THE SONG OF THE SCOTCH TOURIST
Those Scotch hotels! Those Scotch hotels
Are fit for princes and for swells;
But their high charges don't agree
With humbler travellers like me.
Twelve shillings daily for my board
Is more than I can well afford,
For this includes nor ale nor wine,
Whereof I drink some when I dine.
Bad sherry's charged at eight-and-six,
A price that in my gizzard sticks:
And if I want a pint of port,
A crown is what I'm pilfer'd for 't.
For service, too, I have to pay,
Two shillings, as a rule, per day:
Yet always, when I leave the door,
The boots and waiter beg for more.
So, till a fortune I can spend,
Abroad my autumn steps I'll bend;
Far cheaper there, experience tells,
Is living than at Scotch hotels!
