The complaint of an old man reduced in the world. Contributed
to the Book of Scottish Song.
I'M naebody noo, though in days that are gane,
Whan I'd hooses, and lands, and gear o' my ain,
There war' mony to flatter, and mony to praise,
And wha but mysel' was sae prood in those days!
Ah! then roun' my table wad visitors thrang,
Wha laughed at my joke, and applauded my sang,
Though the tane had nae point, and the tither nae glee;
But of coorse they war' grand when comin' frae me!
Whan I'd plenty to gie, o' my cheer and my crack,
There war' plenty to come, and wi' joy to partak';
But whanever the water grew scant at the well,
I was welcome to drink all alane by mysel'.
Sae lang as my bottle was ready and free,
Friends in dozens I had wha then crooded to prie,
They sat ower the toddy until they war' fou,—
Noo I drink by mysel', for I'm naebody noo.
Whan I'd nae need o' aid, there were plenty to proffer,
And noo whan I want it, I ne'er get the offer;
I could greet whan I think hoo my siller decreast,
In the feasting o' those who came only to feast.
The fulsome respec' to my gowd they did gie,
I thought a' the time was intended for me,
But whanever the end o' my money they saw,
Their friendship, like it, also flickered awa'.
My advice ance was sought for by folks far and near,
Sic great wisdom I had ere I tint a' my gear,
I'm as weel able yet to gie counsel, that's true,
But I may jist haud my wheesht, for I'm naebody noo.