THE COGGIE. Air--“Cauld kail in Aberdeen.” _____ WHEN poortith cauld and sour
disdain, Hand o'er life’s vale sae foggy, The sun that brightens up the
scene Is friendship’s kindly coggie; Then, O revere the
coggie, sirs! The friendly, social coggie! It gars the wheels o’ life run light, Tho’ e’er sae doilt an’ cloggy. Let pride in fortune’s chariot
fly, Sae empty, vain, an’ vogie; The source of wit, the spring
of joy, Lies in the social coggie; Then, O revere the
coggie, sirs! The independent coggie! And never snool beneath the frown Of ony selfish roguie. Poor modest Worth,
wi’ cheerless e'e, Sits hurklin’ in the boggie, Till she asserts her dignity, By virtue o’ the coggie: Then, O revere the
coggie, sirs! The poor man’s patron coggie! It warsels care, it feghts life’s faughts, An’ lifts him frae the
boggie. Gi’e feckless Spain her weak
snail-broo, Gi’e France her weel spic't froggie, Gie’e brither John his luncheon
too, But gie to us our coggie: Then, O revere the
coggie, sirs! Our soul-warm kindred coggie! Hearts doubly knit in social tie, When just a wee-thought
groggy. In days of yore our sturdy
sires, Upon their hills sae scroggy, Glow’d with true freedom’s
warmest fires, An’ faught to save their coggie! Then, O revere the
coggie, sirs! Our brave forefather’s coggie! It rous’d them up to
doughty deeds, O'er whilk we’ll lang
be vogie.
Then, here’s may Scotland ne’er
fa’ down, A cringin’, coward doggie, But baudly stan’ an’ bang the
loon, Wha’d reave her o’ her coggie: Then, O protect the
coggie, sirs! Our gude auld mither’s coggie! Nor let her luggie e’er be drain’d, By ony foreign roguie. |