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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=508811" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Old Armchair</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">In all the pubs from Troon to Ayr<br>Grandfather's father would repair<br>With Bobby Burns, a drouthy pair,<br>  The glass to clink;<br>And oftenwhiles, when not too &quot;fou,&quot;<br>They'd roar a bawdy stave or two,<br>From midnight muk to morning dew,<br>  And drink and drink.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And Grandfather, with eye aglow<br>And proper pride, would often show<br>An old armchair where long ago<br>  The Bard would sit;<br>Reciting there with pawky glee<br>&quot;The Lass that Made the Bed for Me;&quot;<br>Or whiles a rhyme about the flea<br>  That ne'er was writ.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then I would seek the Poet's chair<br>And plant my kilted buttocks there,<br>And read with joy the Bard of Ayr<br>  In my own tongue;<br>The Diel, the Daisy and the Louse<br>The Hare, the Haggis and the Mouse,<br>(What fornication and carouse!)<br>  When I was young.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Though Kipling, Hardy, Stevenson<br>Have each my admiration won,<br>Today, my rhyme-race almost run,<br>  My fancy turns<br>To him who did Pegasus prod<br>For me, Bard of my native sod,<br>The sinner best-loved of God -<br>  Rare Robbie Burns.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Robert+William+Service">Robert William Service</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=508811" data-title="The Old Armchair de Robert William Service" data-description="In all the pubs from Troon to Ayr
Grandfather's father would repair
With Bobby Burns, a drouthy pair,
  The glass to clink;
And oftenwhiles, when not too &quot;fou,&quot;
They'd roar a bawdy stave or two,
From midnight muk to morning dew,
  And dr..."></div>
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