Or teach their schools.
They hunt about frae house to house,
Just as a tailor hunts a louse,
Still girding at the barley-juice
An’ aft get drunk,
They plump into some open sluice,
Where a’ is sunk.
A plague upo’ that oil o’ ma’t,
That weary drink is a’ their fau’t,
It made our Dominie to hal’t;