An' 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 unsicker on his feet Wi' whusky toddy. To be aye tosh was Johnie's whim. There's nane was better tent than him, Though whiles his gravit-knot wad clim' Ahint his ear, An' whiles he'd buttons oot or in The less or mair. His hair a' lank aboot his bree, His tap-lip lang by inches three -- A slockened sort o' mou', to pree A' sensuality -- A drouthy 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 look ower a', May or October, Like Peden, followin' the Law An' no that sober. An' wow! but John was unco sport. Whiles he wad smile aboot the Court Malvolio-like -- whiles snore an' snort, Was heard afar. The idle writer lads' resort Was aye John's bar. Whusky an' he were pack thegether. Whate'er the hour, whate'er the weather, John kept himsel' wi' mistened leather An' kindled spunk. Wi' him, there was nae askin' whether -- John was aye drunk. The auncient heroes gash an' bauld In the uncanny days of Auld, The task ance found 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. Whusky an' he were man an' may Whate'er betided. Bonny in life -- in death, thir twae Were no' divided. What's merely humourous or bonny The warl' regairds wi' cauld astony. Drunk men tak aye mair place than ony; An' sae, ye see, The gate was aye ower thrang for Johnie -- Or you an' me. John micht hae jingled cap an' bells, Been a braw fule in silks an' fells, In ane o' the auld warl's canty hells, Paris or Sodom. I wadnae had him naething else But Johnie Adam. He suffered -- as have a' that wan Eternal memory frae man, Sin' e'er the weary warl' began -- Mister or Madam, Keats or Scots Burns, the Spanish Dan Or Johnie Adam. We leuch, an' Johnie deid. An', fegs! Hoo he had keept his stoiterin' legs Sae lang's he did, 's a fact that begs An explanation. He stachers fifty years -- syne flegs To's destination. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WORLD; SONNET by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THE DANUBE RIVER by C. HAMILTON AIDE A BALLAD OF THE HEATHER by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE INDIAMAN by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN LIE-AWAKE SONGS: 3 by AMELIA JOSEPHINE BURR THE QUEST OF SUMMER by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON FABLE: THE LAMB AND THE PIG by NATHANIEL COTTON |