1.
Auld chuckie Reekie's sair distrest,
Down droops her ance weel burnish'd crest,
Nae joy her bonie buskit nest
Can yield ava:
Her darling bird that she lo'es best,
Willie's awa.
2.
O, Willie was a witty wight,
And had o' things an unco sleight!
Auld Reekie ay he keepit tight
And trig an' braw;
But now they'll busk her like a fright -
Willie's awa.
3.
The stiffest o' them a' he bow'd;
The bauldest o' them a' he cow'd;
They durst nae mair than he allow'd -
That was a law:
We've lost a birkie weel worth gowd -
Willie's awa.
4.
Now gawkies, tawpies, gowks, and fools
Frae colleges and boarding schools
May sprout like simmer puddock-stools
In glen or shaw:
He wha could brush them down to mools,
Willie's awa.
5.
The brethren o' the Commerce-Chaumer
May mourn their loss wi' doolfu' clamour:
He was a dictionar and grammar
Amang them a'.
I fear they'll now mak monie a stammer:
Willie's awa.
6.
Nae mair we see his levee door
Philosophers and Poets pour,
And toothy Critics by the score
In bloody raw:
The adjutant of a' the core,
Willie's awa.
7.
Now worthy Greg'ry's Latin face,
Tytler's and Greenfield's modest grace,
M'Kenzie, Stewart, such a brace
As Rome ne'er saw,
They a' maun meet some ither place -
Willie's awa.
8.
Poor Burns ev'n 'Scotch Drink' canna quicken:
He cheeps like some bewilder'd chicken
Scar'd frae its minnie and the cleckin
By hoodie-craw.
Grief's gien his heart an unco kickin -
Willie's awa.
9.
Now ev'ry sour-mou'd, girnin blellum,
And Calvin's folk, are fit to fell him;
Ilk self-conceited critic-skellum
His quill may draw:
He wha could brawlie ward their bellum,
Willie's awa.
10.
Up wimpling, stately Tweed I've sped,
And Eden scenes on crystal Jed,
And Ettrick banks, now roaring red
While tempests blaw;
But every joy and pleasure's fled:
Willie's awa.
11.
May I be Slander's common speech,
A text for Infamy to preach,
And, lastly, streekit out to bleach
In winter snaw,
When I forget thee, Willie Creech,
Tho' far awa!
12.
May never wicked Fortune touzle him,
May never wicked men bamboozle him,
Until a pow as auld's Methusalem
He canty claw!
Then to the blessed new Jerusalem
Fleet-wing awa!

Old mother-hen Reekie is sore distressed,
Down droops her once well burnished crest,
No joy her lovely trimmed nest
Can yield at all:
Her darling bird that she loves best,
Willie is away.

O, Willie was a witty person,
And had of things an uncommon skill!
Auld Reekie always he kept in order
And trim and handsome;
But now they will garb her like a fright -
Willie is away.

The stiffest of them all he bowed;
The boldest of them all he cowed (daunted);
They did no more than he allowed -
That was a law:
We have lost a smart person well worth gold -
Willie is away.

Now awkward, foolish, simpletons, and fools
From colleges and boarding schools
May sprout like summer mushrooms
In glen or woods:
He who could brush them down to dust,
Willie is away.

The brethren of the Commerce-Chamber
May mourn their loss with woeful clamour:
He was a dictionary and grammar
Among them all.
I fear they will now make many a stammer:
Willie is away.

No more we see his levee door
Philosophers and Poets pour,
And toothy Critics by the score
In bloody row:
The adjutant of all the core,
Willie is away.

Now worthy Gregory's Latin face,
Tytler's and Greenfield's modest grace,
M'Kenzie, Stewart, such a brace
As Rome never saw,
They all must meet some other place -
Willie is away.

Poor Burns even 'Scotch Drink' can not quicken:
He cheeps like some bewildered chicken
Scared from its mother and the brood
By carrion crow.
Grief has given his heart an uncommon kicking -
Willie is away.

Now every sour-mouthed, complaining babbler,
And Calvin's folk, are fit to kill him;
Each self-conceited critic-scullion
His quill (pen) may draw:
He who could finely ward off their assult,
Willie is away.

Up meandering, stately river Tweed I have sped,
And Eden scenes on crystal Jed,
And Ettrick banks, now roaring red
While tempests blow;
But every joy and pleasure has fled:
Willie is away.

May I be Slander's common speech,
A text for Infamy to preach,
And, lastly, stretched out to bleach
In winter snow,
When I forget you, Willie Creech,
Though far away!

May never wicked Fortune tousle him,
May never wicked men bamboozle him,
Until a head as old as Methuselah
He cheerfully scratch!
Then to the blessed new Jerusalem
Fleet-wing away!