Caller Water

WHEN father Adie first put spade in
The bonnie yard o' ancient Eden,
His amry had nae liquor laid in
To fire his mou' ;
Nor did he thole his wife's upbraiding
For bein' fou.

A caller burn o' siller sheen,
Ran cannily out-owre the green ;
And when our gutcher's drouth had been
To bide right sair,
He loutit down, and drank bedeen
A dainty skair.

His bairns had a', before the flood,
A langer tack o' flesh and blood,
And on mair pithy shanks they stood
Than Noah's line,
Wha still hae been a feckless brood,
Wi' drinkin' wine.

The fuddlin' bardies, now-a-days,
Rin maukin-mad in Bacchus' praise ;
And limp and stoiter through their lays
Anacreontic,
While each his sea of wine displays
As big's the Pontic.

My Muse will no gang far frae hame,
Or scour a' airths to hound for fame ;
In troth, the jillet ye might blame
For thinkin' on't,
When eithly she can find the theme
O' aquafont.

This is the name that doctors use,
Their patients' noddles to confuse :
Wi' simples clad in terms abstruse,
They labour still
In kittle words to gar you roose
Their want o' skill.

But we'll hae nae sic clitter-clatter ;
And, briefly to expound the matter,
It shall be ca'd gude caller water ;
Than whilk, I trow,
Few drugs in doctor's shops are better
For me or you.

Though joints be stiff as ony rung,
Your pith wi' pain be sairly dung,
Be you in caller water flung
Out-owre the lugs,
Twill mak you souple, swack, and young,
Withouten drugs.

Though cholic or the heart-scad teaze us ;
Or ony inward dwaam should seize us ;
It masters a' sic fell diseases
That would ye spulzie,
And brings them to a canny crisis
Wi' little tulzie.

Were't no for it, the bonnie lasses
Wad glow'r nae mair in keekin'-glasses ;
And soon tyne dint o' a' the graces
That aft conveen,
In gleefu' looks, and bonnie faces,
To catch our een.

The fairest, then, might die a maid,
And Cupid quit his shootin' trade ;
For wha, through clarty masquerade,
Could then discover
Whether the features under shade
Were worth a lover ?

As simmer rains bring simmer flowers,
And leaves to cleed the birken bowers,
Sae beauty gets by caller showers
Sae rich a bloom,
As for estate, or heavy dowers,
Aft stands in room.

What maks Auld Reekie's dames sae fair ?
It canna be the halesome air ;
But caller burn, beyond compare,
The best o' onie,
That gars them a' sic graces skair,
And blink sae bonnie.

On Mayday, in a fairy ring,
We've seen them round St. Anthon's spring,
Frae grass the caller dew-draps wring
To weet their een,
And water, clear as crystal spring,
To synd them clean.

O may they still pursue the way,
To look sae feat, sae clean, sae gay !
Then shall their beauties glance like May ;
And, like her, be
The goddess of the vocal spray,
The Muse and me.