Sorrow is Dry, Being a New Song, by Dr James Scott . When to Peggy Bauldie’s daughter, first I told Sir Daniel’s death, Like a glass of soda-water it took away her breath ; It took away your breath, my dear, and it sorely dimm’d your sight, And aye ye let the salt, salt tear, down fall for Erin’s knight ; For he was a knight of glory bright, the spur ne’er deck’d a bolder, Great George’s blade itself was laid upon Sir Daniel’s shoulder. Sing, Hey ho, the Sneddon, &c. I took a turn along the street, to breathe the Trongate air, Carnegie’s lass I chanced to meet, with a bag of lemons fair ; Says I, “ Gude Meg, ohon ! chon ! you’ve heard of Dan’s disaster— If I’m alive, I’ll come at five, and feed upon your master— A glass or two no harm will do to either saint or sinner, And a bowl with friends will make amends for a so so sort of dinner.” Sing, Hey ho, the Sneddon, &c. I found Carnegie in his nook, upon the old settee, And dark and dismal was his look, as black as black might be, Then suddenly the blood did fly, and leave his face so pale, That scarce I knew, in alter’d hue, the bard of Largo’s vale ; But Meg was winding up the jack, so off flew all my pains, For, large as cocks, two fat earocks I knew were hung in chains. Sing, Hey ho, the Sneddon, &c. Nevertheless, he did express his joy to see me there— Meg laid the cloth, and, nothing loath, I soon pull’d in my chair ; The mutton broth and bouilli both came up in season due— The grace is said—when Provan’s head at the door appears in view— The bard at work like any Turk, first nods an invitation ; For who so free as all the three from priggish botheration ? Sing, Hey ho, the Sneddon, &c. Ere long the Towddies deck the board with a cod’s head and shoulders, And the oyster-sauce it surely was great joy to all beholders. To George our king a jolly cann of royal port is poured— Our gracious king, who knighted Dan with his own shining sword— The next we sip with trembling lip—’tis of the claret clear— To the hero dead that cup we shed, and mix it with a tear. Sing, Hey ho, the Sneddon, &c. ’Tis now your servant’s turn to mix the nectar of the bowl : Still on the Ring our thoughts we fix, while round the goblets roll, Great Jackson, Belcher, Scroggins, Gas, we celebrate in turns, Each Christian, Jew, and Pagan, with the Fancy’s flame that burns ; Carnegie’s finger on the board a mimic circle draws, And, Egan-like, h’ expounds the rounds, and pugilistic laws. Sing, Hey ho, the Sneddon, &c. ’Tis thus that worth heroic is suitably lamented.— Great. Daniel’s shade, I know it, dry grief had much resented— What signify your tear and sigh ?—A bumper is the thing Will gladden most the generous ghost of a champion of the King. The tear and sigh from voice and eye must quickly pass away, But the bumper good may be renewed until our dying day ! Sing, Hey ho, the Sneddon, &c.