Classic Poem

Down the street the Bailie comes —
Faith he keeps the causey-crown,
He bans the sergeants black and blue,
The bellman gets the name o' loon.
He can speak in monie tongues,
Gude braid Scots and hieland Erse;
The king o' Bailies is our ain,
Sic men I fear are unco scarce!

At feasting-time the powers aboon
At cramming try their utmost skill;
But faith the Bailie dings them a'
At spice and wine, or whisky gill.
The honest man can sit and drink,
And never ha'e his purse to draw;
He helps to rule this sinfu' town,
And as it should — it pays for a'.

And then to see him in the kirk,
Wi' gowden chain about his neck!
He's like a king upon a throne —
I say it wi' a' meet respect.
And to the folk who fill the lafts,
Fu' monie a fearsome look he gi'es,
To see that a' are duly filled
Wi' terror of the dignities!

A pickle here — a pickle there,
Of borough siller Bailie gets,
And he would need — it's no a joke,
To fitly fill a Bailie's seat!
The Bailie likes the gude auld ways,
And yet he langs for something new
He thinks twal corporation feasts
Within the year are unco few!