The Last Speech, and Sorrowful Lamentation of the Broomielaw B idge,
on being sentenced to be pulled down. Also its farewell Address to
the Old Bridge, &c.
MY FRIEN'S,?My hours are number'd now,
An' I must bid ye a!l adieu.?
'Bout sixty years or little mair,
I've faithfu' ser'd ye late an' ear':
My time's been short?-but weel I've worn,
For mony a heavy load I've borne ;
Baith rich an' puir fo'ks, auld an' young.
Upo' me pleasant pass'd airing ;
Sheep, kye, an' how, coaches an' carts,
Pass'd safe alang frae a' the airts ;
An' note,?while ye my hist'ry trace,
I've been a blessing to the place :
But now, my services maun close;
I must submit my fate to foes.
Alake! 'tis neither joke, nor leeiu',
That I must cease to ha'e a bein';
Though without blemish, want or flaw,
I'm doom'd to ruin, even by law !
Frae acciaent I'm free o' harm ;
I'm sturdy, straught, upright, an' firm ;
Look roun" me?neither rive, nor lack ;
Nor yet defac'd by chink, or crack :
For strength, an' beauty, sure was never
A better Brig strode o'er a river:
Without a fault, by all contest,
O' Brigs, the bonniest, an' the best
Yet strange?'tis now the awfu' crisis,
I'm doom'd to be all torn to pieces :
The like was never done before,
In modern times, nor days o' yore:
A sentence?shamefully unjust:
What guilt in men o' public trust :
T' annihilate me for evermore?
For whims, an' schemes, they'll yet deplore.
My value, (what prodigious waste,)
Is, thirty thousan' pounds, at least.
Then, ye my judges, think an' ponder
Repent, o' this most glarin' blunder;
Think on my fate---sair may it grieve
I canna?winna now forgive ye:
My ghaist, I promise sair will vex ye-
My trien's in Glasgow will perplex ye.
Haloo ! auld Gorby,** my dear brither,
We've ay 'greed weel wr' ane anither
Firm as twa rocks we've stable stood,
An' ha'e resisted mony a flood ;?
Ye've learn'd my case?O is na't hard
Fashon'd like you, I might been spar'd
I ever thought ye'd first been humbled
By speat, or Council whimsey?tumbl[ ]-
I'm young, an' stout?ye're auld an' h[ ]y:
Cou'd I think, I'd be gone before ye:
I hop'd, (respeckfu' I acquaint ye,)
T' exist some hun'er years ahint ye ;
This hope?'twas natural to cherish;
But ye are spar'd? an' I must perish!
Oh now! I'll meet my final doom.
My Executioners are come!
Wi' warrant, frae the Council Chamber
Furnish'd wi' mattocks, picks, an' hammers,
An' instruments o' fit construction,
To cut me peacemeal to destruction.
Lang be spar'd?we now must sever,
Fareweel, fareweel?an' that for ever.
Ho! thou vam Maggy Monyfeet,
As my successor?e'en sae be't;
May the first flood set thee a movin',
An' sen' thee soomm down by Govan.
The Lamas flood?ere twa month's gan
Will finish thee I trust--Amen.
** The Auld Brig.
* The New Wooden Brig.
John Muir, Printer.
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Probable date published:
1786 shelfmark: APS.3.98.8
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