  (1856.) Of a' the changes that of late Have shaken Europe's social state— Let wondering politicians prate, And 'bout them mak a wark a'— A subject mair congenial here, And dearer to a Golfer's ear I sing—the change brought round last year By balls of Gutta Percha! Tho' Gouf be of our games most rare, Yet truth to speak, the tear and wear O' balls was felt to be severe, And source o' great vexation; And Allan's no a farthing doun, The feck o's wad been harried soon, In this era of taxation. But times are changed—we dinna care Though we may ne'er drive leather mair, Be't stuffed wi' feather or wi' hair— For noo we're independent. At last a substance we hae got, Frae which for scarce mair than a groat, A ba' comes that can row and stot— A ba' the most transcendent. Hail, Gutta Percha, precious gum! O'er Scotland's links lang may ye bum; Some purse-proud billies haw and hum, And say ye're douf at fleein'; But let them try ye fairly out, Wi' ony balls for days about, Your merits they will loudly tout, And own they hae been leein'. And noo that a' your praise is spent, Ye'll listen to a friend's comment, And kindlier tak on wi' paint, Then ye wad be perfection. And sure some scientific loon, On Golfing will bestow a boon, And gie ye a cosmetic soon, And brighten your complexion. |
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