 | Poems and Songs |  |
34
The Holy Troke.
By BETTY GOSSIP.
Oor Session owed a debt that cost
Owre twenty pounds a year,
And ay they moaned and fumed and groaned
As it grew waur to bear.
But at length there cam' a crisis
In oor kirk's affairs; for Fate
Decree'd a fearfu' less'nin'
O' the “offerings” at the “plate.”
Owre twenty pounds a year,
And ay they moaned and fumed and groaned
As it grew waur to bear.
But at length there cam' a crisis
In oor kirk's affairs; for Fate
Decree'd a fearfu' less'nin'
O' the “offerings” at the “plate.”
And the Pastor sent for Mr. Pence,
The man that kept the bag
(Atweel, 'twas but a bag in name,
A toom and useless rag).
“Dear Mr. Pence,” quoth he, aff loof,
“This thing's between us twa;
But thirty-five a quarter, sir,
It winna do ava.”
The man that kept the bag
(Atweel, 'twas but a bag in name,
A toom and useless rag).
“Dear Mr. Pence,” quoth he, aff loof,
“This thing's between us twa;
But thirty-five a quarter, sir,
It winna do ava.”
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“It's rather mair,” said Mr. Pence;
The Pastor raised his haun—
“Hae patience, sir, for we maun hear
Before we un'erstaun':—
The lassie's fee's to pay you see;
When that is ta'en awa'
It's thirty-five a quarter,
And it winna do ava.
The Pastor raised his haun—
“Hae patience, sir, for we maun hear
Before we un'erstaun':—
The lassie's fee's to pay you see;
When that is ta'en awa'
It's thirty-five a quarter,
And it winna do ava.
“I cam' to ye a happy man,
I married and sat doon;
My wife was ane ye a' approved—
As guid's was in the toon—
As guid, but just as puir's mysel—
Weel, noo, we're nine in a';
And on thirty-five a quarter—
Sir, it winna do ava.
I married and sat doon;
My wife was ane ye a' approved—
As guid's was in the toon—
As guid, but just as puir's mysel—
Weel, noo, we're nine in a';
And on thirty-five a quarter—
Sir, it winna do ava.
“I'm deep in debt—I'm awn yoursel'—
My credit's on the swing;
Indeed, I fear my leaving here
Is maist a settled thing—
Unless an effort can be made.
That twenty odd you pay
As interest? Utter nonsense! Get
The debt swept off, I say.”
My credit's on the swing;
Indeed, I fear my leaving here
Is maist a settled thing—
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That twenty odd you pay
As interest? Utter nonsense! Get
The debt swept off, I say.”
Puir Mr. Pence held up his hauns,
Sprang up and syne sat doon,
“Your debt to me can wait,” quoth he,
“Till better times come roon;
But sweep five hunder pounds awa!
Ye speak like ane possess't;
Oor off'rin's fa' awa like snaw!
But, sir, I'll do my best.”
Sprang up and syne sat doon,
“Your debt to me can wait,” quoth he,
“Till better times come roon;
But sweep five hunder pounds awa!
Ye speak like ane possess't;
Oor off'rin's fa' awa like snaw!
But, sir, I'll do my best.”
“Now, that is wise,” the Pastor said.
“Just listen, Mr. Pence,
This plan of mine. I'll make it thine,
Thou King of Commonsense.
Get up a Holy Troke. Invite
Free friends frae near and far.”
“Tuts, sir, ye joke! What's ‘Holy Troke?’”
“Oh, it's a Church Bazaar.
“Just listen, Mr. Pence,
This plan of mine. I'll make it thine,
Thou King of Commonsense.
Get up a Holy Troke. Invite
Free friends frae near and far.”
“Tuts, sir, ye joke! What's ‘Holy Troke?’”
“Oh, it's a Church Bazaar.
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“Get up a Holy Troke, I say,
Take time and do it well,
Invite the fair ones of our Church
To make, and beg, and sell;
And have a lady committee—
My Jane will do her share—
And catch our worthy Provost's wife
And put her in the chair.
Take time and do it well,
Invite the fair ones of our Church
To make, and beg, and sell;
And have a lady committee—
My Jane will do her share—
And catch our worthy Provost's wife
And put her in the chair.
“The lady element will toil
Like oxen in the yoke.
But mind 'twill mar a Church Bazaar
To ca't a ‘Holy Troke.’
What say ye?” “Weel, I think the plan
Will prove a perfit pet,
We'll trade in ocht, and pay for nocht,
And haud by a' we get.”
Like oxen in the yoke.
But mind 'twill mar a Church Bazaar
To ca't a ‘Holy Troke.’
What say ye?” “Weel, I think the plan
Will prove a perfit pet,
We'll trade in ocht, and pay for nocht,
And haud by a' we get.”
“Just so,” the smiling Pastor said,
“And when the debt is gane
And twenty pounds a-year set free
I'll hae ye owre your lane,
For you're the man that hauds the bag,
Our chief man, Mr. Pence;
And five-and-twenty mair a-year
Ye ken's guid commonsense.”
“And when the debt is gane
And twenty pounds a-year set free
I'll hae ye owre your lane,
38
Our chief man, Mr. Pence;
And five-and-twenty mair a-year
Ye ken's guid commonsense.”
So Mr. Pence on some pretence
The session gat thegither,
And 'twas a lang and douce confab
They had wi' ane anither:
And syne they set their moles to work—
A' wormin' to a plan—
Some saw the Provost's wife, and some
Consulted her gudeman.
The session gat thegither,
And 'twas a lang and douce confab
They had wi' ane anither:
And syne they set their moles to work—
A' wormin' to a plan—
Some saw the Provost's wife, and some
Consulted her gudeman.
The Provost's wife—hissel'—for far
The better horse was she—
Got a' the ladies, young and auld,
To form a committee.
“Tak' ocht,” she said, “but nice things first,
The brawest best will sell;
And to the lass that gathers maist
I'll gi'e a silver bell.
The better horse was she—
Got a' the ladies, young and auld,
To form a committee.
“Tak' ocht,” she said, “but nice things first,
The brawest best will sell;
And to the lass that gathers maist
I'll gi'e a silver bell.
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“Ye maunna beg for things. Oh, no!—
My plan is better far—
Hae e'en for a'; say ay, ‘Hoo braw!
Hoo nice for oor Bazaar!’
And things that gentlemen would like
Ye'll wile frae gentlemen:
And them that really winna give,
They may be coax'd to len':
My plan is better far—
Hae e'en for a'; say ay, ‘Hoo braw!
Hoo nice for oor Bazaar!’
And things that gentlemen would like
Ye'll wile frae gentlemen:
And them that really winna give,
They may be coax'd to len':
“For things that's lent, an' by mistake
Disposed o'—weel, ye see,
I dinna ken what can be said
If gentlemen they be—
We're workin' wi' a richteous aim,
As I am prood to tell:
But, yet, for a', wha maist can draw,
It's her will win the bell.”
Disposed o'—weel, ye see,
I dinna ken what can be said
If gentlemen they be—
We're workin' wi' a richteous aim,
As I am prood to tell:
But, yet, for a', wha maist can draw,
It's her will win the bell.”
The day arrived. A hall was hired,
(For, labourin' in the mirk,
Ae elder set his face against
Sic traffic in the kirk).
And there were tables round aboot
Wi' glitterin' trifles braw,
And many a thocht in worsted wrocht
Hung temptsome on the wa'.
(For, labourin' in the mirk,
Ae elder set his face against
Sic traffic in the kirk).
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Wi' glitterin' trifles braw,
And many a thocht in worsted wrocht
Hung temptsome on the wa'.
And fifty smirkin' haun'-waled maids—
At ilka table ane—
Were there to haun' the trifles oot,
And haul the siller in.
And a'—the chairs, and tables e'en—
Were priced on tickets neat;
It lacked but tickets on the maids
To make the Troke complete.
At ilka table ane—
Were there to haun' the trifles oot,
And haul the siller in.
And a'—the chairs, and tables e'en—
Were priced on tickets neat;
It lacked but tickets on the maids
To make the Troke complete.
Hoo weel the witchin' smile was plied,
Hoo weel the pawky e'e,
Wi' lauchter licht frae morn to nicht—
'Twas just a treat to see.
But what a dearth o' change there was
Wad scarce be fair to tell,
For ilka maid had sworn, t'was said,
That she wad win the bell.
Hoo weel the pawky e'e,
Wi' lauchter licht frae morn to nicht—
'Twas just a treat to see.
But what a dearth o' change there was
Wad scarce be fair to tell,
For ilka maid had sworn, t'was said,
That she wad win the bell.
41
At length the last geegaw's laid past,
The hindmost scrap o' trash
Is sell't, and comes the happy hour
When they may count the cash.
Some sware 'twas Bella Broon would win,
And some said Maggie Hay,
For youths, moustached and crimson-sashed,
Were near them a' the day.
The hindmost scrap o' trash
Is sell't, and comes the happy hour
When they may count the cash.
Some sware 'twas Bella Broon would win,
And some said Maggie Hay,
For youths, moustached and crimson-sashed,
Were near them a' the day.
At last the Provost's wife came in,
Wi' gran' train trailin' roon,
Her dainty tablets in her haun',
To note the drawin's doon;
And hoo they cheered her as she kissed
Her winsome dochter Nell!
And, blushing, clasped upon her breast
The tiny silver bell.
Wi' gran' train trailin' roon,
Her dainty tablets in her haun',
To note the drawin's doon;
And hoo they cheered her as she kissed
Her winsome dochter Nell!
And, blushing, clasped upon her breast
The tiny silver bell.
And syne a murmurin' souch gaed roon',
Thus burdened—“Was it fair?
Wha kens what big a sum it cost
To place the trophy there?”
And later on the ball-room shone
(The Assembly, I should say),
Until the prying sun looked in
On robes nae langer gay.
Thus burdened—“Was it fair?
Wha kens what big a sum it cost
To place the trophy there?”
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(The Assembly, I should say),
Until the prying sun looked in
On robes nae langer gay.
Then Mr. Pence, wha bann'd the ball
Because he couldna dance,
Wi' twa-three mae, gaed owre to hae
Some sherry at the manse;
And ere they left there was a purse
Put in the pastor's haun',
Wi' guineas in't—a perfect mint,
To him—ye un'erstaun?
Because he couldna dance,
Wi' twa-three mae, gaed owre to hae
Some sherry at the manse;
And ere they left there was a purse
Put in the pastor's haun',
Wi' guineas in't—a perfect mint,
To him—ye un'erstaun?
And at the hindmost moment, just
When troopin' frae the spence,
There was a graspin' o' the haun'
O' pawky Mr. Pence;
And syne a whisperin' in his lug—
“What think ye o' the joke?
Whare'er ye gang, if funds fa' wrang,
Commend a Holy Troke.”
When troopin' frae the spence,
There was a graspin' o' the haun'
O' pawky Mr. Pence;
And syne a whisperin' in his lug—
“What think ye o' the joke?
Whare'er ye gang, if funds fa' wrang,
Commend a Holy Troke.”
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