March of Intellect

Then fye let us a' to subscribing,
Since siller is no worth a plack,
And the pence in the kist that lay mouling,
Will be turned into pounds in a crack,
With our scheming, and steaming, and dreaming,
Can no cash-burdened Joint- Stock be found
To fill the auld moon wi' whale blubber,
And light her up a' the year round ?

Now thieves will be nabb'd by the thousand ;
And houses insured by the street ;
And share-holders will scarcely know whether
They walk on their heads or their feet.
The Celtic will soon compass breeches ;
The shoe-black will swagger in pumps ;
And phrenologists club for old perukes,
To cover their assinine bumps.

Alack, for our grandfathers musty,
Of such ongoings ne'er did they dream ;
Soon our Jockies will bizz out, at gloaming,
To court their kind Jennies by steam ;
And the world shall be turned topsy-turvy ;
And the patients their doctors will bleed ;
And the dandy, by true gravitation,
Shall go waltz on the crown of his head.

Then fye let us a' to subscribing,
And build up a tower to the moon ;
And get fou on the tap, and, in daffing,
Dad out the wee stars wi' our shoon ; —
Then, hey fal de ray, fal de rady,
Let's see a' how proud we can be,
And build ower a brig to Kirkaldy,
And drown a' the French in the sea !