The Way Of The Warl' Poem by Janet Hamilton

It's the way o' the Warl' when yer troubles are sair,
An' yer doon i' the dirt, aye tae tramp ye the mair;
Ye may warssle an' grane, ye may murther an' cry,
Wi' a glunch or a sneer she wull gang her wa's by!


It's the way o' the Warl' tae think maist o' braid-claith
An' the weel-plenisht purse-Oh, hoo weel she likes baith!
The thin raggit doublet she canna weel thole,
An' she ne'er could pit up wi' a pouch an' a hole!


It's the way o' the Warl' aye tae soun' weel the fame-
Nae odds hoo he gat it-o' the chiel wi' a name;
But the nameless, though giftit, are caul' i' the yird,
Ere a sang or a word i' their praise she wull mird!


Then maybe she'll say, when he's streekit and caul'-
'Puir chiel! I aye thocht him a gude kin' o' saul;'
An' syne ower his grave she'll big a wheen stanes,
An' sit on the tap o't, an' greet ower his banes!


Noo, yer way wi' the Warl's jist tae let her alane,
Ne'er fash her wi' yammerin'-ne'er mak' ye a mane-
Ne'er haud up yersel' an' yer sairs tae her een-
She's ower thrang wi' hersel', an' she cares na a preen!


Juist help ye yersel', an' there's Ane that wull help:
Whan the Warl' steeks ye oot, ne'er sit down an' yelp
Like a doug, but bear bauldly yer heid, like a man-
Keep yer e'e an' yer hert aye abune gif ye can!


Noo, Warl', hae I wrang't ye?-thou kens best thysel';
Let them that hae try't thee an' lippen't thee tell;
But, hark! i' yer lug, my puir hard-wurkin' brither,
Lippen aye maist tae Heaven, tae yersel', an' yer mither!