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,
Of 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 forgather'd,
He took off his wee three-cockit;
And he proffer'd 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 dress'd very fine.
There was also a little Malmsay,
And a bottle of Bordeaux,
Which, between me and the captain,
Pass'd nimbly to and fro!
Oh! I ne'er shall take potluck with Captain Paton no mo'e!
Or, if a bowl was mentioned,
The captain he would ring,
And bid Nelly run to the Westport,
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 dispatch'd him at a blow,
While his blood ran out like water
On the soft grass below!
Oh! we ne'er shall hear the like from Captain Paton no mo'e!
But at last the captain sickened,
And grew worse from day to day,
And all miss'd 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 Corkindale 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!
[44] This humorous elegy was first published in _Blackwood's Magazine_
for September 1819. Captain Paton was a well-known character in Glasgow.
The son of Dr David Paton, a physician in that city, he obtained a
commission in a regiment raised in Scotland for the Dutch service. He
afterwards resided with his two maiden sisters, and an old servant
Nelly, in a tenement opposite the Old Exchange at the Cross, which had
been left him by his father. The following graphic account of the
Captain, we transcribe from Dr Strang's interesting work, "Glasgow and
its Clubs," recently published:--"Every sunshine day, and sometimes even
amid shower and storm, about the close of the past and the commencement
of the present century, was the worthy Captain in the Dutch service seen
parading the _plainstanes_, opposite his own residence in the Trongate,
donned in a suit of snuff-coloured brown or 'genty drab,' his long spare
limbs encased in blue striped stockings, with shoes and buckles, and
sporting ruffles of the finest cambric at his wrists, while adown his
back hung a long queue, and on his head was perched a small three-cocked
hat, which, with a _politesse tout a fait Francais_, he invariably took
off when saluting a friend. Captain Paton, while a denizen of the camp,
had studied well the noble art of fence, and was looked upon as a most
accomplished swordsman, which might easily be discovered from his happy
but threatening manner of holding his cane, when sallying from his own
domicile towards the coffee-room, which he usually entered about two
o'clock, to study the news of the day in the pages of the _Courier_. The
gallant Captain frequently indulged, like Othello, in speaking--
'Of moving incidents by flood and field, Of hair-breadth 'scapes i' the
imminent deadly breach.'
And of his own brave doings on the tented field, 'at Minden and at
Dettingen,' particularly when seated round a bowl of his favourite cold
punch, made with limes from his own estate in Trinidad, and with water
newly drawn from the Westport well." It remains to be added, that this
"prince of worthy fellows" died in July 1807, at the age of sixty-eight.