Classic Poem

A HUNNER funnels bleezin', reekin',
Coal an' ironstane, charrin', smeekin';
Navvies, miners, keepers, fillers,
Puddlers, rollers, iron millers;
Reestit, reekit, raggit laddies,
Firemen, enginemen, an' Paddies;
Boatmen, banksmen, rough and rattlin',
'Bout the wecht wi' colliers battlin',
Sweatin', swearin', fechtin', drinkin',
Change-house bells an' gill-stoups clinkin',
Police—ready men and willin'—
Aye at han' when stoups are fillin',
Clerks, an' counter-loupers plenty,
Wi' trim moustache and whiskers dainty—
Chaps that winna staun at trifles,
Min' ye they can han'le rifles.
'Bout the wives in oor location,
An' the lasses' botheration,
Some are decent, some are dandies,
An' a gey wheen drucken randies,
Aye to neebors' hooses sailin',
Greetin' bairns ahint them trailin',
Gaun for nouther bread nor butter,
Just to drink an' rin the cutter.
Oh, the dreadfu' curse o' drinkin'!
Men are ill, but tae my thinkin',
Leukin' through the drucken fock,
There's a Jenny for ilk Jock.
Oh, the dool an' desolation,
An' the havoc in the nation,
Wrocht by dirty, drucken wives!
Oh, hoo mony bairnies' lives
Lost ilk year through their neglec'!
Like a millstane roun' the neck
O' the strugglin', toilin' masses
Hing drucken wives and wanton lassies.
To see sae mony unwed mithers
Is sure a shame that taps a' ithers.
An' noo I'm fairly set a-gaun,
On baith the whisky-shop and pawn;
I'll speak my min'—and whatfor no?
Frae whence cums misery, want, an' wo,
The ruin, crime, disgrace an' shame,
That quenches a' the lichts o' hame?
Ye needna speer, the feck ot's drawn
Out o' the change-house an' the pawn
Sin and death, as poets tell,
On ilk side the doors o' hell
Wait to haurl mortals in;
Death gets a' that's catcht by sin:
There are doors where death an' sin
Draw their tens o' thoosan's in;
Thick and thrang we see them gaun,
First the dram-shop, then the pawn;
Owre a' kin's o' ruination,
Drink's the king in oor location.