Braid Claith

YE wha are fain to hae your name
Wrote in the bonnie book o' fame,
Let merit nae pretension claim
To laurell'd wreath,
But hap ye weel, baith back and wame,
In gude braid claith.

He that some ells o' this may fa',
And slae-black hat on pow like snaw.
Bids bauld to bear the gree awa,
Wi' a' this graith,
When bienly clad wi' shell fu' braw
O' gude braid claith.

Waesuck for him wha has nae feck o't !
For he's a gowk they're sure to geek at ;
A chiel that ne'er will be respeckit
While he draws breath,
Till his four quarters are bedeckit
Wi' gude braid claith.

On Sabbath-days the barber spark,
When he has done wi' scrapin' wark,
Wi' siller broachie in his sark,
Gangs trigly, faith !
Or to the Meadows, or the Park,
In gude braid claith.

Weel might ye trow, to see them there,
That they to shave your haffits bare,
Or curl and sleek a pickle hair,
Would be right laith,
When pacin' wi' a gawsy air
In gude braid claith.

If ony mettled stirrah grien
For favour frae a lady's een,
He maunna care for bein' seen
Before he sheath
His body in a scabbard clean
O' gude braid claith.

For, gin he come wi' coat thread-bare,
A feg for him she winna care,
But crook her bonny mou fu' sair,
And scauld him baith :
Wooers should aye their travel spare,
Withoot braid claith.

Braid claith lends fouk an unco heeze ;
Maks mony kail-worms butterflees ;
Gies mony a doctor his degrees,
For little skaith :
In short, you may be what you please,
Wi' gude braid claith.

For tho' ye had as wise a snout on,
As Shakespeare or Sir Isaac Newton,
Your judgment fouk would hae a doubt on,
I'll tak' my aith,
Till they could see ye wi' a suit on
O' gude braid claith.