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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
HORACE: ODE, by ANDREW CRAWFURD First Line: What gars ye yoke in drucken tuilzies? Last Line: Nae pow'r frae folly can restore. Subject(s): Drinks & Drinking; Wine | |||
TO HIS CRONIES. WHAT gars ye yoke in drucken tuilzies? And ape camstairy Irish bruilzies? Scotch drink was made to mak' ye happy; But ye sook skaith e'en frae the nappie! Fy, quat your splores! hoo daur ye thump Young Bacchus, couthie, quate an' plump? The rude sheleilah's no a sicht For peacefu' punch and cawnle-licht! Whist, billies; cease your angry yabble, And doucely lean you o'er the table. Noo wad ye gar me drink my skair? For ae propyne I'se birl richt fair -- Come, tell me, lad, an' dinna swither, An' prove yoursel' a true-blue brither, Tell me the lass has stown your heart; And show the mark o' Cupid's dart. What, winna ye the lassie name? Then, here's guid e'en, I'se haud me hame. But yet ye needna be sae sweir; You twa, I'm sure, are feir for feir. For ne'er your joe, nor ae-fauld flame, Brocht you yet either skaith or shame. Come tell her name, and be na sweir, You'll lippen to a faithfu' ear. What, sae ye sae! can that be true? Wanweirdy wicht, sair, sair, ye'll rue; The brawest leddie in the land Wad at your biddin' gie her hand. But what a vile wanwordy wooin'! Ye're lairin' in the blackest ruin. Nae witch that wakes at deid o' nicht, Nae warlock in his cantrip-slicht, Nae Gude that leeves aboon the lift, Can raise you frae this eerie tift! Tho' ye should mount the muse's naig, You, elf-shot to the benmost core! Fame couldna harl you up the craig: Nae pow'r frae folly can restore. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A CUP OF TREMBLINGS by JOHN HOLLANDER VINTAGE ABSENCE by JOHN HOLLANDER SENT WITH A BOTTLE OF BURGUNDY FOR A BIRTHDAY by JOHN HOLLANDER TO A CIVIL SERVANT by EDMUND JOHN ARMSTRONG WINE by FRIEDRICH MARTIN VON BODENSTEDT THE GOOD FELLOW by ALEXANDER BROME WHEN A WOMAN LOVES A MAN by DAVID LEHMAN A GLANCE AYONT THE GRAVE by ANDREW CRAWFURD |
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