â€œAye follow your calling wiâ€™ steady endeavour,
In firmness oâ€™ purpose, that naething can waver;
And youâ€™ll find in your youth, that your fortune is mending,
If you manage to makâ€™ daily mair than youâ€™re spending;
And, believe me, the auld proverbâ€™s true to the letterâ€”
The less that you need, your friends like you the better,
And, the publicanâ€™s firesideâ€™s the dearest, youâ€™ll see,
Siclike were the sayings oâ€™ Peter McDâ€”.
O the worth oâ€™ that parent, whose precepts he treasured,
And the love oâ€™ that mitherâ€™s heart!â€”neâ€™er to be measuredâ€”
Wha morning and eâ€™en, saft as simmerâ€™s wind moanest,
Sang, â€œBairnie, has pride, though youâ€™re poor aye be honest,
Keep back frae the cheatrei, nor do to anither
What wad bring a tear to the eâ€™e oâ€™ your mitherâ€”
That the red flash oâ€™ shame on her cheek neâ€™er may be,
By the sayings or doings oâ€™ Peter McDâ€”.â€
So he grew up a man, wiâ€™ a fortified heart
â€˜Gainst aâ€™ kinds oâ€™ roguery, in airt or in pairt;
Though heâ€™s often been trickâ€™d by the smooth-lipped knave,
And wrongâ€™d by the ane he assisted to saveâ€”
He neâ€™er stoopâ€™d to the meanness oâ€™ fraud and deceit,
To makâ€™ up his losses, although they were great;
And Providence pourâ€™d, like a spate oâ€™er the lea,
Baith business and wealth upon Peter McDâ€”.
As a master, though glegâ€”yet oâ€™erlooking a faut
In the shape oâ€™ a dram, nor lets on that he sawâ€™t;
And the neâ€™er-do-weel loon, be it said to his shame,
When thereâ€™s nought but the bare waâ€™s to look on at hame,
Comes to him wiâ€™ his plaint, a smaâ€™ pittance to spare
To keep wife anâ€™ weans frae the sheugh oâ€™ despairâ€”
Like the bite anâ€™ the buffet a mither does giâ€™e,
Came the crown anâ€™ the counsel, frae Peter McDâ€”.
Though no a bred scholar, his judgment is such,
He staps to conclusions ere logic can touch;
At a twa-handed crack oâ€™er some kittle laid plan,
Yeâ€™ll find ye haâ€™e met wiâ€™ a sensible man;
Wha the fopâ€™ries oâ€™ speech can afford to disdain,
And in guid hamely Scotch, aâ€™ he thinks can explain;
Nae chains round his neck, nor glass stuck on his eâ€™e,
Nor rings on his fingers, need Peter McDâ€”.
Lang may you be spared! now the haffets are gray
Iâ€™ve seen black as the raven, in lifeâ€™s early day;
Though hearty thy laugh, and thy joke cheerfuâ€™ still
The eâ€™eninâ€™ will come, the sun sink oâ€™er the hill.
While the sands oâ€™ thy days are permitted to run,
May you hear your gear spoke oâ€™ as gear honest won;
At lang anâ€™-the-last then, when life takâ€™s the gee,
May we shake hanâ€™s, to meet again, Peter McDâ€”.