My Auld Mither's Address
By Joseph Carson
CONFOUND your Indian trash, B-e,
'T'as neither taste nor smell o' tea;
Some weed imported over sea"
That's d--d unwholesome;
May a' the powers aboon keep me
Frae sic a balsam.
My poor auld man the ither night,
Was no just weel - his head was light
I wet a grain to set him right,
Saew eel I wist him,
But your curst stuff deranged quite
His nervous system.
His head, that had been something sore,
Grew ten times worse than 'twas before,
An' every now and then a roar,
Burst frae his b-mΒ -
I thought my poor auld man was o'er,
An' death was come.
When tearin' up the leaden cover,
A tremor spread my body over;
I dreaded some disease might hover
The box within,
An' flee out like a started plover,
An' strike me blin'.
See how the fever rages roun'
The precincts o' our halesome town
For this ye 'awkward lang-faced loon
We weel may blame ye
Diel blaw ye back in some monsoon
To whar ye came frae.
Sometimes it enters in my head,
'Tis some confounded lrish weed.
Ye sipplers o' Banbridge tak' heed,
An' dinna try it,
Nor even the coaxing cover read,
For fear ye buy it.
May Heaven preserve the auld Chinese,
An' may no bitter ruffian breeze,
To blast their infant budding trees,
E'er intervene –
They send us o'er the best o' Teas,
Baith black an' green.
Sweet beverage, mixed wi' yellow cream,
My morning draught - at night the same
My waking thoughts; my sleeping dream -
Were't no for thee,
Lang syne this poor auld wrinkled frame
Had ceased to be.
It makes my poor auld heart loup lighter,
It makes my very e'en glance brighter,
It braces up my sinews tighter,
An' maks me frisky -
Shame fa' th’auld wife 'twad no' delight her,
Far mair than whiskey.
Oh thou! the best o' our defenders,
Exterminate these vile pretenders,
But guide and guard our honest venders,
F-y and W-ds;
May agents hawk, like kettle menders,
Their spurious goods.
