A piper ne’er tires of his host
Who ofttimes serves him beer and roast,
For hearty tunes he’s played a’fore,
To greet the guests before the door.
For coins of gold and silver none —
His wealth’s not in purse or silken spun.
He rather lives for voices at the gate,
And smiles in hall and at table late.
But for a bed and dear friends amassed,
He’d live and love and die at last.
So, loosing oft’ his pipe from tether,
He stoops and doffs his cap and feather.
(Not as good at Scott - but the sentiment of The Lay of the Last Minstrel is there.)
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