Classic Poem

Tune, — Old Sir Simon the King.

Come boys let us sign the petition,
To make the poor Africans free,
For ruin has been their condition,
Since Europe began to drink Tea.
Proud Princes are a' crazy turning,
In striving to lead us agee,
By capeseizing night into morning,
When gambling and drinking at Tea.

Chorus .

But O gie me Crowdy each morning,
And sheep-heads at mid-day to pree,
Or when the sweet evening's returning,
Gude parratch will serve me for Tea.

Frae the Duchess of York to the beggar ,
Dool sorrow and woe is their mane,
To think on the dearness of sugar,
Since Mungo complains of the cane.
Gash wives are now glad to take treacle,
Wi' their nervish dribble o' Tea;
But gie me a guid cog o' bow kail,
Or strong ale, or porter for me.
An' O gie me crowdy, &c.

I met an East India director,
Wha soon pick'd a quarrel with me,
He swore that my scull he wou'd fracture,
If I did not swallow his Tea.
I told him I was Willis the Doctor,
Who cur'd foolish fock who drank Tea,
And faith he soon turn'd my protector,
When I made him swallow this lie.
An' O gie me crowdy, &c.

I ken a proud West India planter,
Wi' Wilberforce now at the plea,
He keeps his Slave's wife as a bunter ,
While Mungo is ready to die.
Why sure he's a base pettyfoggar,
And abandoned to virtue is she,
Who ever wou'd taste of his Sugar,
Mix'd wi' that vile weed they ca' Tea.
O gie me guid crowdy &c.

The Muffin an' portly tea bakers,
Their gab it sounds on a flat key,
Like Sextons an braw Undertakers,
When souk dinna fast enough die,
For wives break a' cups an' saucers,
An curses baith coffee an' tea,
Now a' the brass wise fouk now gathers,
Buys merry John Barlycorn's bree.
O gie me guid crowdy, &c.