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THE BARLEY-BREE.

Tune—Willie brew'd a peek o' maut.

Let drunkards ſing in praiſe of wine,
their midnights bails and facial glee;
But Scotin's ſons may ſidge ſu fain,
while they have rowln o' barley bree.

French-brandy is but traſh, ſſume fa't;
their foreign rum I downa prie;
Gle me the ſterling pith o' maut,
abocu them a' it bears the gree.

The workman wha has toil' d all day,
ſits dawn at night frae t'about free;
See care is fled—his ſmile how gay,
whan owre a pint o' barly-bree;
French-brandy, &c.

Gif onie ane in barlock hood,
ſhould wr' his neibour diſagree,
Let them baith gang in (illegible text)
and (illegible text) barley-bree French-brandy &c.

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