacchus Is Like The Cold Bath, Bracing And Invigorating.

The Great Creator To Revere Must Sure Become The Creature; But Still The Preaching Cant Forbear, And Ev'n The Rigid Feature: Yet Ne'er With Wits Profane To Range Be Complaisance Extended;an Atheist Laugh's A Poor Exchange For Deity Offended.

His Locked, Lettered, Braw Brass Collar, Shewed Him The Gentleman And Scholar.