"-
"Awa'," yells Tam, "fesh hauf a dizzen!
O haste ye, ere I loss my rizzon!"
Sae aff gangs wullin' Girsie Broon,
To wauk the druggist wast the toon.
VI.
Noo, Droggie had an awfu' stock,
Tobacco, wreetin' paper, rock,
A' kin' o' wersh tongue-twistin' drinks,
A' kin' o' Oriental stinks,
The best cod liver ile emulsions,
Wee poothers that could cure convulsions,
Famed Peter Puffer's soothin' syrup,
An' stuff to gar canaries chirrup.
He'd toothache tinctur's, cures for corns,
Pomades to gar hair grow on horns,
He'd stuff for healin' beelin' lugs,
He'd stuff for suffocatin' bugs,
He'd stuff for feshin' up your denners,
Against your wull an' a' gude menners,
A' kin' o' queer cahoochy goods
To suit the system's varyin' moods,
Wi' navvies' operatin' peels,
Sookers for bairns an' fishin' reels,
In fac'-but losh! I'd better stop,
The mannie kep' a druggist's shop!
An' in his bauchles an' his breeches
Cam' grum'lin' doon to get the leeches
While, nearly scunnert wi' their squirmin',
Aff hirples Girsie wi' the vermin.
VII.
An' noo, my billies, draw a veil,
Till mornin's licht, owre Tam Macphail,
Till aince again the doctor cam'
To see what cheenge was wrocht in Tam.
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