Poem by Robert Nicoll

The Bailie

DOWN the street the Bailie comes—
    Faith he keeps the causey-crown,
He bans the sergeants black and blue,
    The bellman gets the name o' loon.
He can speak in monie tongues,
    Gude braid Scots and hieland Erse;
The king o' Bailies is our ain,
    Sic men I fear are unco scarce!

At feasting-time the powers aboon
    At cramming try their utmost skill;
But faith the Bailie dings them a'
    At spice and wine, or whisky gill.
The honest man can sit and drink,
    And never ha'e his purse to draw;
He helps to rule this sinfu' town,
    And as it should—it pays for a'.

And then to see him in the kirk,
    Wi' gowden chain about his neck!
He's like a king upon a throne—
    I say it wi' a' meet respect.
And to the folk who fill the lafts,
    Fu' monie a fearsome look he gi'es,
To see that a' are duly filled
    Wi' terror of the dignities!

A pickle here—a pickle there,
    Of borough siller Bailie gets,
And he would need—it's no a joke,
    To fitly fill a Bailie's seat!
The Bailie likes the gude auld ways,
    And yet he langs for something new;
He thinks twal corporation feasts
    Within the year are unco few!

1. Our Auld Hearthstane
2. Minister Tam
3. The Ha' Bible
4. Youth's Dreams
5. We'll A' Go Pu' the Heather

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