Chapter V · DESCRIPTIVE AND NARRATIVE POETRY

Upon that night, when fairies light On Cassilis Downans[5] dance, Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze, over, pastures On sprightly coursers prance; Or for Colean the rout is ta'en, road Beneath the moon's pale beams; There, up the Cove,[6] to stray an' rove Amang the rocks and streams To sport that night; Amang the bonnie winding banks Where Doon rins wimplin' clear, winding Where Bruce[7] ance ruled the martial ranks once An' shook his Carrick spear, Some merry friendly country-folks Together did convene To burn their nits, an' pou their stocks, nuts, pull, stalks An' haud their Halloween keep Fu' blythe that night: The lasses feat, an cleanly neat, trim Mair braw than when they're fine; more handsome Their faces blythe fu' sweetly kythe show Hearts leal, an' warm, an' kin': loyal, kind The lads sae trig, wi' wooer-babs love-knots Weel knotted on their garten, garter Some unco blate, an' some wi' gabs very shy, chatter Gar lasses' hearts gang startin' Make Whyles fast at night. Sometimes Then, first and foremost, thro' the kail, Their stocks[8] maun a' be sought ance: must, once They steek their een, an' grape an' wale shut, eyes, grope, choose For muckle anes an' straught anes. big ones, straight Poor hav'rel Will fell aff the drift, foolish, lost the way An' wander'd thro' the bow-kail, cabbage An' pou'd, for want o' better shift, pulled, choice A runt was like a sow-tail, stalk Sae bow'd, that night. bent Then, straught or crooked, yird or nane, earth They roar an' cry a' throu'ther; pell-mell The very wee things toddlin' rin—run Wi' stocks out-owre their shouther; over, shoulder An' gif the custock's sweet or sour, if, pith Wi' joctelegs they taste them; pocket-knives Syne coziely, aboon the door, Then, above Wi' cannie care they've plac'd them cautious To lie that night. The lasses staw frae 'mang them a' stole To pou their stalks o' corn;[9] But Rab slips out, an' jinks about, dodges Behint the muckle thorn: He grippit Nelly hard an' fast; Loud skirled a' the lasses; squealed But her tap-pickle maist was lost, almost When kiutlin' i' the fause-house[10] cuddling Wi' him that night. The auld guidwife's well-hoordit nits[11] well-hoarded nuts Are round an' round divided, An' mony lads' an' lasses' fates Are there that night decided: Some kindle, couthie, side by side, comfortably An' burn thegither trimly; Some start awa, wi' saucy pride, An' jump out-owre the chimlie out of the chimney Fu' high that night. Jean slips in twa, wi' tentie e'e; watchful Wha 'twas, she wadna tell; But this is Jock, an' this is me, She says in to hersel: whispers He bleez'd owre her, an' she owre him, blazed As they wad never mair part; Till fuff! he started up the lum, chimney An' Jean had e'en a sair heart To see't that night. Poor Willie, wi' his bow-kail runt, cabbage stump Was brunt wi' primsie Mallie, precise Molly An' Mary, nae doubt, took the drunt, huff To be compar'd to Willie: Mall's nit lap out, wi' pridefu' fling, leapt, start An' her ain fit it brunt it; foot While Willie lap, an' swoor by jing, by Jove 'Twas just the way he wanted To be that night. Nell had the fause-house in her min', mind She pits hersel an' Rob in; In loving bleeze they sweetly join, Till white in ase they're sobbin: ashes Nell's heart was dancin' at the view: She whisper'd Rob to leuk for't: Rob, stownlins, prie'd her bonnie mou', by stealth, tasted, mouth Fu' cozie in the neuk for't, corner Unseen that night. But Merran sat behint their backs, Marian Her thoughts on Andrew Bell; She lea'es them gashin' at their cracks, leaves, gabbing, chat An' slips out by hersel: She thro' the yard the nearest taks, nearest way An' to the kiln she goes then, An' darklins grapit for the bauks, in the dark, groped, beams And in the blue-clue[12] throws then, Right fear'd that night. frightened An' aye she win't, an' aye she swat, wounded, sweated I wat she made nae jaukin'; know, trifling Till something held within the pat, kiln-pot Guid Lord! but she was quaukin'! But whether 'twas the Deil himsel, Or whether 'twas a bauk-en', beam-end Or whether it was Andrew Bell, She did na wait on talkin To spier that night. ask Wee Jenny to her grannie says, ‘Will ye go wi' me, grannie? I'll eat the apple[13] at the glass, I gat frae uncle Johnie:’ She fuff't her pipe wi' sic a lunt, puffed, smoke In wrath she was sae vap'rin, She noticed na an aizle brunt cinder burnt Her braw new worset apron worsted Out-thro' that night. ‘Ye little skelpie-limmer's face! young hussy's I daur you try sic sportin', dare As seek the foul Thief ony place, Devil For him to spae your fortune! tell Nae doubt but ye may get a sight! Great cause ye hae to fear it; For mony a ane has gotten a fright, An' lived an' died deleerit, delirious On sic a night. ‘Ae hairst afore the Sherra-moor,—One harvest, Sherriffmuir I mind't as weel's yestreen, remember, last night I was a gilpey then, I'm sure young girl I was na past fyfteen: The simmer had been cauld an' wat, An' stuff was unco green; grain, extremely An' aye a rantin' kirn we gat, rollicking harvest-home An' just on Halloween It fell that night. ‘Our stibble-rig was Rab M'Graen, chief harvester A clever, sturdy fallow; His sin gat Eppie Sim wi' wean, son, child That liv'd in Achmacalla; He gat hemp-seed,[14] I mind it weel, An' he made unco light o't: very But mony a day was by himsel, beside himself He was sae sairly frighted sorely That vera night.’ Then up gat fechtin' Jamie Fleck, fighting An' he swoor by his conscience That he could saw hemp-seed a peck; sow For it was a' but nonsense: merely The auld guidman raught down the pock, reached, bag An' out a handfu' gied him; gave Syne bad him slip frae 'mang the folk, Then Sometime when nae ane see'd him, saw An' try't that night. He marches thro' amang the stacks, Tho' he was something sturtin'; staggering The graip he for a harrow taks, dung-fork An' haurls at his curpin: trails, back An' ev'ry now an' then, he says, ‘Hemp-seed! I saw thee, An' her that is to be my lass Come after me an' draw thee As fast this night.’ He whistled up Lord Lennox' march, To keep his courage cheery; Altho' his hair began to arch, He was sae fley'd an' eerie: scared, awe-struck Till presently he hears a squeak, An' then a grane an' gruntle; groan He by his shouther gae a keek, shoulder gave, peep An' tumbl'd wi' a wintle summersault Out-owre that night. He roar'd a horrid murder-shout, In dreadfu' desperation! An' young an' auld come rinnin' out, An' hear the sad narration: He swoor 'twas hilchin Jean M'Craw, halting Or crouchie Merran Humphie, hunchbacked Marian Till stop! she trotted thro' them a'; An' wha was it but grumphie the sow Asteer that night! Astir Meg fain wad to the barn gane have gone To winn three wechts o' naething;[15] But for to meet the Deil her lane, alone She pat but little faith in: put She gies the herd a pickle nits, herd-boy, few And twa red-cheekit apples, To watch, while for the barn she sets, sets out In hopes to see Tam Kipples That very night. She turns the key wi' cannie thraw, cautious twist An' owre the threshold ventures; But first on Sawnie gies a ca', call Syne bauldly in she enters; Then A ratton rattl'd up the wa', rat An' she cried ‘Lord preserve her!’ An' ran thro' midden-hole an' a', dunghill pool An' pray'd wi' zeal an' fervour Fu' fast that night They hoy't out Will, wi' sair advice; urged They hecht him some fine braw ane; promised It chanced the stack he faddom'd thrice[16] measured with outstretched arms Was timmer-propt for thrawin': against leaning over He taks a swirlie auld moss-oak gnarled For some black gruesome carlin; beldam An' loot a winze, an' drew a stroke, uttered a curse Till skin in blypes cam haurlin' shreds, peeling Aff's nieves that night. Off his fists A wanton widow Leezie was, As cantie as a kittlin; lively But och! that night, amang the shaws, woods She gat a fearfu' settlin'! She thro' the whins, an' by the cairn, gorse, stone heap An' owre the hill gaed scrievin'; careering Where three laird's lands met at a burn,[17] To dip her left sark-sleeve in, shirt- Was bent that night. Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays, Waterfall As thro' the glen it wimpled; wound Whyles round a rocky scaur it strays; ledge Whyles in a wiel it dimpled; eddy Whyles glitter'd to the nightly rays, Wi' bickering, dancing dazzle; Whyles cookit underneath the braes, peeped Below the spreading hazel, Unseen that night. Amang the brackens on the brae, ferns, hillside Between her an' the moon, The Deil, or else an outler quey, unhoused heifer Gat up an' gae a croon: gave a low Poor Leezie's heart maist lap the hool; almost leapt, sheath Near lav'rock height she jumpit, lark high But miss'd a fit, an' in the pool foot Out-owre the lugs she plumpit, Wi' a plunge that night. In order, on the clean hearth-stane, The luggies[18] three are ranged; And every time great care is ta'en, To see them duly changed: Auld uncle John, wha wedlock's joys Sin' Mar's year did desire, 1715 Rebellion Because he gat the toom dish thrice, empty He heav'd them on the fire In wrath that night. Wi' merry sangs, an' friendly cracks, I wat they did na weary; wot And unco tales, an' funny jokes,—strange Their sports were cheap and cheery; Till butter'd sow'ns,[19] wi' fragrant lunt, smoke Set a' their gabs a-steerin'; tongues wagging Syne, wi' a social glass o' strunt, Then, liquor They parted aff careerin' Fu' blythe that night.

'Twas in that place o' Scotland's Isle, That bears the name o' auld King Coil, Upon a bonnie day in June, When wearin' through the afternoon, Twa dogs, that werena thrang at hame, busy Forgather'd ance upon a time. Met The first I'll name, they ca'd him Caesar, Was keepit for his Honour's pleasure; His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs, ears Show'd he was nane o' Scotland's dogs, But whalpit some place far abroad, whelped Where sailors gang to fish for cod. His locked, letter'd, braw brass collar, Shew'd him the gentleman and scholar; But though he was o' high degree, The fient a pride, nae pride had he; devil But wad hae spent are hour caressin' E'en wi' a tinkler-gipsy's messan: mongrel At kirk or market, mill or smiddie, smithy Nae tawted tyke, though e'er sae duddie, matted cur, ragged But he wad stand as glad to see him, An' stroan'd on stanes an' hillocks wi' him. lanted The tither was a ploughman's collie, other A rhyming, ranting, raving billie; fellow Wha for his friend and comrade had him, And in his freaks had Luath ca'd him, After some dog in Highland sang, Was made lang syne—Lord knows how lang. He was a gash an' faithfu' tyke, wise, dog As ever lap a sheugh or dyke; leapt, ditch, wall His honest sonsie, bawsent face pleasant, white-marked Aye gat him friends in ilka place, every His breast was white, his tousie back shaggy Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black: His gawsie tail, wi' upward curl, joyous Hung o'er his hurdles wi' a swirl. buttocks Nae doubt but they were fain o' ither, glad And unco pack and thick thegither; intimate Wi' social nose whyles snuff'd and snowkit; Whyles mice and moudieworts they howkit; moles, dug Whyles scour'd awa in lang excursion, And worried ither in diversion; Until wi' daffin' weary grown, merriment Upon a knowe they sat them down, knoll And there began a lang digression About the lords of the creation. caesar I've aften wonder'd, honest Luath, What sort o' life poor dogs like you have; An' when the gentry's life I saw, What way poor bodies liv'd ava. at all Our Laird gets in his racked rents, His coals, his kain, and a' his stents; rent in kind, dues He rises when he likes himsel'; His flunkies answer at the bell: He ca's his coach; he ca's his horse; calls He draws a bonny silken purse As lang's my tail, where, through the steeks, stitches The yellow-letter'd Geordie keeks. guinea peeps Frae morn to e'en it's nought but toiling At baking, roasting, frying, boiling; And though the gentry first are stechin', cramming Yet e'en the ha' folk fill their pechan servants, belly Wi' sauce, ragouts, and sic like trashtrie, rubbish That's little short o' downright wastrie. waste Our whipper-in, wee blastit wonner! wonder Poor worthless elf! it eats a dinner Better than ony tenant man His Honour has in a' the lan'; An' what poor cot-folk pit their painch in, put, paunch I own it's past my comprehension. luath Trowth, Caesar, whyles they're fash'd eneugh; troubled A cottar howkin' in a sheugh, digging, ditch Wi' dirty stanes biggin' a dyke, building, wall Baring a quarry, and sic like; clearing Himsel', a wife, he thus sustains, A smytrie o' wee duddy weans, brood, ragged children And nought but his han'-darg to keep hand-labor Them right and tight in thack and rape. thatch, rope And when they meet wi' sair disasters, sore Like loss o' health, or want o' masters, Ye maist wad think, a wee touch langer almost And they maun starve o' cauld and hunger; must But how it comes I never kent yet. knew They're maistly wonderfu' contented; An' buirdly chiels and clever hizzies stout lads, girls Are bred in sic a way as this is. caesar But then, to see how ye're negleckit, How huff'd, and cuff'd, and disrespeckit, Lord, man! our gentry care sae little For delvers, ditchers and sic cattle; They gang as saucy by poor folk As I wad by a stinking brock. badger I've noticed, on our Laird's court-day, An' mony a time my heart's been wae. Poor tenant bodies, scant o' cash, How they maun thole a factor's snash; endure, abuse He'll stamp and threaten, curse and swear, He'll apprehend them; poind their gear: seize, property While they maun stan', wi' aspect humble, must An' hear it a', an' fear an' tremble! I see how folk live that hae riches; But surely poor folk maun be wretches! luath They're no' sae wretched's ane wad think, Though constantly on poortith's brink: poverty's They're sae accustom'd wi' the sight, The view o't gi'es them little fright. Then chance and fortune are sae guided, They're aye in less or mair provided; An' though fatigued wi' close employment, A blink o' rest's a sweet enjoyment. The dearest comfort o' their lives, Their grushie weans an' faithfu' wives; growing The prattling things are just their pride, That sweetens a' their fireside. And whyles twalpenny-worth o' nappy quart of ale Can mak the bodies unco happy; wonderfully They lay aside their private cares To mind the Kirk and State affairs: They'll talk o' patronage and priests, Wi' kindling fury in their breasts; Or tell what new taxation's comin', And ferlie at the folk in Lon'on. wonder As bleak-faced Hallowmas returns They get the jovial rantin' kirns, harvest-homes When rural life o' every station. Unite in common recreation; Love blinks, Wit slaps, and social Mirth Forgets there's Care upo' the earth. That merry day the year begins They bar the door on frosty win's; The nappy reeks wi' mantling ream ale, foam And sheds a heart-inspiring steam; The luntin' pipe and sneeshin'-mill smoking, snuff-box Are handed round wi' right gude-will; The canty auld folk crackin' crouse, cheerful, talking brightly The young anes ranting through the house— My heart has been sae fain to see them That I for joy hae barkit wi' them. Still it's owre true that ye hae said, Sic game is now owre aften play'd. too often There's mony a creditable stock O' decent, honest, fawsont folk, well-doing Are riven out baith root and branch Some rascal's pridefu' greed to quench, Wha thinks to knit himsel the faster In favour wi' some gentle master, Wha, aiblins, thrang a-parliamentin', perhaps, busy For Britain's gude his soul indentin—indenturing caesar Haith, lad, ye little ken about it; For Britain's gude!—guid faith! I doubt it! Say rather, gaun as Premiers lead him, going And saying ay or no's they bid him! At operas and plays parading, Mortgaging, gambling, masquerading. Or maybe, in a frolic daft, To Hague or Calais taks a waft, To make a tour, an' tak a whirl, To learn bon ton an' see the worl'. There, at Vienna, or Versailles, He rives his father's auld entails; splits Or by Madrid he takes the rout, To thrum guitars and fecht wi' nowt; fight with bulls Or down Italian vista startles, courses Whore-hunting amang groves o' myrtles; Then bouses drumly German water, muddy To make himsel' look fair and fatter, And clear the consequential sorrows, Love-gifts of Carnival signoras. For Britain's gude!—for her destruction! Wi' dissipation, feud, and faction! luath Hech man! dear sirs! is that the gate way They waste sae mony a braw estate? Are we sae foughten and harass'd troubled For gear to gang that gate at last? money, go, way O would they stay aback frae courts, An' please themselves wi' country sports, It wad for every ane be better, The laird, the tenant, an' the cotter! For thae frank, rantin', ramblin' billies, those Fient haet o' them's ill-hearted fellows: Devil a bit Except for breakin' o' their timmer, wasting, timber Or speaking lightly o' their limmer, mistress Or shootin' o' a hare or moor-cock, The ne'er-a-bit they're ill to poor folk. But will ye tell me, Master Caesar? Sure great folk's life's a life o' pleasure; Nae cauld nor hunger o'er can steer them. touch The very thought o't needna fear them. caesar Lord, man, were ye but whyles where I am, sometimes The gentles ye wad ne'er envy 'em, It's true, they needna starve or sweat, Thro' winter's cauld or simmer's heat; They've nae sair wark to craze their banes. hard An' fill auld age wi' grips an' granes: gripes, groans But human bodies are sic fools. For a' their colleges and schools, That when nae real ills perplex them, They make enow themselves to vex them, An' aye the less they hae to sturt them, fret In like proportion less will hurt them. A country fellow at the pleugh, His acres till'd, he's right eneugh; A country lassie at her wheel, Her dizzens done, she's unco weel; dozens But gentlemen, an' ladies warst, Wi' ev'ndown want o' wark are curst, positive They loiter, lounging, lank, and lazy; Though de'il haet ails them, yet uneasy; devil a bit Their days insipid, dull, and tasteless; Their nights unquiet, lang, and restless. And e'en their sports, their balls, and races, Their galloping through public places; There's sic parade, sic pomp and art, The joy can scarcely reach the heart. The men cast out in party matches, quarrel Then sowther a' in deep debauches: solder Ae night they're mad wi' drink and whoring, One Neist day their life is past enduring. Next The ladies arm-in-arm, in clusters, As great and gracious a' as sisters; But hear their absent thoughts o' ither, They're a' run de'ils and jades thegither. downright Whyles, owre the wee bit cup and platie, They sip the scandal-potion pretty; Or lee-lang nights, wi' crabbit leuks, live-long, crabbed looks Pore owre the devil's picture beuks; playing-cards Stake on a chance a farmer's stack-yard, And cheat like ony unhang'd blackguard. There's some exception, man and woman; But this is gentry's life in common. By this the sun was out o' sight, And darker gloamin' brought the night; twilight The bum-clock humm'd wi' lazy drone, cockchafer The kye stood rowtin' i' the loan; cattle, lowing, lane When up they gat and shook their lugs, ears Rejoiced they werena men but dogs; And each took aff his several way, Resolved to meet some ither day.

There's some are fou o' love divine, There's some are fou o' brandy.

A robe of seeming truth and trust Hid crafty Observation; And secret hung, with poison'd crust, The dirk of Defamation: A mask that like the gorget show'd, Dye-varying on the pigeon; And for a mantle large and broad, He wrapt him in religion. Hypocrisy a la Mode. Upon a simmer Sunday morn, When Nature's face is fair, I walked forth to view the corn, An' snuff the caller air. fresh The risin' sun, owre Galston muirs, Wi' glorious light was glintin'; The hares were hirplin' down the furrs, limping, furrows The lav'rocks they were chantin' larks Fu' sweet that day. As lightsomely I glowr'd abroad, stared To see a scene sae gay, Three hizzies, early at the road, girls Cam skelpin' up the way. scudding Twa had manteeles o' dolefu' black, But ane wi' lyart lining; gray The third, that gaed a wee a-back, went a little Was in the fashion shining Fu' gay that day. The twa appeared like sisters twin, In feature, form, an' claes; Their visage wither'd, lang an' thin, An' sour as ony slaes: sloes The third cam up, hap-stap-an'-lowp, hop-step-and-jump As light as ony lambie, An' wi' a curchie low did stoop, curtsey As soon as e'er she saw me, Fu' kind that day. Wi' bonnet aff, quoth I, ‘Sweet lass, I think ye seem to ken me; I'm sure I've seen that bonnie face, But yet I canna name ye.’ Quo' she, an' laughin' as she spak, An' taks me by the hands, ‘Ye, for my sake, hae gi'en the feck most Of a' the ten commands A screed some day. rent ‘My name is Fun—your crony dear, The nearest friend ye hae; An' this is Superstition here, An' that's Hypocrisy. I'm gaun to Mauchline Holy Fair, To spend an hour in daffin'; mirth Gin ye'll go there, yon runkled pair, We will get famous laughin' At them this day.’ Quoth I, ‘Wi' a' my heart, I'll do't; I'll get my Sunday's sark on, shirt An' meet you on the holy spot; Faith, we'se hae fine remarkin'!’ Then I gaed hame at crowdie-time, porridge An' soon I made me ready; For roads were clad, frae side to side, Wi' mony a wearie bodie In droves that day. Here farmers gash in ridin' graith complacent, attire Gaed hoddin' by their cotters; jogging There swankies young in braw braid-claith strapping youngsters Are springin' owre the gutters. over The lasses, skelpin' barefit, thrang, padding, in crowds In silks an' scarlets glitter, Wi' sweet-milk cheese, in mony a whang, slice An' farls bak'd wi' butter, cakes Fu' crump that day. crisp When by the plate we set our nose, Weel heaped up wi' ha'pence, A greedy glow'r Black Bonnet throws, the elder An' we maun draw our tippence. Then in we go to see the show: On ev'ry side they're gath'rin'; Some carryin' deals, some chairs an' stools, planks An' some are busy bleth'rin' gabbling Right loud that day. Here stands a shed to fend the show'rs, keep off An' screen our country gentry; There racer Jess an' twa-three whores Are blinkin' at the entry. Here sits a raw o' tittlin' jades, whispering Wi' heavin' breasts an' bare neck, An' there a batch o' wabster lads, weaver Blackguardin' frae Kilmarnock For fun this day. Here some are thinkin' on their sins, An' some upo' their claes; clothes Ane curses feet that fyl'd his shins, soiled Anither sighs an' prays: On this hand sits a chosen swatch, sample Wi' screw'd up, grace-proud faces; On that a set o' chaps, at watch, Thrang winkin' on the lasses Busy To chairs that day. O happy is that man an' blest! Nae wonder that it pride him! Whase ain dear lass, that he likes best, Comes clinkin' down beside him! Sits snugly Wi' arm repos'd on the chair-back He sweetly does compose him; Which, by degrees, slips round her neck, An's loof upon her bosom, And his palm Unkenn'd that day. Unacknowledged Now a' the congregation o'er Is silent expectation; For Moodie speels the holy door, climbs to Wi' tidings o' damnation, Should Hornie, as in ancient days, Satan 'Mang sons o' God present him, The very sight o' Moodie's face To's ain het hame had sent him his own hot Wi' fright that day. Hear how he clears the points o' faith Wi' rattlin' an' wi' thumpin'! Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath, He's stampin' an' he's jumpin'! His lengthen'd chin, his turned-up snout, His eldritch squeal an' gestures, weird O how they fire the heart devout, Like cantharidian plaisters, On sic a day! such But, hark! the tent has chang'd its voice; There's peace an' rest nae langer; For a' the real judges rise, They canna sit for anger. Smith opens out his cauld harangues, A New Light On practice and on morals; An' aff the godly pour in thrangs To gie the jars an' barrels give A lift that day. What signifies his barren shine Of moral pow'rs an' reason? His English style an' gesture fine Are a' clean out o' season. Like Socrates or Antonine, Or some auld pagan Heathen, The moral man he does define, But ne'er a word o' faith in That's right that day. In guid time comes an antidote Against sic poison'd nostrum; For Peebles, frae the water-fit, river-mouth Ascends the holy rostrum: See, up he's got the word o' God, An' meek an' mim has view'd it, prim While Common Sense[20] has ta'en the road, An' aff, an' up the Cowgate Fast, fast, that day. Wee Miller, neist, the Guard relieves, next An' Orthodoxy raibles, rattles by rote Tho' in his heart he weel believes An' thinks it auld wives' fables: But, faith! the birkie wants a Manse, fellow So cannilie he hums them; prudently, humbugs Altho' his carnal wit an' sense Like hafflins-wise o'ercomes him nearly half At times that day. Now, butt an' ben, the Change-house fills, outer and inner rooms Wi' yill-caup Commentators; ale-cup Here's crying out for bakes an' gills, rolls An' there the pint-stowp clatters; While thick an' thrang, an' loud an' lang, busy Wi' logic, an' wi' Scripture, They raise a din, that in the end Is like to breed a rupture O' wrath that day. Leeze me on drink! it gi'es us mair blessings on Than either school or college; It kindles wit, it waukens lair, learning It pangs us fou o' knowledge. crams full Be't whisky gill, or penny wheep, small beer Or ony stronger potion, It never fails, on drinkin' deep, To kittle up our notion tickle By night or day. The lads an' lasses, blythely bent To mind baith saul an' body, Sit round the table, weel content, An' steer about the toddy. stir On this ane's dress, an' that ane's leuk, look They're makin observations; While some are cosy i' the neuk, corner An' formin' assignations To meet some day. But now the Lord's ain trumpet touts, sounds Till a' the hills are rairin', roaring An' echoes back return the shouts; Black Russel is na sparin'; His piercing words, like Highlan' swords, Divide the joints an' marrow; His talk o' Hell, where devils dwell, Our very ‘sauls does harrow’ Wi' fright that day! A vast, unbottom'd, boundless pit, Fill'd fou o' lowin' brunstane, full, flaming brimstone Whase ragin' flame, an' scorchin' heat, Wad melt the hardest whun-stane! The half-asleep start up wi' fear An' think they hear it roarin' When presently it does appear 'Twas but some neebor snorin' Asleep that day. 'Twad be owre lang a tale to tell How mony stories past, An' how they crowded to the yill, ale When they were a' dismist; How drink gaed round, in cogs an' caups, wooden drinking vessels Amang the furms and benches; An' cheese an' bread, frae women's laps, Was dealt about in lunches, full portions An' dawds that day. lumps In comes a gawsie, gash guidwife, jolly, sensible An' sits down by the fire, Syne draws her kebbuck an' her knife; Then, cheese The lasses they are shyer. The auld guidmen, about the grace, Frae side to side they bother, Till some are by his bonnet lays, An' gi'es them't like a tether, rope Fu' lang that day. Waesucks! for him that gets nae lass, Alas! Or lasses that hae naething! Sma' need has he to say a grace, Or melvie his braw claithing! make dusty O wives, be mindful, ance yoursel How bonnie lads ye wanted, An' dinna for a kebbuck-heel Let lasses be affronted On sic a day! such Now Clinkumbell, wi' rattlin' tow, Bell-ringer, rope Begins to jow an' croon; swing, toll Some swagger hame the best they dow, can Some wait the afternoon. At slaps the billies halt a blink, gaps, kids Till lasses strip their shoon; Wi' faith an' hope, an' love an' drink, shoes They're a' in famous tune For crack that day. chat How mony hearts this day converts O' sinners and o' lasses! Their hearts o' static, gin night, are gane before As saft as ony flesh is. There's some are fou o' love divine, There's some are fou o' brandy; An' mony jobs that day begin, May end in houghmagandie fornication Some ither day.

O, Willie brew'd a peck o' maut, malt And Rob and Allan cam to see; Three blyther hearts, that lee-lang night, live-long Ye wad na found in Christendie. would not have, Christendom We are na fou', we're nae that fou, drunk But just a drappie in our e'e; droplet The cock may craw, the day may daw, crow, dawn And aye we'll taste the barley-bree. brew Here are we met, three merry boys, Three merry boys, I trow, are we; And mony a night we've merry been, And mony mae we hope to be! more It is the moon, I ken her horn, That's blinkin' in the lift sae hie; shining, sky, high She shines sae bright to wyle us hame, entice But, by my sooth! she'll wait a wee. Wha first shall rise to gang awa, go A cuckold, coward loun is he! rascal Wha first beside his chair shall fa', He is the King amang us three!

Recitativo When lyart leaves bestrow the yird, withered, earth Or, wavering like the baukie bird, bat Bedim cauld Boreas' blast; When hailstanes drive wi' bitter skyte, glancing stroke And infant frosts begin to bite, In hoary cranreuch drest; hoar-frost Ae night at e'en a merry core one, gang O' randie, gangrel bodies rowdy, vagrant In Poosie Nansie's held the splore, carousal To drink their orra duddies. spare rags Wi' quaffing and laughing, They ranted an' they sang; Wi' jumping an' thumping The very girdle rang. cake-pan First, niest the fire, in auld red rags, next Ane sat, weel brac'd wi' mealy bags, An' knapsack a' in order; His doxy lay within his arm; mistress Wi' usquebae an blankets warm whisky She blinket on her sodger; leered An' aye he gies the tozie drab flushed with drink The tither skelpin' kiss, smacking While she held up her greedy gab, mouth Just like an aumous dish; alms Ilk smack still did crack still Just like a cadger's whip; hawker's Then, swaggering an' staggering, He roar'd this ditty up— Air Tune: Soldier's Joy I am a son of Mars, who have been in many wars, And show my cuts and scars wherever I come: This here was for a wench, and that other in a trench, When welcoming the French at the sound of the drum, Lal de daudle, &c. My 'prenticeship I past where my leader breath'd his last, When the bloody die was cast on the heights of Abrám; And I serv'd out my trade when the gallant game was play'd, And the Moro low was laid at the sound of the drum. I lastly was with Curtis, among the floating batt'ries, And there I left for witness an arm and a limb: Yet let my country need me, with Elliot to head me, I'd clatter on my stamps at the sound of a drum. And now, tho' I must beg, with a wooden arm and leg, And many a tattered rag hanging over my bum, I'm as happy with my wallet, my bottle, and my callet, trull As when I used in scarlet to follow a drum. What tho' with hoary locks I must stand the winter shocks, Beneath the woods and rocks oftentimes for a home? When the t'other bag I sell, and the t'other bottle tell, I could meet a troop of hell at the sound of the drum. Recitativo He ended; and the kebars sheuk rafters shook Aboon the chorus roar; Above While frighted rattons backward leuk, rats, look An' seek the benmost bore. inmost hole A fairy fiddler frae the neuk, nook He skirled out Encore! shrieked But up arose the martial chuck, darling And laid the loud uproar. Air Tune: Sodger Laddie I once was a maid, tho' I cannot tell when, And still my delight is in proper young men; Some one of a troop of dragoons was my daddie, No wonder I'm fond of a sodger laddie. Sing, Lal de dal, &c. The first of my loves was a swaggering blade, To rattle the thundering drum was his trade; His leg was so tight, and his cheek was so ruddy, Transported I was with my sodger laddie. soldier But the godly old chaplain left him in a lurch; The sword I forsook for the sake of the church; He risked the soul, and I ventur'd the body,— then I prov'd false to my sodger laddie. Full soon I grew sick of my sanctified sot, The regiment at large for a husband I got; From the gilded spontoon to the fife I was ready, I asked no more but a sodger laddie. But the peace it reduced me to beg in despair, Till I met my old boy at a Cunningham fair; His rags regimental they flutter'd so gaudy, My heart it rejoiced at a sodger laddie. And now I have liv'd—I know not how long, And still I can join in a cup or a song; But whilst with both hands I can hold the glass steady, Here's to thee, my hero, my sodger laddie! Recitativo Poor Merry Andrew in the neuk corner Sat guzzling wi' a tinkler hizzie; tinker wench They mind't na wha the chorus teuk, took Between themselves they were sae busy, At length, wi' drink and courting dizzy, He stoitered up an' made a face; staggered Then turn'd, an' laid a smack on Grizzy, Syne tun'd his pipes wi' grave grimace. Then Air Tune: Auld Sir Symon Sir Wisdom's a fool when he's fou, drunk Sir Knave is a fool in a session; court He's there but a 'prentice I trow, But I am a fool by profession. My grannie she bought me a beuk, book And I held awa to the school; went off I fear I my talent misteuk, But what will ye hae of a fool? have For drink I would venture my neck; A hizzie's the half o' my craft; wench But what could ye other expect, Of ane that's avowedly daft? crazy I ance was tied up like a stirk, bullock For civilly swearing and quaffing; I ance was abused i' the kirk, rebuked For touzling a lass i' my daffin. rumpling, fun Poor Andrew that tumbles for sport, Let naebody name wi' a jeer; There's even, I'm tauld, i' the Court, A tumbler ca'd the Premier. Observ'd ye yon reverend lad Maks faces to tickle the mob? He rails at our mountebank squad— It's rivalship just i' the job! And now my conclusion I'll tell, For faith! I'm confoundedly dry; The chiel that's a fool for himsel', fellow Gude Lord! he's far dafter than I. Recitativo Then niest outspak a raucle carlin, next, rough beldam Wha kent fu' weel to cleek the sterling. steal, cash For mony a pursie she had hookit, An' had in mony a well been dookit; ducked Her love had been a Highland laddie, But weary fa' the waefu' Woodie! woe betide, gallows Wi' sighs and sobs, she thus began To wail her braw John Highlandman:— Air Tune: O An' Ye Were Dead, Guidman A Highland lad my love was born, The Lalland laws he held in scorn; Lowland But he still was faithfu' to his clan, My gallant braw John Highlandman. chorus Sing hey, my braw John Highlandman! Sing ho, my braw John Highlandman! There's no a lad in a' the lan' Was match for my John Highlandman. With his philibeg an' tartan plaid, kilt And gude claymore down by his side, two-handed sword The ladies' hearts he did trepan, My gallant braw John Highlandman. We ranged a' from Tweed to Spey, And lived like lords and ladies gay; For a Lalland face he feared none, My gallant braw John Highlandman. They banish'd him beyond the sea; But ere the bud was on the tree, Adown my cheeks the pearls ran, Embracing my John Highlandman. But och! they catch'd him at the last, And bound him in a dungeon fast; My curse upon them every one! They've hang'd my braw John Highlandman. And now a widow I must mourn The pleasures that will ne'er return; No comfort but a hearty can, When I think on John Highlandman. Recitativo A pigmy scraper wi' his fiddle, Wha used to trysts an' fairs to driddle, markets, toddle Her strappin' limb an' gawsie middle buxom (He reach'd nae higher) Had holed his heartie like a riddle, And blawn't on fire. blown it Wi' hand on hainch, and upward e'e, hip He crooned his gamut, one, two, three, Then, in an Ario's key, The wee Apollo Set aff, wi' allegretto glee, His gig solo. Air Tune: Whistle Owre the Lave O't Let me tyke up to dight that tear, reach, wipe And go wi' me an' be my dear, And then your every care an' fear May whistle owre the lave o't. rest chorus I am a fiddler to my trade, An' a' the tunes that e'er I play'd, The sweetest still to wife or maid, Was Whistle Owre the Lave o't. At kirns and weddings we'se be there, harvest-homes, we shall And oh! sae nicely's we will fare; We'll house about, till Daddie Care Sing Whistle Owre the Lave o't. Sae merrily the banes we'll pyke, pick An' sun oursels about the dyke, wall An' at our leisure, when ye like, We'll—whistle owre the lave o't. But bless me wi' your heav'n o' charms, An' while I kittle hair on thairms, tickle, catgut Hunger, cauld, and a' sic harms, such May whistle owre the lave o't. Recitativo Her charms had struck a sturdy caird, tinker As well as poor gut-scraper; He taks the fiddler by the beard, An' draws a roosty rapier—rusty He swoor, by a' was swearing worth, To spit him like a pliver, plover Unless he would from that time forth Relinquish her for ever. Wi' ghastly e'e, poor tweedle-dee Upon his hunkers bended, hams An' pray'd for grace wi' ruefu' face, An' sae the quarrel ended. But tho' his little heart did grieve When round the tinkler prest her, He feign'd to snirtle in his sleeve, snigger When thus the caird address'd her:— Air Tune: Clout the Cauldron My bonnie lass, I work in brass, A tinkler is my station; I've travell'd round all Christian ground In this my occupation; I've ta'en the gold, I've been enroll'd In many a noble squadron; But vain they search'd when off I march'd To go an' clout the cauldron. patch Despise that shrimp, that wither'd imp, Wi' a' his noise an' caperin'; An' tak a share wi' those that bear The budget and the apron; tool-bag And, by that stoup, my faith an' houp! hope And by that dear Kilbaigie, a kind of whisky If e'er ye want, or meet wi' scant, dearth May I ne'er weet my craigie. wet, throat Recitativo The caird prevail'd—th' unblushing fair In his embraces sunk, Partly wi' love o'ercome sae sair, so sorely An' partly she was drunk. Sir Violino, with an air That show'd a man o' spunk, spirit Wish'd unison between the pair, An' made the bottle clunk To their health that night. But hurchin Cupid shot a shaft urchin That play'd a dame a shavie; trick The fiddler rak'd her fore and aft, Behint the chicken cavie.hencoop Her lord, a wight of Homer's craft, Tho' limpin' wi' the spavie, spavin He hirpl'd up, an' lap like daft, hobbled, leapt And shor'd them Dainty Davie yielded them as lovers O' boot that night. gratis He was a care-defying blade As ever Bacchus listed; enlisted Tho' Fortune sair upon him laid, His heart she ever miss'd it. He had nae wish, but—to be glad, Nor want but—when he thirsted; He hated nought but—to be sad, And thus the Muse suggested His sang that night. Air Tune: For A' That, An' A' That I am a bard of no regard Wi' gentlefolks, and a' that; But Homer-like, the glowrin' byke, staring crowd Frae town to town I draw that. chorus For a' that, an' a' that, And twice as muckle's a' that; much I've lost but ane, I've twa behin', I've wife eneugh for a' that. I never drank the Muses' stank, pond Castalia's burn, an' a' that; But there it streams, an' richly reams! foams My Helicon I ca' that. Great love I bear to a' the fair, Their humble slave, an' a' that; But lordly will, I hold it still A mortal sin to thraw that. thwart In raptures sweet this hour we meet Wi' mutual love, an' a' that; But for how lang the flee may stang, fly, sting Let inclination law that. regulate Their tricks and craft hae put me daft, crazy They've ta'en me in, an' a' that; But clear your decks, an' Here's the sex! I like the jads for a' that. jades For a' that, and a' that, And twice as muckle's a' that, My dearest bluid, to do them guid, They're welcome till't, for a' that. to it Recitativo So sung the bard—and Nansie's wa's walls Shook with a thunder of applause, Re-echo'd from each mouth; They toom'd their pocks, an' pawn'd their duds. emptied, pokes, rags They scarcely left to co'er their fads, cover, tails To quench their lowin' drouth. flaming Then owre again the jovial thrang over, crowd The poet did request To lowse his pack, an' wale a sang, untie, choose A ballad o' the best; He rising, rejoicing, Between his twa Deborahs, Looks round him, an' found them Impatient for the chorus. Air Tune: Jolly Mortals, Fill Your Glasses See the smoking bowl before us, Mark our jovial ragged ring; Round and round take up the chorus, And in raptures let us sing: chorus A fig for those by law protected! Liberty's a glorious feast! Courts for cowards were erected, Churches built to please the priest. What is title? what is treasure? What is reputation's care? If we lead a life of pleasure, 'Tis no matter how or where! With the ready trick and fable, Round we wander all the day; And at night, in barn or stable, Hug our doxies on the hay. mistresses Does the train-attended carriage Thro' the country lighter rove? Does the sober bed of marriage Witness brighter scenes of love? Life is all a variorum, We regard not how it goes; Let them cant about decorum Who have characters to lose. Here's to budgets, bags, and wallets! Here's to all the wandering train! Here's our ragged brats and callets! wenches One and all cry out Amen!

“But pleasures are like poppies spread,”

When chapman billies leave the street, pedlar fellows And drouthy neibors neibors meet, thirsty As market-days are wearing late, An' folk begin to tak the gate; road While we sit bousing at the nappy, ale An' getting fou and unco happy, full, mighty We think na on the lang Scots miles, The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles, bogs, gaps That lie between us and our hame, Where sits our sulky sullen dame, Gathering her brows like gathering storm, Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter, found As he frae Ayr ae night did canter—one (Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses For honest men and bonnie lasses). O Tam! hadst thou but been sae wise As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice! She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum, told, good-for-nothing A bletherin', blusterin', drunken blellum; chattering, babbler That frae November till October, Ae market-day thou was na sober; One That ilka melder wi' the miller every meal-grinding Thou sat as lang as thou had siller; money That every naig was ca'd a shoe on, nag The smith and thee gat roarin' fou on; That at the Lord's house, even on Sunday, Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday. She prophesied that, late or soon, Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon; Or catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirk wizards, dark By Alloway's auld haunted kirk. Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet makes, weep To think how many counsels sweet, How mony lengthen'd sage advices, The husband frae the wife despises! But to our tale: Ae market night, Tam had got planted unco right, uncommonly Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, fireside, blazing Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely; foaming ale And at his elbow, Souter Johnny, Cobbler His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony; Tam lo'ed him like a very brither; loved They had been fou for weeks thegither. The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter, And aye the ale was growing better; The landlady and Tam grew gracious, Wi' favours secret, sweet, and precious; The souter tauld his queerest stories; The landlord's laugh was ready chorus; The storm without might rair and rustle, roar Tam did na mind the storm a whistle. Care, mad to see a man sae happy, E'en drown'd himsel amang the nappy. As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, loads The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure; Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious, O'er a' the ills o' life victorious! But pleasures are like poppies spread— You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed; Or like the snow falls in the river— A moment white, then melts for ever; Or like the borealis race, That flit ere you can point their place; Or like the rainbow's lovely form Evanishing amid the storm. Nae man can tether time nor tide; The hour approaches Tam maun ride; That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane, That dreary hour, he mounts his beast in; And sic a night he taks the road in; such As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last; The rattling show'rs rose on the blast; The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd; Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bellow'd: That night, a child might understand, The Deil had business on his hand. Weel mounted on his gray mare, Meg, A better never lifted leg, Tam skelpit on thro' dub and mire, spanked, puddle Despising wind, and rain, and fire; Whiles holding fast his gude blue bonnet; Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet; song Whiles glow'ring round wi' prudent cares, staring Lest bogles catch him unawares, goblins Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh, Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry. ghosts, owls By this time he was cross the ford, Where in the snaw the chapman smoor'd; smothered And past the birks and meikle stane, birches, big Where drunken Charlie brak's neck-bane; And thro' the whins, and by the cairn, gorse, pile of stones Where hunters fand the murder'd bairn; found And near the thorn, aboon the well, Where Mungo's mither hang'd hersel, Before him Doon pours all his floods; The doubling storm roars thro' the woods; The lightnings flash from pole to pole; Near and more near the thunders roll; When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees, Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze; blaze Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing; chink And loud resounded mirth and dancing. Inspiring bold John Barleycorn! What dangers thou canst make us scorn? Wi tippenny, we fear nae evil; ale Wi' usquebae, we'll face the devil! whisky The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle, ale Fair play, he car'd na deils a boddle! farthing But Maggie stood right sair astonish'd, Till by the heel and hand admonish'd, She ventur'd forward on the light; And, vow! Tam saw an unco sight! strange Warlocks and witches in a dance! Nae cotillon brent new frae France, brand But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels, Put life and mettle in their heels. A winnock-bunker in the east, window-seat There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast— A touzie tyke, black, grim, and large! shaggy dog To gie them music was his charge: He screw'd the pipes and gart them skirl. squeal Till roof and rafters a' did dirl. ring Coffins stood round like open presses, That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses; And by some devilish cantraip sleight magic trick Each in its cauld hand held a light, By which heroic Tam was able To note upon the haly table holy A murderer's banes in gibbet-airns; -irons Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen'd bairns; A thief new-cutted frae the rape— Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape; Five tomahawks, wi' blude red rusted; Five scymitars, wi' murder crusted; A garter, which a babe had strangled; A knife, a father's throat had mangled, Whom his ain son o' life bereft— The gray hairs yet stack to the heft; Wi' mair of horrible and awfu', Which even to name wad be unlawfu'. As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd, and curious, The mirth and fun grew fast and furious; The piper loud and louder blew; The dancers quick and quicker flew; They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit, linked Till ilka, carlin swat and reekit, beldam, steamed And coost her duddies to the wark, cast, rags, work And linkit at it in her sark! tripped deftly, chemise Now Tam, O Tam! had thae been queans, those, girls A' plump and strapping in their teens; Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen, greasy flannel Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linen![21] Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair, These trousers That ance were plush, o' gude blue hair, I wad hae gi'en them off my hurdies, buttocks For ae blink o' the bonnie burdies! maidens But wither'd beldams, auld and droll, Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal, Withered (?), wean Louping and flinging on a crummock, Leaping, cudgel I wonder didna turn thy stomach. But Tam kent what was what fu' brawlie: full well There was ae winsome wench and walie choice That night enlisted in the core, Lang after kent on Carrick shore! (For mony a beast to dead she shot, death And perish'd mony a bonnie boat, And shook baith meikle corn and bear, barley And kept the country-side in fear.) Her cutty sark, o' Paisley harn, short-shift, coarse linen That while a lassie she had worn, In longitude tho' sorely scanty, It was her best, and she was vauntie. proud Ah! little kent thy reverend grannie That sark she coft for her wee Nannie bought Wi' twa pund Scots ('twas a' her riches) pounds Wad ever grac'd a dance of witches! But here my muse her wing maun cour; stoop Sic flights are far beyond her pow'r— To sing how Nannie lap and flang, leapt, kicked (A souple jade she was, and strang); And how Tam stood, like ane bewitch'd, And thought his very een enrich'd; Even Satan glowr'd, and fidg'd fu' fain, fidgeted with fondness And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main: jerked Till first ae caper, syne anither, then Tam tint his reason a' thegither, lost And roars out ‘Weel done, Cutty-sark!’ Short-shift And in an instant all was dark! And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, When out the hellish legion sallied. As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke fret When plundering herds assail their byke, herd-boys, nest As open pussie's mortal foes the hare's When pop! she starts before their nose, As eager runs the market-crowd, When ‘Catch the thief!’ resounds aloud; So Maggie runs; the witches follow, Wi' mony an eldritch skriech and hollo. weird screech Ah, Tam! ah, Tam! thou'll get thy fairin'![22] In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin'! In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin'! Kate soon will be a woefu' woman! Now do thy speedy utmost, Meg, And win the key-stane o' the brig; There at them thou thy tail may toss, A running stream they darena cross. But ere the key-stane she could make, The fient a tail she had to shake! devil For Nannie, far before the rest, Hard upon noble Maggie prest, And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle; endeavor But little wist she Maggie's mettle! Ae spring brought off her master hale, whole But left behind her ain gray tail: The carlin caught her by the rump, clutched And left poor Maggie scarce a stump. Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read, Ilk man and mother's son, take heed; Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd, Or cutty-sarks rin in your mind, Think! ye may buy the joys o'er dear; Remember Tam o' Shanter's mare.

And seas between us braid hae roar'd Sin auld lang syne

Come autumn sae pensive, in yellow and gray, And soothe me wi' tidings o' nature's decay; The dark, dreary winter, and wild-driving snaw Alane can delight me—now Nannie's awa.

November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh;

When lyart leaves bestrew the yird;

While winds frae off Ben-Lomond blaw, An' bar the doors wi' drivin' snaw,

When heavy, dark, continued, a'-day rains, all-day Wi' deepening deluges o'erflow the plains; When from the hills where springs the brawling Coil, Or stately Lugar's mossy fountains boil, Or where the Greenock winds his moorland course, Or haunted Garpal draws his feeble source, Arous'd by blust'ring winds an' spotting thowes, thaws In mony a torrent down the snaw-broo rowes; melted snow rolls While crashing ice, borne on the roaring spate, flood Sweeps dams, an' mills, an' brigs, a' to the gate; way (to the sea) And from Glenbuck, down to the Ralton-key, Auld Ayr is just one lengthen'd, tumbling sea; Then down ye'll hurl, deil nor ye never rise! devil if And dash the gumlie jaup up to the pouring skies! muddy splashes

Will your poor narrow foot-path of a street, Where twa wheel-barrows tremble when they meet,—

And tho' wi' crazy eild I'm sair forfairn old age, sorely worn-out I'll be a brig when ye're a shapeless cairn! heap of stones

Forms like some bedlam statuary's dream, The craz'd creations of misguided whim;

As for your priesthood, I shall say but little, Corbies and clergy are a shot right kittle; Ravens, sort, ticklish

Except perhaps the robin's whistling glee, Proud o' the height o some bit half-lang tree:

The silent moon shone high o'er tow'r and tree: The chilly frost, beneath the silver beam, Crept, gently crusting, owre the glittering stream.

O sweet are Coila's haughs an' woods, intervales When lintwhites chant amang the buds, linnets And jinkin' hares, in amorous whids, dodging, gambols Their loves enjoy, While thro' the braes the cushat croods coos Wi' wailfu' cry! Ev'n winter bleak has charms to me When winds rave thro' the naked tree; Or frost on hills of Ochiltree Are hoary gray; Or blinding drifts wild-furious flee, Dark'ning the day! Epistle to William Simpson.

Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays, As thro' the glen it wimpled; Whyles round a rocky scaur it strays; Whyles in a wiel it dimpled; Whyles glitter'd to the nightly rays, Wi' bickering, dancing dazzle; Whyles cookit underneath the braes, Below the spreading hazel, Unseen that night. Halloween.

List'ning the doors and winnocks rattle, windows I thought me on the ourie cattle, shivering Or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle onset O' winter war, And thro' the drift, deep-lairing, sprattle -sinking, scramble Beneath a scar. Ilk happing bird, wee, helpless thing! Each hopping That, in the merry months o' spring, Delighted me to hear thee sing, What comes o' thee? Where wilt thou cow'r thy chittering wing, An' close thy e'e? eye A Winter Night.

Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie, sleek O what a panic's in thy breastie! Thou need na start awa sae hasty, Wi' bickering brattle! hurrying rush I wad na be laith to rin an' chase thee loath Wi' murd'ring pattle! plough-staff I'm truly sorry man's dominion Has broken Nature's social union, An' justifies that ill opinion Which makes thee startle At me, thy poor earth-born companion, An' fellow-mortal! I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve; What then? poor beastie, thou maun live! A daimen icker in a thrave odd ear, 24 sheaves 'S a sma' request; Is I'll get a blessin' wi' the lave, rest And never miss't! Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin! Its silly wa's the win's are strewin'! frail An' naething, now, to big a new ane, O' foggage green! An' bleak December's winds ensuin', Baith snell an' keen! bitter Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste, An' weary winter comin' fast, An' cozie here, beneath the blast, Thou thought to dwell, Till crash! the cruel coulter past Out thro' thy cell. That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble stubble Has cost thee mony a weary nibble! Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble, But house or hald, Without, holding To thole the winter's sleety dribble, endure An' cranreuch cauld! hoar-frost But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane, alone In proving foresight may be vain: The best laid schemes o' mice an' men Gang aft a-gley, Go oft askew An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain leave For promis'd joy. Still thou art blest compar'd wi' me! The present only toucheth thee: But och! I backward cast my e'e On prospects drear! An' forward tho' I canna see, I guess an' fear!

Ha! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin' ferlie! where are, going, wonder Your impudence protects you sairly: I canna say but ye strunt rarely, swagger Owre gauze and lace; Tho' faith! I fear ye dine but sparely On sic a place. such Ye ugly, creepin', blastit wonner, wonder Detested, shunn'd by saunt an' sinner! saint How dare ye set your fit upon her, foot Sae fine a lady! Gae somewhere else, and seek your dinner Go On some poor body. Swith! in some beggar's haffet squattle; Quick, temples settle There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle Wi' ither kindred, jumping cattle, In shoals and nations; Whare horn nor bane ne'er dare unsettle i.e. comb Your thick plantations. Now haud ye there! ye're out o' sight, keep Below the fatt'rils, snug an' tight; fal-de-rals Na, faith ye yet! ye'll no be right Till ye've got on it, The very tapmost tow'ring height O' Miss's bonnet. My sooth! right bauld ye set your nose out, As plump and gray as onie grozet; gooseberry O for some rank mercurial rozet, rosin Or fell red smeddum! deadly, dust I'd gie you sic a hearty doze o't, Wad dress your droddum! breech I wad na been surpris'd to spy You on an auld wife's flannen toy; flannel cap Or aiblins some bit duddie boy, perhaps, ragged On's wyliecoat; undervest But Miss's fine Lunardi! fie, balloon bonnet How daur ye do't? dare O Jenny, dinna toss your head, An' set your beauties a' abread! abroad Ye little ken what cursed speed The blastie's makin'! little wretch Thae winks and finger-ends, I dread, Those Are notice takin'! O wad some Pow'r the giftie gie us To see oursels as others see us! It wad frae mony a blunder free us, And foolish notion: What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us, And ev'n devotion!

Wee modest crimson-tippèd flow'r, Thou's met me in an evil hour; For I maun crush amang the stoure must Thy slender stem: To spare thee now is past my pow'r, Thou bonnie gem. Alas! it's no thy neibor sweet, The bonnie lark, companion meet, Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet Wi' spreckl'd breast, When upward springing, blythe to greet The purpling east. Cauld blew the bitter-biting north Upon thy early humble birth; Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth Amid the storm, Scarce rear'd above the parent-earth Thy tender form. The flaunting flow'rs our gardens yield High shelt'ring woods and wa's maun shield, walls But thou, beneath the random bield shelter O' clod or stane, Adorns the histie stibble-field, barren Unseen, alane. There, in thy scanty mantle clad, Thy snawy bosom sun-ward spread, Thou lifts thy unassuming head In humble guise; But now the share uptears thy bed, And low thou lies! Such is the fate of artless maid, Sweet flow'ret of the rural shade, By love's simplicity betray'd, And guileless trust, Till she like thee, all soil'd, is laid Low i' the dust. Such is the fate of simple bard, On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd: Unskilful he to note the card Of prudent lore, Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, And whelm him o'er! Such fate to suffering worth is giv'n, Who long with wants and woes has striv'n, By human pride or cunning driv'n To mis'ry's brink, Till wrench'd of ev'ry stay but Heav'n, He, ruin'd, sink! Ev'n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate, That fate is thine—no distant date; Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives elate Full on thy bloom, Till crush'd beneath the furrow's weight Shall be thy doom!

On Giving Her the Accustomed Ripp of Corn to Hansel in the New Yearwelcome with a present

A guid New-Year I wish thee, Maggie! Hae, there's a ripp to thy auld baggie: handful, belly Tho' thou's howe-backit now, an' knaggie, hollow-backed, knobby I've seen the day, Thou could hae gane like ony staggie colt Out-owre the lay. Across, lea Tho' now thou's dowie, stiff, an' crazy, drooping An' thy auld hide's as white's a daisie, I've seen thee dappled, sleek, an' glaizie, glossy A bonnie gray: He should been tight that daur't to raize thee, excite Ance in a day. Once Thou ance was i' the foremost rank, A filly buirdly, steeve, an' swank, stately, compact, limber An' set weel down a shapely shank, As e'er tread yird; earth An' could hae flown out-owre a stank, pool Like ony bird. It's now some nine-an-twenty year, Sin' thou was my guid-father's meere; He gied me thee, o' tocher dear, as dowry An' fifty mark; Tho' it was sma', 'twas weel-won gear, wealth An' thou was stark. strong When first I gaed to woo my Jenny, Ye then was trottin' wi' your minnie: mother Tho' ye was trickie, slee, an' funnie, sly Ye ne'er was donsie; unmanageable But hamely, tawie, quiet, an' cannie, tractable, good tempered An' unco sonsie. very attractive That day ye pranc'd wi' muckle pride much When ye bure hame my bonnie bride; bore An' sweet an' gracefu' she did ride, Wi' maiden air! Kyle-Stewart I could braggèd wide have challenged For sic a pair. Tho' now ye dow but hoyte and hobble, can only halt An' wintle like a saumont-coble, stagger, salmon-boat That day ye was a jinker noble goer For heels an' win'! wind An' ran them till they a' did wobble Far, far behin'. When thou an' I were young and skeigh, skittish An' stable-meals at fairs were driegh, dull How thou wad prance, an' snore, an' skriegh snort, neigh An' tak the road! Town's-bodies ran, and stood abeigh, aloof An' ca't thee mad. When thou was corn't, an' I was mellow, full of corn We took the road aye like a swallow: At brooses thou had ne'er a fellow wedding-races For pith an' speed; But ev'ry tail thou pay't them hollow, Where'er thou gaed. went The sma', drooped-rumpled hunter cattle, short-rumped Might aiblins waur'd thee for a brattle; perhaps have beat, spurt But sax Scotch miles, thou tried their mettle, An' gart them whaizle; wheeze Nae whip nor spur, but just a wattle O' saugh or hazel. willow Thou was a noble fittie-lan', near horse of hindmost pair As e'er in tug or tow was drawn! hide or tow traces Aft thee an' I, in aucht hours gaun, eight, going On guid March-weather, Hae turn'd sax rood beside our han', For days thegither. Thou never braindg't, an' fetch't, an' fliskit, plunged, stopped, capered But thy auld tail thou wad hae whiskit, An' spread abreed thy weel-fill'd brisket, chest Wi' pith an' pow'r, Till spritty knowes wad rair't and riskit, rooty hillocks, roared, cracked An' slypet owre. fallen gently over When frosts lay lang, an' snaws were deep, An' threaten'd labour back to keep, I gied thy cog a wee bit heap dish Aboon the timmer; edges I kenn'd my Maggie wad na sleep For that, or simmer. ere In cart or car thou never reestit; were restive The steyest brae thou wad hae faced it; steepest Thou never lap, an' stenned, an' breastit, leapt, jumped Then stood to blaw; But, just thy step a wee thing hastit, Thou snoov't awa. jogged along My pleugh is now thy bairn-time a', plough-team, issue Four gallant brutes as e'er did draw; Forbye sax mae I've sell't awa Besides, more, away That thou hast nurst: They drew me thretteen pund an' twa, The very warst. worst Mony a sair darg we twa hae wrought, day's work An' wi' the weary warl' fought! An' mony an anxious day I thought We wad be beat! Yet here to crazy age we're brought, Wi' something yet. And think na, my auld trusty servan', That now perhaps thou's less deservin', An' thy auld days may end in starvin'; For my last fou, bushel A heapit stimpart I'll reserve ane quarter-peck Laid by for you. We've worn to crazy years thegither; We'll toyte about wi' ane anither; totter Wi' tentie care I'll flit thy tether attentive, change To some hain'd rig, reserved plot Where ye may nobly rax your leather, stretch, sides Wi' sma' fatigue.

O thou! whatever title suit thee, Auld Hornie, Satan, Mick, or Clootie, Hoofie Wha in yon cavern grim an' sootie, Clos'd under hatches, Spairges about the brunstane cootie, Splashes, dish To scaud poor wretches! scald Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee, Hangman An' let poor damnèd bodies be; I'm sure sma' pleasure it can gie, Ev'n to a deil, To skelp an' scaud poor dogs like me, spank, scald An' hear us squeal! Great is thy pow'r, an' great thy fame; Far kenn'd an' noted is thy name; An', tho' yon lowin' heugh's thy hame, flaming pit Thou travels far; An' faith! thou's neither lag nor lame, backward Nor blate nor scaur. shy, afraid Whyles rangin' like a roarin' lion For prey, a' holes an' corners tryin'; Whyles on the strong-wing'd tempest flyin', Tirlin' the kirks; Stripping Whyles, in the human bosom pryin', Unseen thou lurks. I've heard my reverend grannie say, In lanely glens ye like to stray; Or, where auld ruin'd castles gray Nod to the moon, Ye fright the nightly wand'rer's way, Wi' eldritch croon. weird When twilight did my grannie summon To say her pray'rs, douce, honest woman! sedate Aft yont the dyke she's heard you bummin', beyond Wi' eerie drone; Or, rustlin', thro' the boortrees comin', elders Wi' heavy groan. Ae dreary windy winter night The stars shot down wi' sklentin' light, squinting Wi' you mysel I gat a fright Ayont the lough; pond Ye like a rash-buss stood in sight clump of rushes Wi' waving sough. moan The cudgel in my nieve did shake, fist Each bristled hair stood like a stake, When wi' an eldritch stoor ‘quaick, quaick,’ weird, harsh Amang the springs, Awa ye squatter'd like a drake On whistlin' wings. Let warlocks grim an' wither'd hags Tell how wi' you on ragweed nags ragwort They skim the muirs an' dizzy crags Wi' wicked speed; And in kirk-yards renew their leagues Owre howkit dead. disturbed Thence country wives, wi' toil an' pain, May plunge an' plunge the kirn in vain; churn For oh! the yellow treasure's taen i.e., the butter By witchin' skill; An' dawtit, twal-pint Hawkie's gane petted, twelve-pint cow As yell's the bill. dry, bull Thence mystic knots mak great abuse On young guidmen, fond, keen, an' crouse; husbands, cocksure When the best wark-lume i' the house, tool By cantrip wit, magic Is instant made no worth a louse, Just at the bit. crisis When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord, thaws, hoard An' float the jinglin' icy boord, Then water-kelpies haunt the foord, -spirits By your direction, An' 'nighted travelers are allur'd To their destruction. An' aft your moss-traversing spunkies bog-, goblins Decoy the wight that late an' drunk is: The bleezin, curst, mischievous monkies Delude his eyes, Till in some miry slough he sunk is, Ne'er mair to rise. When masons' mystic word an' grip In storms an' tempests raise you up, Some cock or cat your rage maun stop, must Or, strange to tell! The youngest brither ye wad whip Aff straught to hell. straight Lang syne, in Eden's bonnie yard, ago, garden When youthfu' lovers first were pair'd, And all the soul of love they shar'd, The raptur'd hour, Sweet on the fragrant flow'ry swaird, sward In shady bow'r; Then you, ye auld snick-drawing dog! scheming Ye cam to Paradise incog, An' play'd on man a cursed brogue, trick (Black be your fa!) An' gied the infant warld a shog, shake 'Maist ruin'd a'. D'ye mind that day, when in a bizz, flurry Wi' reekit duds, an' reestit gizz, smoky rags, scorched wig Ye did present your smoutie phiz smutty 'Mang better folk, An' sklented on the man of Uz squinted Your spitefu' joke? An' how ye gat him i' your thrall, An' brak him out o' house an' hal', holding While scabs an' blotches did him gall Wi' bitter claw, An' lows'd his ill-tongu'd wicked scaul, loosed, scold Was warst ava? of all But a' your doings to rehearse, Your wily snares an' fechtin' fierce, fighting Sin' that day Michael did you pierce, Down to this time, Wad ding a' Lallan tongue, or Erse, heat, Lowland In prose or rhyme. An' now, auld Cloots, I ken ye're thinkin', Hoofs A certain Bardie's rantin', drinkin', roistering Some luckless hour will send him linkin', hurrying To your black pit; But faith! he'll turn a corner jinkin', dodging An' cheat you yet. But fare you weel, auld Nickie-ben! O wad ye tak a thought an' men'! mend Ye aiblins might—I dinna ken—perhaps Still hae a stake: I'm wae to think upo' yon den, Ev'n for your sake!

Some books are lies frae end to end, And some great lies were never penn'd: Ev'n ministers, they hae been kenn'd, known In holy rapture, A rousing whid at times to vend, fib And nail't wi' Scripture. But this that I am gaun to tell, going Which lately on a night befell, Is just as true's the Deil's in hell Or Dublin city: That e'er he nearer comes oursel 'S a muckle pity. great The clachan yill had made me canty, village age, cheerful I wasna fou, but just had plenty; full I stacher'd whyles, but yet took tent aye staggered, heed To free the ditches; clear An' hillocks, stanes, an' bushes kent aye Frae ghaists an' witches. The rising moon began to glowre stare The distant Cumnock hills out-owre; above To count her horns, wi' a' my pow'r, I set mysel; But whether she had three or four I cou'd na tell. I was come round about the hill, And todlin' down on Willie's mill, Setting my staff, wi' a' my skill, To keep me sicker; secure Tho' leeward whyles, against my will, I took a bicker. run I there wi' Something does forgather, meet That pat me in an eerie swither; put, ghostly dread An awfu' scythe, out-owre ae shouther, across one shoulder Gear-dangling, hang; hung A three-tae'd leister on the ither -toed fish-spear Lay large an' lang. Its stature seem'd lang Scotch ells twa, The queerest shape that e'er I saw, For fient a wame it had ava: devil a belly, at all And then its shanks, They were as thin, as sharp an' sma' As cheeks o' branks. sides of an ox's bridle ‘Guid-een,’ quo' I; ‘Friend! hae ye been mawin, Good-evening, mowing When ither folk are busy sawin?’ sowing It seem'd to mak a kind o' stan', But naething spak; At length says I, ‘Friend, wh'are ye gaun? going Will ye go back?’ It spak right howe: ‘My name is Death, hollow But be na fley'd.’—Quoth I, ‘Guid faith, frightened Ye're maybe come to stap my breath; But tent me, billie: heed, fellow I red ye weel, tak care o' skaith, advise, harm See, there's a gully!’ big knife ‘Gudeman,’ quo' he, ‘put up your whittle, knife I'm no design'd to try its mettle; But if I did—I wad be kittle ticklish To be mislear'd—if mischievous I wad na mind it, no that spittle Out-owre my beard.’ Over ‘Weel, weel!’ says I, ‘a bargain be't; Come, gies your hand, an' sae we're gree't; give us, agreed We'll ease our shanks an' tak a seat— Come, gies your news; This while ye hae been mony a gate, road At mony a house.’ ‘Ay, ay!’ quo' he, an' shook his head, ‘It's e'en a lang, lang time indeed Sin' I began to nick the thread, An' choke the breath: Folk maun do something for their bread, must An' sae maun Death. ‘Sax thousand years are near-hand fled, well-nigh Sin' I was to the hutching bred; butchering An' mony a scheme in vain's been laid To stap or scaur me; stop, scare Till ane Hornbook's ta'en up the trade, An' faith! he'll waur me. worst ‘Ye ken Jock Hornbook i' the clachan—village Deil mak his king's-hood in a spleuchan! second stomach, tobacco pouch (Author of Domestic Medicine) He's grown sae well acquaint wi' Buchan An' ither chaps, The weans haud out their fingers laughin', children And pouk my hips. poke ‘See, here's a scythe, and there's a dart— They hae pierc'd mony a gallant heart; But Doctor Hornbook, wi' his art And cursed skill, Has made them baith no worth a fart; Damn'd haet they'll kill. Devil a thing ‘'Twas but yestreen, nae farther gane, last night I threw a noble throw at ane— Wi' less, I'm sure, I've hundreds slain— But deil-ma-care! It just play'd dirl on the bane, rang, bone But did nae mair. ‘Hornbook was by wi' ready art, And had sae fortified the part That, when I lookèd to my dart, It was sae blunt, Fient haet o't wad hae pierc'd the heart Devil a bit O' a kail-runt. cabbage stalk ‘I drew my scythe in sic a fury I near-hand cowpit wi' my hurry, upset But yet the bauld Apothecary Withstood the shock; I might as weel hae tried a quarry O' hard whin rock. ‘E'en them he canna get attended, Altho' their face he ne'er had kenn'd it, Just sh— in a kail-blade, and send it, cabbage-leaf As soon's he smells't, Baith their disease, and what will mend it, At once he tells't. ‘And then a' doctor's saws and whittles, Of a' dimensions, shapes, an' mettles, A' kinds o' boxes, mugs, an' bottles, He's sure to hae; Their Latin names as fast he rattles As A B C. ‘Calces o' fossils, earths, and trees; True sal-marinum o' the seas; The farina of beans and pease, He has't in plenty; Aqua-fortis, what you please, He can content ye. ‘Forbye some new uncommon weapons,—Besides Urinus spiritus of capons; Or mite-horn shavings, filings, scrapings, Distill'd per se; Sal-alkali o' midge-tail clippings, And mony mae.’more ‘Wae's me for Johnny Ged's Hole now,’ the grave-digger's Quoth I, ‘if that thae news be true!those His braw calf-ward whare gowans grew grazing-plot, daisies Sae white and bonnie, Nae doubt they'll rive it wi' the plew; split They'll ruin Johnie!’ The creature grain'd an eldritch laugh, groaned, weird And says: ‘Ye needna yoke the pleugh, Kirk-yards will soon be till'd eneugh, Tak ye nae fear; They'll a' be trench'd wi' mony a sheugh ditch In twa-three year. ‘Where I kill'd ane, a fair strae-death, straw (i.e., bed) By loss o' blood or want o' breath, This night I'm free to tak my aith oath That Hornbook's skill Has clad a score i' their last claith, cloth By drap and pill. ‘An honest wabster to his trade, weaver by Whase wife's twa nieves were scarce weel-bred, fists Gat tippence-worth to mend her head When it was sair; aching The wife slade cannie to her bed, slid quietly But ne'er spak mair. ‘A country laird had ta'en the batts, botts Or some curmurring in his guts, commotion His only son for Hornbook sets, An' pays him well: The lad, for twa guid gimmer-pets, pet-ewes Was laird himsel. ‘A bonnie lass, ye kenn'd her name, Some ill-brewn drink had hov'd her wame; raised, belly She trusts hersel, to hide the shame, In Hornbook's care; Horn sent her aff to her lang hame, To hide it there. ‘That's just a swatch o' Hornbook's way; sample Thus goes he on from day to day, Thus does he poison, kill an' slay, An's weel pay'd for't; Yet stops me o' my lawfu' prey Wi' his damn'd dirt. ‘But, hark! I'll tell you of a plot, Tho' dinna ye be speaking o't; I'll nail the self-conceited sot As dead's a herrin': Niest time we meet, I'll wad a groat, Next, wager He gets his fairin'!’ But, just as he began to tell, The auld kirk-hammer strak the bell struck Some wee short hour ayont the twal, beyond, twelve Which rais'd us baith: got us to our feet I took the way that pleas'd mysel, And sae did Death.