“No future age shall see his name expire”—Inscription on the tombstone of William Nicholson.

Brother Will, to school’s routine you were ill-fitted,
they said you could carry the pack instead.
Not suited to farm with your short sight,
loaded up with combs, thimbles, gown fabric,
you set off with your bagpipes at twenty,
wondered what would printing a book do for you.

Before long your poem songs got you known,
to Edinburgh city next you were gone.
But down in London you fell on hard times,
preaching religion instead of your rhymes.
Drink made you prey to malevolent types.
Near drowned in canals, robbed of your pipes.

You’ll be remembered alongside Burns and Hogg,
for your Brownie o Bladnoch written at Borgue.

“No future age shall see his name expire”
–Inscription on the tombstone of William Nicholson.

Brither Wull, tae scuil’s routine ye wir ill-fitted,
they said ye could cairrie the pack instead.
No suitit tae ferm wi yer short sicht,
loadit up wi combs, thimbles, goun fabric.
Ye set aff wi yer bagpipes at twentie,
wunnert whit wid printin a buik dae fir ye.

Afore lang yer poem sangs got ye kent,
tae Edinburgh citie neist ye went.
Bit doon in London ye fell oan herd times,
preachin religion instead o yer rhymes.
Drink made ye prey tae malevolent types.
Near droont in canals, robbed o yer pipes.

Ye’ll be mindit alangside Burns an Hogg,
fir yer Brownie o Blednoch written at Borgue.