%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> SUTHERLAND'S Lament, for the / loss of his Post. / WITH HIS / Advice to John Daglees his Successor. University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center English Broadside Ballad Archive (EBBA) Director Patricia Fumerton Associate Director Carl G Stahmer 1722-1722 Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 07/15/2014 34328

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Patricia Fumerton Early Modern Center - English Department University of California Santa Barbara, CA 93105 United States of America EMail: pfumer@english.ucsb.edu

T196769 I Think Auld Reikie's now grown Daft, / To change my Lord Provo so aft, Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 96 SUTHERLAND'S Lament, for the / loss of his Post. / WITH HIS / Advice to John Daglees his Successor. SUTHERLAND'S Lament, for the loss of his Post. WITH HIS Advice to John Daglees his Successor. 1722-1722

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 Early Modern Center Ballad Project Keyword Taxonomy advice affliction/ health alcohol Americas animals/ nature Bible/ biblical figures buildings/ architecture catastrophe children class clothing/ appearance country/ nation crime death economics/ commerce entertainments family Featured folklore gender holidays/ seasons infidelity labor/ craft law London love maritime marriage military/ war monstrosity mythology/ Classical news nobility/ court politics/ government procreation punishment race/ ethnicity religious concepts religious figures religious groups royalty rural life servitude sex/ sexuality supernatural/ magic travel trickery/ deceit urban life vice violence virtue vulgar humor youth/ age Library of Congress Subject Heading Taxonomy 7/15/2014 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America advice country/ nation punishment Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 7/15/2014 2:32:08 PM XBallad Chow, Jeremy Created XML Version of Ballad 7/15/2014 2:32:08 PM Transcription Supervisor Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 7/15/2014 2:32:08 PM Double-Key Comparison and Merging McCants, Kristen Transcription of ballad manuscript 7/15/2014 2:32:08 PM Transcriptionist Two Gieringer, Darby Transcription of ballad manuscript 7/15/2014 2:32:08 PM Transcriptionist One Collins, Courtney Transcription of ballad manuscript 4/24/2014 Checker Erik Bell Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 2/10/2014 Checker Jeremy Chow Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 1/16/2013 Bibliographer Shannon Meyer Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">SUTHERLAND'S Lament, for the</hi></seg> <seg n="2" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">loss of his Post.</hi></seg> <seg n="3" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">WITH HIS</hi></seg> <seg n="4" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Advice to John Daglees his Successor.</hi></seg>
I Think Auld Reikies now grown Daft, To change my Lord Provo so aft, For ae poor shot o' wrang cad Waft, They've Banish'r me: I was the Deacon o' my Craft, An boor the Gree. For when the Throng I marched thro Wi' a bair Breast just like a Beaw, All ran to see my Lord Provo, And did Admire: But with a bair Back now I go, To get my Hire When ance I Whiped Nannie Fender, To let them see I was na tender, Many a lusty Lick I lend her, On her bair Back. Till a the Folk cry'd out he'l end her, At ilk a Whake. But Peas for Beans O Dool! O Dool! I'm Whiped now at my aun School, E'r I were lade Just like a Fool, Thro' a the Town! I'd fit Ten Sundays on the Stool, And wear the Gown. Now if this Fashon come to Town, To Wheep ilk ane that plays the Lown, Wi' any Man I'l lay a Crown, I'm sure he'l Los't. They'l bring some English Artist down, To get the Post. At last I judg'd a Wife my fell, And wheep't her where she wad na tell, Till in came the Good Man him fell, Made ilka Stroak, Ring louder than the Common Bell, E'r Nine a Clock.
And just like a Poor silly Soat, I've lost my Labor and my Coat, They might as well a Cut my throat, Henrys Death, Poor Man he was no worth a Groat, At his last Breath My Credits gon and nothing for't, But Forty pound and a bass Mort, As Common as the Comgate Port, Or Leith stage Coach, I've play'd my self a bonny Sport, O sad Reproach The D---l has made me now as poor, As Job, and just like a bair Moor Left Nothing: But a Common-Whoor To me behind. She'l be my Death, I'm very sure; An that ye'l find Now take my Councill John Dalgeess, Ne're Spare them tho' your Loof they Grees Bring off the Skin Just like a flees, At ilke Tost, For if you Chance to miss a Leish, Ye'l lost your Post, Wee'r Billies let us Never quarll, you have my Post lend me your Barll, I'le win ten Shillings an a far'll, Ilkatweek, Er Long I will have ten Pound Starll, In ilke Breike. Let's make a Barter, what's the Matter? Drink ye good Ale, I man Drink Watter, But if you chance to prove a Fater, Aff go ye; May they treat ilke Furnicator As they've done me.