to the board of glenriddel our heroes repair,

so noted for drowning of sorrow and care;

but, for wine and for wee, not more known to fame,

than the sense, wit, and taste, of a sweet lovely dame.

a bard was selected to witness the fray,

and tell future ages the feats of the day;

a bard who detested all sadness and spleen,

and wish'd that parnassus a vineyard had been.

the dinner being over, the claret they ply,

and ev'ry new cork is a new spring of joy;

in the bands of old friendship and kindred so set,

and the bands grew the tighter the more they were wet.

gay pleasure ran riot as bumpers ran o'er:

bright phoebus ne'er witness'd so joyous a core,

and vow'd that to leave them he was quite forlorn,

till cynthia hinted he'd see them next morn.

six bottles a-piece had well wore out the night,

when gallant sir robert, to finish the fight,

turn'd o'er in one bumper a bottle of red,

and swore 'twas the way that their ancestor did.

then worthy glenriddel, so cautious and sage,

no longer the warfare ungodly would wage;

a high ruling elder to wallow in wine;

he left the foul business to folks less divine.

the gallant sir robert fought hard to the end;

but who can with fate and quart bumpers contend!

though fate said, a hero should perish in light;

so uprose bright phoebus—and down fell the knight.

next uprose our bard, like a prophet in drink:—

“craigdarroch, thou'lt soar when creation shall sink!

but if thou would flourish immortal in rhyme,

&nbspe—one bottle more—and have at the sublime!

“thy line, that have struggled for freedom with bruce,

shall heroes and patriots ever produce:

so thine be the laurel, and mine be the bay;

the field thou hast won, by yon bright god of day!”