Oh, whiskey, soul of plays and pranks,
Accept a barty's grateful thanks.
For lying warmed upon my floor
Because of thee I hurt no more.

I find in thee sweet depths of gold
That lead me to forget we're old.
And humming softly to my room
I close my mind and drown the gloom.

I hold you, Scotland, near my breast,
For your invention, aye, has blessed,
Many a man with lonely tale,
Ruined state and courage pale.
Turned mice to men and men to pour,
On thee reflecting, I drink some more.

2000