To The Potatoe

I ledge we‛d fen gif fairly quat o‛
The weed we smoke, an‛ chow the fat o‛;
An‛ wadna grudge to want the wat o‛
Wealth-wastin‛ Tea;
But leeze me on the precious Pratoe,
My country‛s stay!

Bright blooms the Bean that scents the valley,
An‛ bright the Pea, that speels the salie,
An‛ bright the Plumb tree, blossom‛t brawley,
An‛ blue-bow‛t lint;
But what we‛ straught rais‛t raws can tally,
That sunbeams tint.

Thou feeds our beasts o‛ ilka kin‛,
The gen‛rous steed, and grov‛lin‛ swine;
An‛ poultry tribes; the doves ay fine,
An‛ ducks besmear‛d ay.
Dear was the man, an‛ half divine,
Wha here first rear‛d ye.

I ledge we‛d fen gif fairly quat o‛
The weed we smoke, an‛ chow the fat o‛;
An‛ wadna grudge to want the wat o‛
Wealth-wastin‛ Tea;
But leeze me on the precious Pratoe,
My country‛s stay!

By James Orr (1770—1816)
Extract from origional poem