On the Death of Their Common Friend, Mr. John Adam, Clerk of Court.

OUR Johnie’s deid. The mair’s the pity!

He’s deid, an’ deid o’ Aqua-vitae.

O Embro’, you’re a shrunken city,

Noo Johnie’s deid!

Tak hands, an’ sing a burial ditty

Ower Johnie’s heid.

To see him was baith drink an’ meat,

Gaun linkin’ glegly up the street.

He but to rin or tak a seat,

The wee bit body!

Bein’ aye unsicken on his feet

Wi’ whusky toddy.

To be aye tosh was Johnie’s whim¹,

There’s nane was better teut than him,

Though whiles his gravit-knot wad clim’

Ahint his ear,

An’ whiles he’d buttons oot or in

The less ae mair.

His hair a’ lang about his bree,

His tap-lip lang by inches three —

A slockened sort ‘mon,’ to pree

A’ sensuality —

A droutly glint was in his e’e

An’ personality.

An’ day an’ nicht, frae daw to daw,

Dink an’ perjink an’ doucely braw,

Wi’ a kind o’ Gospel ower a’,

May or October,

Like Peden, followin’ the Law

An’ no that sober.

Whusky an’ he were pack thegether.

Whate’er the hour, whate’er the weather,

John kept himsel’ wi’ mistened leather

An’ kindled² spunk³.

Wi’ him, there was nae askin’ whether —

John was aye drunk.

The auncient heroes gash⁴ an’ bauld

In the uncanny days of auld⁵,

The task ance fo(u)nd to which th’were called,

Stack stenchly to it.

His life sic noble lives recalled,

Little’s he knew it.

Single an’ straucht, he went his way.

He kept the faith an’ played the play.

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