Captain Paton's Lament

Touch once more a sober measure,

And let punch and tears be shed,

For a prince of good old fellows,

That, alack-a-day! is dead;

For a prince of worthy fellows,

And a pretty man also,

That has left the Saltmarket

In sorrow, grief, and woe—

Oh! we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo'e!

His waistcoat, coat, and breeches,

Were all cut off the same web,

Of a beautiful snuff-colour,

Or a modest genty drab;

The blue stripe in his stocking

Round his neat slim leg did go,

And his ruffles of the cambric fine

They were whiter than the snow—

Oh! we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo'e!

His hair was curled in order,

At the rising of the sun,

In comely rows and buckles smart

That about his ears did run;

And before there was a toupee

That some inches up did grow,

And behind there was a long queue

That did o'er his shoulders flow—

Oh! we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo'e!

And whenever we foregathered

He took off his wee three-cockit,

And he proffered you his snuff-box

Which he drew from his side pocket,

And on Burdett or Bonaparte

He would make a remark or so,

And then along the plainstones

Like a provost he would go—

Oh! we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo'e!

In dirty days he picked well

His footsteps with his rattan,

Oh! you ne'er could see the least speck

On the shoes of Captain Paton:

And on entering the coffee-room

About two, all men did know,

They would see him with his Courier

In the middle of the row—

Oh! we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo'e!

Now and then upon a Sunday

He invited me to dine,

On a herring and a mutton-chop

Which his maid dressed very fine;

There was also a little Malmsay

And a bottle of Bourdeaux,

Which between me and the Captain

Passed nimbly to and fro—

O! I ne'er shall take pot-luck with Captain Puton no mo'e!

Or if a bowl was mentioned,

The Captain he would ring,

And bid Nelly run to the West-port,

And a stoup of water bring;

Then would he mix the genuine stuff

As they made it long ago,

With limes that on his property

In Trinidad did grow—

Oh! we ne'er shall taste the like of Captain Paton's punch no mo'e!

And then all the time he would discourse

So sensible and courteous,

Perhaps talking of last sermon

He had heard from Dr. Porteous,

Of some little bit of scandal

About Mrs. so and so,

Which he scarce could credit, having heard

The con but not the pro—

Oh! we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo'e!

Or when the candles were brought forth,

And the night was fairly setting in,

He would tell some fine old stories

About Minden-field or Dettingen—

How he fought with a French Major,

And despatched him at a blow,

While his blood ran out like water

On the soft grass below—

Oh! we ne'er shall hear the like of Captain Paton no mo'e!

But at last the Captain sickened,

And grew worse from day to day,

And all missed him in the coffee-room,

From which now he staid away;

On Sabbaths, too, the Wynd Kirk

Made a melancholy show,

All for wanting of the presence

Of our venerable beau—

Oh! we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo'e!

And in spite of all that Cleghorn

And Cork..dale could do,

It was plain, from twenty symptoms,

That death was in his view;

So the Captain made his test'ment

And submitted to his foe,

And we laid him by the Ram's-horn-kirk,

'Tis the way we all must go—

Oh! we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo'e!

Join all in chorus, jolly boys,

And let punch and tears be shed,

For this prince of good old fellows,

That, alack-a-day! is dead;

For this prince of worthy fellows

And a pretty man also,

That has left the Saltmarket

In sorrow, grief, and woe!

For it ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo'e!