Poems, on sacred and other subjects and songs, humorous and sentimental: By the late William Watt. Third edition of the songs only--with additional songs |
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The Clachan New-Year Day.
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 | Poems, on sacred and other subjects |  |
232
The Clachan New-Year Day.
CANTO FIRST. MORNING.
When winter reigns o'er hills and plains,
In garbs o' frost and snaw,
And the nor'-wasts envenom'd blasts
Wi' bitter rancour blaw;
When low the sun, through cranreuch d un,
Blinks frae the southern lift,
Time wheels us roun' ae honeymoon
That drives our cares adrift
Fu' fast that day.
In garbs o' frost and snaw,
And the nor'-wasts envenom'd blasts
Wi' bitter rancour blaw;
When low the sun, through cranreuch d un,
Blinks frae the southern lift,
Time wheels us roun' ae honeymoon
That drives our cares adrift
Fu' fast that day.
Oh, for thy muse! great king o' rhymes,
Wha sang us Hallow-e'en,
Or yours, wha penn'd, in airer times,
Christ's Kirk upon the Green!
To paint the scenes o' rustic glee,
O' revelry and drinkin',
When frae the moral law we're free,
And void o' care and thinkin',
On New-year day.
Wha sang us Hallow-e'en,
Or yours, wha penn'd, in airer times,
Christ's Kirk upon the Green!
To paint the scenes o' rustic glee,
O' revelry and drinkin',
When frae the moral law we're free,
And void o' care and thinkin',
On New-year day.
Ilk spunky chield, ben in the spence,
Inspects his claise-kist shottle,
To see if stocks will stan', wi' mense,
The fillin' o' a bottle;
And housewives, wha their credit keep,
Ha'e a' things laid in store,
That lasses needna feign to sleep,
Should chields come to the door
Ere break o' day.
Inspects his claise-kist shottle,
To see if stocks will stan', wi' mense,
The fillin' o' a bottle;
And housewives, wha their credit keep,
Ha'e a' things laid in store,
That lasses needna feign to sleep,
Should chields come to the door
Ere break o' day.
A wanton wicht was Wattie White,
Ne'er out o' tift for fun,
Whase only lass, and true delight,
Was merry Jenny Gunn;
And rampin' roarin' Tam M'Gee
Aye swore he wad her first-fit;
Frae a' the lave he'd bear the gree,
And gi'e them a begunk yet,
That vera day.
Ne'er out o' tift for fun,
Whase only lass, and true delight,
Was merry Jenny Gunn;
And rampin' roarin' Tam M'Gee
Aye swore he wad her first-fit;
Frae a' the lave he'd bear the gree,
And gi'e them a begunk yet,
That vera day.
233
But scarce arrived the noon o' nicht
When Wattie was in's gear,
And up the gaet, wi' fitstap licht,
His course did quickly steer;
Tam dream'd o' feet upon the loan,
And bang'd up wi' a breinge,
But, darklins, tramped on a goan,
Syne tumbled wi' a reinge
On the floor that nicht.
When Wattie was in's gear,
And up the gaet, wi' fitstap licht,
His course did quickly steer;
Tam dream'd o' feet upon the loan,
And bang'd up wi' a breinge,
But, darklins, tramped on a goan,
Syne tumbled wi' a reinge
On the floor that nicht.
He bans his mither's doitit brains,
That play'd him sic a shavie,
Limps through the floor, and girns and grains,
Like ane fash'd wi' the spavie;
Syne rumbled up the rakin' coal,
That shaw'd his shin a' bluid;
The sicht o' whilk he couldna thole,
But cursed in wrath; sae rude
Was he that nicht.
That play'd him sic a shavie,
Limps through the floor, and girns and grains,
Like ane fash'd wi' the spavie;
Syne rumbled up the rakin' coal,
That shaw'd his shin a' bluid;
The sicht o' whilk he couldna thole,
But cursed in wrath; sae rude
Was he that nicht.
However, wi' a saft harn-clout
He got it sweel'd fu' swamp;
Bang'd on his claise, and sloiter'd out,
Like ane wha'd ta'en the cramp;
And soon fand, to his farther wae,
That grief comes seldom single,
For Wattie White, and twa-three mae,
Were perch'd round Jenny's ingle,
Fu' blithe, that morn.
He got it sweel'd fu' swamp;
Bang'd on his claise, and sloiter'd out,
Like ane wha'd ta'en the cramp;
And soon fand, to his farther wae,
That grief comes seldom single,
For Wattie White, and twa-three mae,
Were perch'd round Jenny's ingle,
Fu' blithe, that morn.
Sae meikle blusterin' he had made,
He couldna face the core;
Chagrined and spited, aff he slade,
Like vengeance, frae the door,
Across the muir, to Maggie Lang,
A lass by few caress'd;
Sae miss'd the banter o' the thrang,
And was a welcome guest
To her that morn.
He couldna face the core;
Chagrined and spited, aff he slade,
Like vengeance, frae the door,
Across the muir, to Maggie Lang,
A lass by few caress'd;
Sae miss'd the banter o' the thrang,
And was a welcome guest
To her that morn.
A cloud o' drift o'ercasts the lift,
The moon sets in the wast,
And ilka chield scuds fast for bield,
To shun the ragin' blast:
By this time licht's in ilka house,
Mirth reigns through a' the clachan,
And wooer chaps, wi' cracks fu' crouse,
Keep a' the lasses lauchin'
Richt loud that morn.
The moon sets in the wast,
And ilka chield scuds fast for bield,
To shun the ragin' blast:
234
Mirth reigns through a' the clachan,
And wooer chaps, wi' cracks fu' crouse,
Keep a' the lasses lauchin'
Richt loud that morn.
Rap, rap, plays Rab at Ringan's door:
“Wha's there?” auld Maggie cries,
Richt glad that nane had been before.
“Kent folk,” quoth Rabbie; “Rise.”
Auld Ringan, started frae a dream,
Wi' e'elids scarce ajar,
Bangs out the bed, like fireflaught's gleam,
And quickly draws the bar
O' the door this morn.
“Wha's there?” auld Maggie cries,
Richt glad that nane had been before.
“Kent folk,” quoth Rabbie; “Rise.”
Auld Ringan, started frae a dream,
Wi' e'elids scarce ajar,
Bangs out the bed, like fireflaught's gleam,
And quickly draws the bar
O' the door this morn.
“A guid new-year I wish ye a'!”
Was Rab's first salutation;
Wi' that a swirl o' driftin' snaw
Gars Ringan change his station;
Sae ben the house he stugs bedeen,
Wi' heart now something bighted,
Chaps up the fire, rakes up his een,
Syne tells how he was frichted
In's sleep that nicht.
Was Rab's first salutation;
Wi' that a swirl o' driftin' snaw
Gars Ringan change his station;
Sae ben the house he stugs bedeen,
Wi' heart now something bighted,
Chaps up the fire, rakes up his een,
Syne tells how he was frichted
In's sleep that nicht.
He dream'd auld Eppie Sym's peat-sack
Was lichted in a lowe,
Whilk fired Tam Borland's cart-house thack,
And brunt it stick-and stow;
And took Rab, reengin to win in,
For beagle Wattie's drum,
Sae he, new wauken'd wi' the din,
Out o' the bed did come,
Wi' a scud, that morn.
Was lichted in a lowe,
Whilk fired Tam Borland's cart-house thack,
And brunt it stick-and stow;
And took Rab, reengin to win in,
For beagle Wattie's drum,
Sae he, new wauken'd wi' the din,
Out o' the bed did come,
Wi' a scud, that morn.
At Ringan's dream a laugh sae loud
Rab, Jock, et cetera, vented,
That Will a hostin fell, and spew'd,
And in a kink maist fainted.
The lasses, wauken'd wi' the soun',
Fu' brisk, cam' bouncin' ben—
The pick and wale o' a' the toun,
Wha gart the hearts o' men
Lowp fast this day.
Rab, Jock, et cetera, vented,
That Will a hostin fell, and spew'd,
And in a kink maist fainted.
The lasses, wauken'd wi' the soun',
Fu' brisk, cam' bouncin' ben—
The pick and wale o' a' the toun,
Wha gart the hearts o' men
Lowp fast this day.
235
Thine only is the power and art,
Unrivall'd, mystic nature!
To vend love's blinks, that fire the heart,
And brighten every feature.
Their cheeks and lips like roses red,
Een clear, in youdith glancin',
And lichtsome hearts, that humour shed,
Wad gar threescore gae dancin'
Wi' mirth this morn.
Unrivall'd, mystic nature!
To vend love's blinks, that fire the heart,
And brighten every feature.
Their cheeks and lips like roses red,
Een clear, in youdith glancin',
And lichtsome hearts, that humour shed,
Wad gar threescore gae dancin'
Wi' mirth this morn.
Ye sprightly belles, wha gaudy trip,
In gorgeous garbs attired,
(I own, to ha'e seen yon wanton skip,
My heart's been haflins fired,)
Fresh frae the toilet launch'd, complete,
Wi' paints, perfumes, and lotions,
'Neath parasols gaun down the street,
Ye kittle wooers' notions
Sublime by day:
In gorgeous garbs attired,
(I own, to ha'e seen yon wanton skip,
My heart's been haflins fired,)
Fresh frae the toilet launch'd, complete,
Wi' paints, perfumes, and lotions,
'Neath parasols gaun down the street,
Ye kittle wooers' notions
Sublime by day:
But—start as early frae your bed,
Clap on their rustic dresses,
Compared wi' them, faith, I'se be rede
Ye'd meet but few caresses;
Nae greater share ye'd ha'e, I ween,
Amang our landward fair anes,
Than the mummy o' some Coptic queen,
By warlock antiquarians
Display'd this day.
Clap on their rustic dresses,
Compared wi' them, faith, I'se be rede
Ye'd meet but few caresses;
Nae greater share ye'd ha'e, I ween,
Amang our landward fair anes,
Than the mummy o' some Coptic queen,
By warlock antiquarians
Display'd this day.
But to our text. Bead twenty-three
Ilk birkie's bottle's bockin,
The vera fire and saul o' glee,
And ready wit, and jokin';
The lasses nae cauld distance shaw;
Ilk chield guid fortune blesses,
Wi' arms twined round a neck like snaw,
While he a fouth o' kisses
Enjoys this morn.
Ilk birkie's bottle's bockin,
The vera fire and saul o' glee,
And ready wit, and jokin';
The lasses nae cauld distance shaw;
Ilk chield guid fortune blesses,
Wi' arms twined round a neck like snaw,
While he a fouth o' kisses
Enjoys this morn.
A' splorin' round a rantin' fire,
Than kings and queens mair happy,
Secure frae cauld, wi' love's desire,
And routh o' reamin' nappy;
While Ringan, in the twa-arm'd chair,
His pipe-shank clears, for suction,
Wi' Maggie's sma'est reelin' wire,
And clears aff the defluxion
Wi' a smoke this morn.
Than kings and queens mair happy,
Secure frae cauld, wi' love's desire,
And routh o' reamin' nappy;
336
His pipe-shank clears, for suction,
Wi' Maggie's sma'est reelin' wire,
And clears aff the defluxion
Wi' a smoke this morn.
The snuff-mull and the pipe gae round,
And bread and cheese and glasses:
“A guid new-year” is aft the sound—
And “Scotland's bonnie lasses:”
E'en the guidwife, no yet a-fit,
To show she is in tune,
Drinks, “Ilka lad, o' mense and wit,
A wife ere it be done,”
Fu' frank this morn.
And bread and cheese and glasses:
“A guid new-year” is aft the sound—
And “Scotland's bonnie lasses:”
E'en the guidwife, no yet a-fit,
To show she is in tune,
Drinks, “Ilka lad, o' mense and wit,
A wife ere it be done,”
Fu' frank this morn.
Just in the zenith o' their fun,
Love's cracks, and jokin's rare,
Rab scarce had hosted, and begun
To sing them Calder fair,
Whan in cam' bowlie Bauldy Baird,
Wi' richt ill-timed intrusion,
And syne blate Hugh, the wally laird—
Sae a' gaed to confusion
In a crack this morn.
Love's cracks, and jokin's rare,
Rab scarce had hosted, and begun
To sing them Calder fair,
Whan in cam' bowlie Bauldy Baird,
Wi' richt ill-timed intrusion,
And syne blate Hugh, the wally laird—
Sae a' gaed to confusion
In a crack this morn.
Its circuit Bauldy's glass began,
While Nelly gied a sneer;
Rab, haudin't arm's-length in his han',
Says, “Hech! but crystal's dear:”
A' smirtlin round, till't cam' to Will,
Whare it fared little better;
Quoth he, “Guid faith, I'll wad a gill
Some lintie wants its water
For this the-day.”
While Nelly gied a sneer;
Rab, haudin't arm's-length in his han',
Says, “Hech! but crystal's dear:”
A' smirtlin round, till't cam' to Will,
Whare it fared little better;
Quoth he, “Guid faith, I'll wad a gill
Some lintie wants its water
For this the-day.”
It chanced that Bauldy's glass had fa'en
As he cam' owre the midden,
And tint its doup and shank, aff-han',
Whilk couldna weel be hidden.
Sic big affronts he couldna bear
By thae twa billies gi'en,
But raged and swore, that, cheap or dear,
There wad be blacken'd een
Ere lang this morn.
As he cam' owre the midden,
And tint its doup and shank, aff-han',
Whilk couldna weel be hidden.
Sic big affronts he couldna bear
By thae twa billies gi'en,
But raged and swore, that, cheap or dear,
There wad be blacken'd een
Ere lang this morn.
237
Soon wad there been a fearfu' fray,
For Bauldy wrath was fryin'—
But down the howm was heard a bray,
Frae some ane “Murther!” cryin'.
The house soon toom'd, and, down the craft,
To their nae sma' surprise,
They saw young Sandy founder aft
On's growf, and couldna rise
Himsel' that morn.
For Bauldy wrath was fryin'—
But down the howm was heard a bray,
Frae some ane “Murther!” cryin'.
The house soon toom'd, and, down the craft,
To their nae sma' surprise,
They saw young Sandy founder aft
On's growf, and couldna rise
Himsel' that morn.
They hoist him up, and brang him in;
But, when he saw the licht,
His face grew white, his een grew blin'—
He fainted wi' the sicht.
His napkin's lowst, his bosom's bared,
He's in the big chair seated;
Cauld water on him is na spared,
Whilk soon his cure completed,
In a twitch, this morn.
But, when he saw the licht,
His face grew white, his een grew blin'—
He fainted wi' the sicht.
His napkin's lowst, his bosom's bared,
He's in the big chair seated;
Cauld water on him is na spared,
Whilk soon his cure completed,
In a twitch, this morn.
Ilk face an anxious wish doth shaw,
Right keen to ken the cause o't,
While Sandy, wi' a face like snaw,
Begins to lowse his gazette.
“Oh, sirs!” quoth he, “I've seen the de'il
Gaun wi' a band o' witches;
At e'en I'll ne'er daur gang a fiel',
For I was maist in's clutches
This vera morn.”
Right keen to ken the cause o't,
While Sandy, wi' a face like snaw,
Begins to lowse his gazette.
“Oh, sirs!” quoth he, “I've seen the de'il
Gaun wi' a band o' witches;
At e'en I'll ne'er daur gang a fiel',
For I was maist in's clutches
This vera morn.”
“The de'il!” quo' Rab; “A' hours o' nicht
I've trudged through muir and dell,
But ne'er yet ha'e I got a sicht
O' aucht waur than mysel':
Be't de'il be't daw, I'm ane o' twa
To gi'e 't a fair inspection:”
“And I,” says Jock, “As firm's a rock,
Will be your rear protection,
Mysel', this morn.”
I've trudged through muir and dell,
But ne'er yet ha'e I got a sicht
O' aucht waur than mysel':
Be't de'il be't daw, I'm ane o' twa
To gi'e 't a fair inspection:”
“And I,” says Jock, “As firm's a rock,
Will be your rear protection,
Mysel', this morn.”
For arms, Rab took the big airn tangs,
And swore ilk clank wad fell ane,
And Jock the rusty sword down bangs,
Ne'er used since Mar's rebellion.
Like twa knights-errant, out they march,
By whisky's pith inspired,
To gi'e the howms a thorough search;
And, wow! but they were fired
Wi' pride that morn.
And swore ilk clank wad fell ane,
And Jock the rusty sword down bangs,
Ne'er used since Mar's rebellion.
238
By whisky's pith inspired,
To gi'e the howms a thorough search;
And, wow! but they were fired
Wi' pride that morn.
They pass the linn, turn round the shaw—
A place by fairies haunted—
There something hobbled 'mang the snaw,
And they grew rather daunted;
But, gatherin' courage, on they hie,
And aff the goblins skelter:
'Tis Grey's black toop, they soon descry,
And twa ewes! seekin' shelter
Frae the storm this morn.
A place by fairies haunted—
There something hobbled 'mang the snaw,
And they grew rather daunted;
But, gatherin' courage, on they hie,
And aff the goblins skelter:
'Tis Grey's black toop, they soon descry,
And twa ewes! seekin' shelter
Frae the storm this morn.
Halescart, victorious, back they come,
And tell the hale narration;
Poor Sandy's dung baith deaf and dumb
Wi' jaw and botheration:
Wi' patience lang their jibes he stood,
Till they gaed past a' bearin';
Syne left the house in crankous mood,
Whiles greetin', and whiles swearin'
In ire this morn.
And tell the hale narration;
Poor Sandy's dung baith deaf and dumb
Wi' jaw and botheration:
Wi' patience lang their jibes he stood,
Till they gaed past a' bearin';
Syne left the house in crankous mood,
Whiles greetin', and whiles swearin'
In ire this morn.
But, meetin' wi' his cronie Pate,
He gat a word in season,
Then, skeigh as kings, they down the gaet
Did gae, to see Meg Mason:
Then did they sprose, till ance, owre hills
O' snaw, the sun is glancin';
Discardin' care and a' his ills,
They're singin' now, and dancin'
Fu' blithe this morn.
He gat a word in season,
Then, skeigh as kings, they down the gaet
Did gae, to see Meg Mason:
Then did they sprose, till ance, owre hills
O' snaw, the sun is glancin';
Discardin' care and a' his ills,
They're singin' now, and dancin'
Fu' blithe this morn.
Laigh Geordie Gibb, wi' gab sae glib,
Was chieftain o' a clan,
And dreigh did he lead on the spree,
Aside his ain dear Ann.
At sangs and jokes, and saws and toasts,
Most fervently they yoked;
And, victor-like, ilk birkie boasts,
As his wee finger's cocked
To the glass this morn.
Was chieftain o' a clan,
And dreigh did he lead on the spree,
Aside his ain dear Ann.
At sangs and jokes, and saws and toasts,
Most fervently they yoked;
And, victor-like, ilk birkie boasts,
As his wee finger's cocked
To the glass this morn.
239
Rum, whisky, ale, and bread and cheese,
Play'd some an unco pliskin;
Some yont the peat-stack maws did ease,
Some warslet wi' the yeskin:
The maut, lang, lang in Geordie's crap,
Was heterogeneous brewin',
Till, wi' a hurl, on Annie's lap,
He's gullerin' and spewin'
Bedeen this morn.
Play'd some an unco pliskin;
Some yont the peat-stack maws did ease,
Some warslet wi' the yeskin:
The maut, lang, lang in Geordie's crap,
Was heterogeneous brewin',
Till, wi' a hurl, on Annie's lap,
He's gullerin' and spewin'
Bedeen this morn.
Auld Maggie, like an ethercap,
Ca's Ann a silly tumphy,
Vow'd, ere she'd ga'e wi' sic a chap,
She'd rather gang wi' grumphy;
Distress'd, affronted, out he slade,
To shun their altercation,
And, yont the sow-house, lanely paid
To Bacchus, an oblation
Profuse this morn.
Ca's Ann a silly tumphy,
Vow'd, ere she'd ga'e wi' sic a chap,
She'd rather gang wi' grumphy;
Distress'd, affronted, out he slade,
To shun their altercation,
And, yont the sow-house, lanely paid
To Bacchus, an oblation
Profuse this morn.
Mair mensefu' was auld Mungo Gray,
Wha ne'er in's life was fuddled;
For, 'neath the blankets, till 'twas day,
He wi' his spousie cuddled:
Syne up they raise, pat on their claise,
And eke a rantin' ingle,
Neist, wi' guid will, a pint o' ale
Was het, to hail Tam Pringle
And's wife this morn.
Wha ne'er in's life was fuddled;
For, 'neath the blankets, till 'twas day,
He wi' his spousie cuddled:
Syne up they raise, pat on their claise,
And eke a rantin' ingle,
Neist, wi' guid will, a pint o' ale
Was het, to hail Tam Pringle
And's wife this morn.
Across the loan they march anon,
Shoe-deep amang the snaw;
In hoddin grey baith clad were they,
Fu' clean, and bein, and braw;
He, wi' the cathel and the cap,
To gi'e eild's lade a heize;
She wi' a truncher in her lap,
Weel heap'd wi' bread and cheese
In rowth this morn.
Shoe-deep amang the snaw;
In hoddin grey baith clad were they,
Fu' clean, and bein, and braw;
He, wi' the cathel and the cap,
To gi'e eild's lade a heize;
She wi' a truncher in her lap,
Weel heap'd wi' bread and cheese
In rowth this morn.
Nae cauldrife welcome Tammie gi'es
To his blithe couthie cronie;
His face, his feelin's, ne'er belies,
Wi' ape-like ceremony;
Yet, trugs, I fear, ye gilt grandees,
Sae skill'd in courtly graces,
That friendship, e'en on your levees,
Ne'er beams frae your sleek faces,
Like theirs this morn.
To his blithe couthie cronie;
His face, his feelin's, ne'er belies,
Wi' ape-like ceremony;
240
Sae skill'd in courtly graces,
That friendship, e'en on your levees,
Ne'er beams frae your sleek faces,
Like theirs this morn.
The bicker takes its motion round,
The crack, progressive, rises,
Till up the length o' Lon'on town
Their managin' assizes;
Meantime the carles soar sae high,
'Mang commons, lords, and mayors,
The wives curl o'er, wi' converse dreigh,
Their ain fireside affairs,
Jocose, this morn.
The crack, progressive, rises,
Till up the length o' Lon'on town
Their managin' assizes;
Meantime the carles soar sae high,
'Mang commons, lords, and mayors,
The wives curl o'er, wi' converse dreigh,
Their ain fireside affairs,
Jocose, this morn.
The biggest buffet-stool is set
On the hearth-stane, bedeen,
Wi' rowth o' meat on't, cauld and het,
A' gusty, guid, and clean;
The cow's-tongue, and the fat king's-head,
And beef and bacon ham,
Are a' served up—the wale o' food!
Syne backed wi' a dram
O' usquabae.
On the hearth-stane, bedeen,
Wi' rowth o' meat on't, cauld and het,
A' gusty, guid, and clean;
The cow's-tongue, and the fat king's-head,
And beef and bacon ham,
Are a' served up—the wale o' food!
Syne backed wi' a dram
O' usquabae.
But nae sic fare that morn did scent
In Maggie Mather's nose;
That was to her a day o' Lent,
Withouten bread or brose!
Her luckless lord to Sandy Sym
Had made a pair o' trews,
And, gettin' 's hogmonay frae him,
Had fa'n upon the bouse
That waefu' nicht.
In Maggie Mather's nose;
That was to her a day o' Lent,
Withouten bread or brose!
Her luckless lord to Sandy Sym
Had made a pair o' trews,
And, gettin' 's hogmonay frae him,
Had fa'n upon the bouse
That waefu' nicht.
The first half-mutchkin, swift, they swill:
Quoth Sym, “We seldom meet;
To pairt without another fill
Wad scarcely be discreet.”
The handy host soon brought it ben;
That drunk, to rise they swither:
“This year we'll never see again,”
Quoth Will; “We'se ha'e anither,
And syne we'll gae.”
Quoth Sym, “We seldom meet;
To pairt without another fill
Wad scarcely be discreet.”
The handy host soon brought it ben;
That drunk, to rise they swither:
“This year we'll never see again,”
Quoth Will; “We'se ha'e anither,
And syne we'll gae.”
241
Oh cursed drink! what crowds ne'er think
O' thy insinuation;
But, sway'd by thee, fell pain they dree,
Frae base intoxication!
Sad truth is this; for, quite outworn
By whisky, ale, and clavers,
Our chiefs appear, at break o' morn,
Twa gaunt and ghastly shavers
This ruefu' day.
O' thy insinuation;
But, sway'd by thee, fell pain they dree,
Frae base intoxication!
Sad truth is this; for, quite outworn
By whisky, ale, and clavers,
Our chiefs appear, at break o' morn,
Twa gaunt and ghastly shavers
This ruefu' day.
Perplex'd and restless Maggie lay,
Wi' grief and anger burnin';
Thocht ilka fit that cam' that way
Wad be her joe returnin';
Till, tired wi' wark and watchin' lorn,
She soundly sank in sleep,
While Will, unfash'd wi' scaith or scorn,
Frae her did vigils keep
Till break o' day.
Wi' grief and anger burnin';
Thocht ilka fit that cam' that way
Wad be her joe returnin';
Till, tired wi' wark and watchin' lorn,
She soundly sank in sleep,
While Will, unfash'd wi' scaith or scorn,
Frae her did vigils keep
Till break o' day.
She wauken'd; Will was absent still,
Though braid day-licht was beamin';
Bang'd on her claise—and out she gaes,
Wailin' the weird o' women:
Soon fand him, in his fav'rite howff,
Half-sleepin', doilt, and drunk:
On's haffits took him sic a gowff
As roused him up like spunk,
In a crack, this morn.
Though braid day-licht was beamin';
Bang'd on her claise—and out she gaes,
Wailin' the weird o' women:
Soon fand him, in his fav'rite howff,
Half-sleepin', doilt, and drunk:
On's haffits took him sic a gowff
As roused him up like spunk,
In a crack, this morn.
Sym raise to calm the angry spouse,
Wha raged wi' flamin' ire;
Wi' that she claucht his braw new trews,
And heaved them in the fire;
Syne bann'd the host and hostess, fell,
For bein' sae uncivil;
Declared their house the yett o' hell,
Them agents o' the deevil,
Point-blank, this morn.
Wha raged wi' flamin' ire;
Wi' that she claucht his braw new trews,
And heaved them in the fire;
Syne bann'd the host and hostess, fell,
For bein' sae uncivil;
Declared their house the yett o' hell,
Them agents o' the deevil,
Point-blank, this morn.
While Maggie, wi' loquacious tongue,
The dinsome quarrel redd,
Will stachert hame, although richt bung,
And slipped to his bed;
Eke Sandy, wi' his singed small clothes
'Neath's oxter, out did saunter,
'Gainst Maggie vendin' scores o' oaths,
Wha play'd him that mishanter
On sic a day.
The dinsome quarrel redd,
Will stachert hame, although richt bung,
And slipped to his bed;
242
'Neath's oxter, out did saunter,
'Gainst Maggie vendin' scores o' oaths,
Wha play'd him that mishanter
On sic a day.
Our heroine, wi' flyin' flag,
Cam' victor frae the tuilyie,
And neither een nor han's were lag
To spunge Will's spung for spuilyie;
Yet naething fand but five bawbees,
And half-an-ounce o' snuff:
What want the drinker's wife aft drees,
Forbye richt mony a cuff?
Alack-a-day!
Cam' victor frae the tuilyie,
And neither een nor han's were lag
To spunge Will's spung for spuilyie;
Yet naething fand but five bawbees,
And half-an-ounce o' snuff:
What want the drinker's wife aft drees,
Forbye richt mony a cuff?
Alack-a-day!
Now through the town is heard the soun'
O' fryin'-pans in action,
And puddin's fell send forth a smell
Possess'd o' strong attraction;
Baith young and auld, made blithe and bauld
Wi' meat and drink in plenty,
Devote the day to joy and play,
'Mang rural pleasures dainty
And cheap this day.
O' fryin'-pans in action,
And puddin's fell send forth a smell
Possess'd o' strong attraction;
Baith young and auld, made blithe and bauld
Wi' meat and drink in plenty,
Devote the day to joy and play,
'Mang rural pleasures dainty
And cheap this day.
CANTO SECOND. NOON.
Ilk kyte weel stech'd wi' gusty gear,
They're canty, young and auld,
Secure till e'en against the fear
O' hunger and o' cauld:
The beggars frae their howffs draw out,
On this day's forage bent,
Resolved at nicht to ha'e a rout
Wi' what kind fortune sent
This special day.
They're canty, young and auld,
Secure till e'en against the fear
O' hunger and o' cauld:
The beggars frae their howffs draw out,
On this day's forage bent,
Resolved at nicht to ha'e a rout
Wi' what kind fortune sent
This special day.
The school weans, in their Sunday claise,
Wi' faces red as roses,
On sheuchs and dubs gleg slides now raise,
While mirth ilk' look discloses:
The parish dominie frae them
Draws in his new year gift,
And kings and queens and dukes doth name
Them wha his purse best lift
Wi' clink this day.
Wi' faces red as roses,
On sheuchs and dubs gleg slides now raise,
While mirth ilk' look discloses:
243
Draws in his new year gift,
And kings and queens and dukes doth name
Them wha his purse best lift
Wi' clink this day.
Then—when his fab is primely lined,
A bake to ilk he gi'es,
And neist a glass, richt weel refined
Wi' water—them he frees
Frae this day's task, when season'd wi'
A wholesome guid advice;
But, aiblins, ere neist morn he see
His stomach twice or thrice
He'll toom, some say.
A bake to ilk he gi'es,
And neist a glass, richt weel refined
Wi' water—them he frees
Frae this day's task, when season'd wi'
A wholesome guid advice;
But, aiblins, ere neist morn he see
His stomach twice or thrice
He'll toom, some say.
Wow! but its easy wark to be
A moralist in clatter!
But backin' words wi' deeds, we see,
Is quite anither matter:
Like Solomon, the dominie
Can finely moralise it;
But, like that royal debauché,
He never can practise it
By nicht or day.
A moralist in clatter!
But backin' words wi' deeds, we see,
Is quite anither matter:
Like Solomon, the dominie
Can finely moralise it;
But, like that royal debauché,
He never can practise it
By nicht or day.
For beef and greens, a bonspiel keen's
To be this day's employment,
'Tween married dads and wanter lads,
Whilk yields them prime enjoyment:
Aff to the loch they're airtin straucht,
Wi' implements o' curlin',
While Bawsie's frothin' wi' her draucht,
As owre the field she's hurlin'
Their stanes this day.
To be this day's employment,
'Tween married dads and wanter lads,
Whilk yields them prime enjoyment:
Aff to the loch they're airtin straucht,
Wi' implements o' curlin',
While Bawsie's frothin' wi' her draucht,
As owre the field she's hurlin'
Their stanes this day.
Wi' lichtsome heart, ahint the cart,
In garrulous procession,
They march awa' amang the snaw,
While joy beets ilk expression.
The carles curl owre their feats o' yore,
The lads their lass-diversions;
Or 'mang the knowes, to cut broom-cowes
They lamp, wi' wide excursions,
Fu' brisk this day.
In garrulous procession,
They march awa' amang the snaw,
While joy beets ilk expression.
The carles curl owre their feats o' yore,
The lads their lass-diversions;
Or 'mang the knowes, to cut broom-cowes
They lamp, wi' wide excursions,
Fu' brisk this day.
244
Arrived at length by the loch-side,
Frae labour Bawsie's freed,
And Tam the herd, bent on a ride,
Her riggin' mounts wi' speed,
To stable her, wi' nae sma' pride,
Frae hunger, cauld, and danger,
Where she till e'en may safely bide,
And feast at heck and manger,
Fu' snug this day.
Frae labour Bawsie's freed,
And Tam the herd, bent on a ride,
Her riggin' mounts wi' speed,
To stable her, wi' nae sma' pride,
Frae hunger, cauld, and danger,
Where she till e'en may safely bide,
And feast at heck and manger,
Fu' snug this day.
To clear awa' the cumbrous snaw,
The shools and brooms they ply,
And in a crack they clean a rack
As pure as midnight sky:
Some mak' the brughs, some scrape the hacks,
Some draw the lazy hogscores;
While some, less keen o' wark than cracks,
Are blithely tellin' splores
This gleesome day.
The shools and brooms they ply,
And in a crack they clean a rack
As pure as midnight sky:
Some mak' the brughs, some scrape the hacks,
Some draw the lazy hogscores;
While some, less keen o' wark than cracks,
Are blithely tellin' splores
This gleesome day.
“Ca' up your stanes,” quoth Ringan Wright,
And let's toast for the ice;
Ye see the sun's maist at his height—
Be quick, if ye be wise.”
Wi' eager e'e they tak' the tee,
And bang them up wi' speed;
But Bauldy Black took the wrang hack,
And ran the hale-rack bread
Aglee this day.
And let's toast for the ice;
Ye see the sun's maist at his height—
Be quick, if ye be wise.”
Wi' eager e'e they tak' the tee,
And bang them up wi' speed;
But Bauldy Black took the wrang hack,
And ran the hale-rack bread
Aglee this day.
Wi' ardent zeal they fa' to wark;
The wanters tak the lead,
Whilk fires the pride o' carles sae stark,
Wha plan wi' fatal feid.
Ae tee, wi' risps and lazy hogs,
Threw a' the odds now even;
The neist garr'd gutchers cock their lugs,
For they gat in hale seven
At ance this day.
The wanters tak the lead,
Whilk fires the pride o' carles sae stark,
Wha plan wi' fatal feid.
Ae tee, wi' risps and lazy hogs,
Threw a' the odds now even;
The neist garr'd gutchers cock their lugs,
For they gat in hale seven
At ance this day.
Auld vet'rans now began to crack,
When they'd won on the van;
The snuff-mull's thumb'd around the rack;
Wi' spite the wanters ban:
Wi' judgment fell, and voices snell,
They're plannin' and they're cryin';
While some, less skill'd, but as guid will'd,
Their brooms are tightly plyin',
Sincere, this day.
When they'd won on the van;
The snuff-mull's thumb'd around the rack;
Wi' spite the wanters ban:
245
They're plannin' and they're cryin';
While some, less skill'd, but as guid will'd,
Their brooms are tightly plyin',
Sincere, this day.
An object new attracts the view;
In dandy dress and air,
Young Geordie Brown, fresh frae the town,
Wha'd spent twa towmonds there:
This samen blade, o' uppish min',
Had there commenced a grocer;
But weel his sire can tell, sinsyne,
Wha was by that a loser,
To his grief, this day.
In dandy dress and air,
Young Geordie Brown, fresh frae the town,
Wha'd spent twa towmonds there:
This samen blade, o' uppish min',
Had there commenced a grocer;
But weel his sire can tell, sinsyne,
Wha was by that a loser,
To his grief, this day.
George buckles on his patent skates,
'Mang school-weans fill'd wi' wonder,
And, fond to show his dext'rous feats,
Scrunts owre the rack like thunder:
A risp he raised 'fore Ringan's stane,
That spoiled it in a twitch,
Wha, sair enraged, ca'd him “a vain
And bubbly bankrupt b---ch,”
And waur this day.
'Mang school-weans fill'd wi' wonder,
And, fond to show his dext'rous feats,
Scrunts owre the rack like thunder:
A risp he raised 'fore Ringan's stane,
That spoiled it in a twitch,
Wha, sair enraged, ca'd him “a vain
And bubbly bankrupt b---ch,”
And waur this day.
Wi' quakin' knees and burnin' face,
At Ringan's naked skyte,
George did exit wi' little grace,
Wi' silent wraith clean hyte;
Yet took twa turns 'round the loch edge,
To show his detestation;
Syne lowst his buckles, and, in rage
O' hettest indignation,
March'd hame this day.
At Ringan's naked skyte,
George did exit wi' little grace,
Wi' silent wraith clean hyte;
Yet took twa turns 'round the loch edge,
To show his detestation;
Syne lowst his buckles, and, in rage
O' hettest indignation,
March'd hame this day.
The blithesome boys, wi' social noise,
Alang the slides are whirrin';
Some on the ae foot nicely poise,
While some, less skill'd, sit currin':
But Will, wha did his balance lose
Upon this slipp'ry pavement,
First clour'd his crown, neist bled his nose;
Which proved a sair bereavement
O' his fun this day.
Alang the slides are whirrin';
Some on the ae foot nicely poise,
While some, less skill'd, sit currin':
But Will, wha did his balance lose
Upon this slipp'ry pavement,
First clour'd his crown, neist bled his nose;
Which proved a sair bereavement
O' his fun this day.
246
Now swells the lengthen'd noisy shout,
When shots o' skill are play'd;
The bottle's handed weel about,
Their merriment to aid;
The crowd grows greater 'round the tees,
As fast augments their clatter,
Wi' noise confused, like castin' bees,
For ilk mind's fu' o' matter
This joyous day.
When shots o' skill are play'd;
The bottle's handed weel about,
Their merriment to aid;
The crowd grows greater 'round the tees,
As fast augments their clatter,
Wi' noise confused, like castin' bees,
For ilk mind's fu' o' matter
This joyous day.
But sma's the pleasure mortals share
That is unmix'd wi' pain;
This truth was felt by Bauldy Blair,
A chield baith proud and vain:
His stane was finish'd aff perfyte,
Wi' ivory hand and a';
But Simon, wi' a feidfu' skyte,
Did fairly ding 't in twa
Wi' a skelp this day.
That is unmix'd wi' pain;
This truth was felt by Bauldy Blair,
A chield baith proud and vain:
His stane was finish'd aff perfyte,
Wi' ivory hand and a';
But Simon, wi' a feidfu' skyte,
Did fairly ding 't in twa
Wi' a skelp this day.
Sax stanes the bachelors had in,
And wad ha'e got the game,
When Saunders Bryson, like the win',
Wi' a' his vengeance came:
He brake a guard, and gat a wick
That gart him rin aglee,
And, polished weel wi' besom's sleek,
He landed on the tee
Fu' nice this day.
And wad ha'e got the game,
When Saunders Bryson, like the win',
Wi' a' his vengeance came:
He brake a guard, and gat a wick
That gart him rin aglee,
And, polished weel wi' besom's sleek,
He landed on the tee
Fu' nice this day.
At this miraculous display,
That cam' in time o' need,
To wag his hand, auld Tammy Gray
Hitch'd up the rack wi' speed.
“Fair fa' your hand,” quoth Tammy, “man,”
While Saunders up did bicker;
“We'se let them find, wi' little din,
That auld dogs bite aye sicker
By nicht or day.”
That cam' in time o' need,
To wag his hand, auld Tammy Gray
Hitch'd up the rack wi' speed.
“Fair fa' your hand,” quoth Tammy, “man,”
While Saunders up did bicker;
“We'se let them find, wi' little din,
That auld dogs bite aye sicker
By nicht or day.”
By this the sun was wearin' laigh,
And clouds were eastward flyin';
While clam'rous craws, wi' dreary scraigh,
Aff to the woods were hiein';
And poacher Hugh, wi' deadly gun,
Withouten dog or valet,
Slips hameward, at the set o' sun,
Wi' a weel fill'd bloody wallet
O' hares this day.
And clouds were eastward flyin';
While clam'rous craws, wi' dreary scraigh,
Aff to the woods were hiein';
247
Withouten dog or valet,
Slips hameward, at the set o' sun,
Wi' a weel fill'd bloody wallet
O' hares this day.
Now cranreugh cauld comes on wi' night,
O' play the weans are weary;
And chitterin' fidge, in cauldrife plight,
Wha erst were warm and cheery.
The game 's cried out: the carles ha'e won,
At whilk they craw fu' crousely;
And a' declare 'twas famous fun;
The losers look mair dousely,
As weel they may:
O' play the weans are weary;
And chitterin' fidge, in cauldrife plight,
Wha erst were warm and cheery.
The game 's cried out: the carles ha'e won,
At whilk they craw fu' crousely;
And a' declare 'twas famous fun;
The losers look mair dousely,
As weel they may:
For, frae their pouch the cash maun clink,
For beef and greens in store;
And likewise rowth o' nappy drink,
To gar them rant and splore.
The horse they yoke, and hameward flock
Wi' red and drippin' noses,
While piles o' snaw begin to fa'
As Sol the short day closes
In robes o' grey.
For beef and greens in store;
And likewise rowth o' nappy drink,
To gar them rant and splore.
The horse they yoke, and hameward flock
Wi' red and drippin' noses,
While piles o' snaw begin to fa'
As Sol the short day closes
In robes o' grey.
CANTO THIRD. NIGHT.
O Exercise, thou saul o' health,
And fae o' gouts and cholics,
Thou gi'es mair than Peruvian wealth
To them wha join thy frolics.
Our curlers here can witness bear
In truth o' my assertion,
While, free frae spleen, wi' stomachs keen,
The fruits o' their diversion
They taste this night—
And fae o' gouts and cholics,
Thou gi'es mair than Peruvian wealth
To them wha join thy frolics.
Our curlers here can witness bear
In truth o' my assertion,
While, free frae spleen, wi' stomachs keen,
The fruits o' their diversion
They taste this night—
Assembled a' in Nanse M'Nab's,
Our greatest clachan vintner,
Wi' choicest cheer to gust their gabs,
Bielt frae the blasts o' winter:
Prime roast and boil'd, o' fragrant smell,
Nane better was nor fatter,
Gars a' the mouth o' Geordie Bell
Wi' keen impatience water
To pree 't this nicht.
Our greatest clachan vintner,
Wi' choicest cheer to gust their gabs,
Bielt frae the blasts o' winter:
248
Nane better was nor fatter,
Gars a' the mouth o' Geordie Bell
Wi' keen impatience water
To pree 't this nicht.
There's lang-kail rowth served up in goans,
Potatoes drench'd in gravy,
And buns and baps, and cakes and scones,
Maist meet to dine a navy.
Auld Ringan, in the twa-arm'd chair,
Their chaplain and their preses,
Casts by his bonnet, straikes his hair,
And ane o's Sunday graces
Screeds owre this nicht.
Potatoes drench'd in gravy,
And buns and baps, and cakes and scones,
Maist meet to dine a navy.
Auld Ringan, in the twa-arm'd chair,
Their chaplain and their preses,
Casts by his bonnet, straikes his hair,
And ane o's Sunday graces
Screeds owre this nicht.
Now knives and forks, like Highland dirks,
Are plied on sirloins noble;
And clean slapdash they kemp and hash
As lang 's their jaws can hobble.
O Fashion! had'st thou here but view'd
Sic garblin', thou, wi' won'er,
Had'st raised thy hands, and bockin spew'd,
And jaundice ta'en, wi' scunner,
At sic a sicht.
Are plied on sirloins noble;
And clean slapdash they kemp and hash
As lang 's their jaws can hobble.
O Fashion! had'st thou here but view'd
Sic garblin', thou, wi' won'er,
Had'st raised thy hands, and bockin spew'd,
And jaundice ta'en, wi' scunner,
At sic a sicht.
Yawp, menseless Pate, wi' stainchless greed,
As stomachy's a Bustard,
At ilka dainty laid-abreed,
Till settled by the mustard;
O' that he took a hearty dose,
Its smeddum naething fearin',
Whilk ran like powther up his nose,
And set the loun a-clearing
O's hawse this nicht.
As stomachy's a Bustard,
At ilka dainty laid-abreed,
Till settled by the mustard;
O' that he took a hearty dose,
Its smeddum naething fearin',
Whilk ran like powther up his nose,
And set the loun a-clearing
O's hawse this nicht.
The hale contents o' 's mouth, like shot,
Flew 'cross the braid aik table,
And did the breast o' Bauldy Scott
Wi' ugsome splairges draible.
Nanse han't him ale his gab to cool,
While 's een stood fu' o' water;
But Bauldy bann'd the blootrin fool,
That did him sae bespatter
This merry nicht.
Flew 'cross the braid aik table,
And did the breast o' Bauldy Scott
Wi' ugsome splairges draible.
Nanse han't him ale his gab to cool,
While 's een stood fu' o' water;
But Bauldy bann'd the blootrin fool,
That did him sae bespatter
This merry nicht.
249
At large to tell a' that befell,
The muse would e'en be hurried,
How Souter Jock did rift and bock,
When wi' a bane maist worried;
Or how, wi' glee, the carles did dree
While tongues and een were able;
Or noisy dogs rave ither's lugs
While feichtin 'neath the table
For banes this nicht.
The muse would e'en be hurried,
How Souter Jock did rift and bock,
When wi' a bane maist worried;
Or how, wi' glee, the carles did dree
While tongues and een were able;
Or noisy dogs rave ither's lugs
While feichtin 'neath the table
For banes this nicht.
Blythe Comus tips the Muse a wink,
Says, “Lassie, wilt thou gae
To Simon's barn, and tak' a blink
O' that delightfu' fray?”
Awa' they trip, and get a swatch
O' jollity right funny;
Where, rafflin' Watty Wylie's watch,
Baith lads and lassies mony
Are met this nicht.
Says, “Lassie, wilt thou gae
To Simon's barn, and tak' a blink
O' that delightfu' fray?”
Awa' they trip, and get a swatch
O' jollity right funny;
Where, rafflin' Watty Wylie's watch,
Baith lads and lassies mony
Are met this nicht.
To mark the throws in order due,
Sits wanton Jamie Brodie,
A chield wha weel could drink and brew
Guid rum or whisky toddy.
Now rapidly the dice-box reels,
And shilling stakes are clinkin';
But leesome maids and wooer chields
On ither themes are thinkin'
This special nicht.
Sits wanton Jamie Brodie,
A chield wha weel could drink and brew
Guid rum or whisky toddy.
Now rapidly the dice-box reels,
And shilling stakes are clinkin';
But leesome maids and wooer chields
On ither themes are thinkin'
This special nicht.
Dame Fortune, wi' her magic wan',
In some capricious fird
The dice-box touch'd, while in the han'
O' whistlin' Tam the herd.
Three times the rattlin' cubes he shook,
As aft he saxes threw,
While sklentin' envy, frae the neuk
Did look baith sour and blue
Wi' spite this nicht.
In some capricious fird
The dice-box touch'd, while in the han'
O' whistlin' Tam the herd.
Three times the rattlin' cubes he shook,
As aft he saxes threw,
While sklentin' envy, frae the neuk
Did look baith sour and blue
Wi' spite this nicht.
“Weel done, lad Tammie! by my feth,”
Cries capernoited Sandy,
“Let me ne'er thrive, but, as sure's death,
Ye are a perfect dandy.”
His shinin' horologe Tam e'es,
Wi' joy in ilka feature;
As babs his chain maist to his knees,
He dreams he finds his stature
Advance this nicht.
Cries capernoited Sandy,
“Let me ne'er thrive, but, as sure's death,
Ye are a perfect dandy.”
250
Wi' joy in ilka feature;
As babs his chain maist to his knees,
He dreams he finds his stature
Advance this nicht.
Now comes the ruler o' the roast,
Black, snuffy fiddler Johnnie,
Wha, frae his green pock, wi' a host,
Draws out his black Cremony;
For elevation, lookin' 'round,
He hints his want to Saunners,
Wha, on twa thack sheaves, mounts him loun,
Triumphant, on the fanners
Fu' high this nicht.
Black, snuffy fiddler Johnnie,
Wha, frae his green pock, wi' a host,
Draws out his black Cremony;
For elevation, lookin' 'round,
He hints his want to Saunners,
Wha, on twa thack sheaves, mounts him loun,
Triumphant, on the fanners
Fu' high this nicht.
To dance, fu' fast they fit the floor,
Ilk chap his joe selectin';
While some, the lawin' to secure,
The members are inspectin'.
The fiddler's fingers, 'numb'd wi' cauld,
For reel time scarce are waukent,
Whilk gars some louns, ill-bred and bauld,
Cry out, “He's mighty slack on't
On sic a nicht.”
Ilk chap his joe selectin';
While some, the lawin' to secure,
The members are inspectin'.
The fiddler's fingers, 'numb'd wi' cauld,
For reel time scarce are waukent,
Whilk gars some louns, ill-bred and bauld,
Cry out, “He's mighty slack on't
On sic a nicht.”
Now, weel-surrounded, in the neuk
The toddy table's set,
And mony gabs impatient yeuk
For stingo pipin' het.
A big-shaird-plate, whase roomy kyte
At ilk time brews a chappin,
Dings mony drouthy louns clean hyte,
And sends them sidlins stappin'
To their beds this nicht.
The toddy table's set,
And mony gabs impatient yeuk
For stingo pipin' het.
A big-shaird-plate, whase roomy kyte
At ilk time brews a chappin,
Dings mony drouthy louns clean hyte,
And sends them sidlins stappin'
To their beds this nicht.
Fast round and round the liquor's sent
In jugs, and bowls, and glasses;
While blithesome lads, on daffin bent,
Are kittlin' up the lasses.
The auld folk too, wi' air jocose,
Join in the crack and dance;
E'en Simon cries for “Athole brose,”
And through the reel doth prance,
Though bauld, this nicht.
In jugs, and bowls, and glasses;
While blithesome lads, on daffin bent,
Are kittlin' up the lasses.
The auld folk too, wi' air jocose,
Join in the crack and dance;
E'en Simon cries for “Athole brose,”
And through the reel doth prance,
Though bauld, this nicht.
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The fiddler now, wi' stuff inspired,
Screeds aff the jigs like Jehu;
And mettled chields, wi' gabs untired,
Gar a' the hallan echo:
The comic sang, aside the bowl,
Richt mony a fancy 's touching;
While Andrew swears, “by 's vera soul,
The pleasure 's quite bewitching
This royal nicht.”
Screeds aff the jigs like Jehu;
And mettled chields, wi' gabs untired,
Gar a' the hallan echo:
The comic sang, aside the bowl,
Richt mony a fancy 's touching;
While Andrew swears, “by 's vera soul,
The pleasure 's quite bewitching
This royal nicht.”
A country dance they now propose;
To higher feats they're soarin';
And fast they 're walin' out their joes
Wi' meikle rustic roarin'.
Our skating grocer, Geordie Brown,
The head taks wi' Jean Wilson,
Neist cutty-legged Tam M'Gown
And sklener Nepple Neilson,
Right skeich this nicht:
To higher feats they're soarin';
And fast they 're walin' out their joes
Wi' meikle rustic roarin'.
Our skating grocer, Geordie Brown,
The head taks wi' Jean Wilson,
Neist cutty-legged Tam M'Gown
And sklener Nepple Neilson,
Right skeich this nicht:
The rest for places hitch and drive
Wi' meikle noisy bustlin',
Till twenty couple's up belyve,
Weel ranged and free frae justlin':
The minstrel dreads a reekin' buff
In sic a dreich campaign,
Casts aff his coat, and tak's a snuff,
And does his coggie drain
Right glib this nicht.
Wi' meikle noisy bustlin',
Till twenty couple's up belyve,
Weel ranged and free frae justlin':
The minstrel dreads a reekin' buff
In sic a dreich campaign,
Casts aff his coat, and tak's a snuff,
And does his coggie drain
Right glib this nicht.
“The Duke o' Perth” now tak's the fiel',
Wi' hoochin and wi' wheelin';
And blithe they jump, and hooch, and squeel—
Whiles settin' and whiles reelin'.
Skeich Geordie, proud but hapless lad,
Fine modish airs assumin',
Side-cuttin', tumbled wi' a daud
Whare Archie had been toomin'
His crap this nicht.
Wi' hoochin and wi' wheelin';
And blithe they jump, and hooch, and squeel—
Whiles settin' and whiles reelin'.
Skeich Geordie, proud but hapless lad,
Fine modish airs assumin',
Side-cuttin', tumbled wi' a daud
Whare Archie had been toomin'
His crap this nicht.
Ben frae the bowl, wi' liquor'd face,
Comes rattlin' Jamie Morgan,
Swearin' they should na want their bass
Ance he had tuned his organ:
Wi' birr he doth the fanners drive;
The fiddle soon he drown'd it;
The dancers tint a' time belyve;
A' order he confounded
In a trice this night.
Comes rattlin' Jamie Morgan,
Swearin' they should na want their bass
Ance he had tuned his organ:
252
The fiddle soon he drown'd it;
The dancers tint a' time belyve;
A' order he confounded
In a trice this night.
Some reel and ramp, and lowp and stamp,
And roose their new musician;
While ithers fret and tak' the pet,
And wish him at perdition.
“Sair wark, bot pay,” as auld saws say,
“Soon loses its enjoyment;”
Sae he, for breath and drinkin' baith,
Resigns his new employment
At will this nicht.
And roose their new musician;
While ithers fret and tak' the pet,
And wish him at perdition.
“Sair wark, bot pay,” as auld saws say,
“Soon loses its enjoyment;”
Sae he, for breath and drinkin' baith,
Resigns his new employment
At will this nicht.
As lilts the lark her canty spring
After the thunder blast,
Sae Johnny's fiddle blithe doth ring
When this rude brainge is past.
Some weary shanks, wi' dancin' tired,
Seek rest beside the bicker;
While tongues, wi' whisky half inspired,
Vend shouts o' wit fu' sicker
This rantin' nicht.
After the thunder blast,
Sae Johnny's fiddle blithe doth ring
When this rude brainge is past.
Some weary shanks, wi' dancin' tired,
Seek rest beside the bicker;
While tongues, wi' whisky half inspired,
Vend shouts o' wit fu' sicker
This rantin' nicht.
The carles and carlines now are gane
In quest o' some repose,
And younkers left, uncowt, alane,
The noisy scene to close.
Some yawp and yowden, blink and gaunt,
Some wrestle wi' the hiccup;
While poet Will, as grave 's a saunt,
Ilk motion queer doth pick up
In the neuk this nicht.
In quest o' some repose,
And younkers left, uncowt, alane,
The noisy scene to close.
Some yawp and yowden, blink and gaunt,
Some wrestle wi' the hiccup;
While poet Will, as grave 's a saunt,
Ilk motion queer doth pick up
In the neuk this nicht.
The bowl-man, still wi' noddle fier,
The hindmost browst is brewin';
And loud the voice o' chanticleer
Approachin' day's foreshewin';
When, wi' the shawl o' Jean, his joe,
Upstarted Francie Foster,
Swearin', that “hame they should nae go
Without Bab-at-the-bowster
In style this nicht.”
The hindmost browst is brewin';
And loud the voice o' chanticleer
Approachin' day's foreshewin';
When, wi' the shawl o' Jean, his joe,
Upstarted Francie Foster,
Swearin', that “hame they should nae go
Without Bab-at-the-bowster
In style this nicht.”
253
Jig-time the minstrel touches glib;
Frank 'round the floor gaes vap'rin',
Shores first to land at Nelly Gibb,
Sheers aff syne, vogie, cap'rin':
But, kneeling low before his dear,
She answers in a crack,
Then, o' her mouth, as sweet's a pear,
He tak's a luscious smack,
Wi' joy, this nicht.
Frank 'round the floor gaes vap'rin',
Shores first to land at Nelly Gibb,
Sheers aff syne, vogie, cap'rin':
But, kneeling low before his dear,
She answers in a crack,
Then, o' her mouth, as sweet's a pear,
He tak's a luscious smack,
Wi' joy, this nicht.
By coat and gown tails linked close,
The floor fu' fast they're thrangin';
Some shy and blate before their joes,
And some wi' love a' mangin':
Some laugh, and, blushin', bend the knee,
By modesty o'ercome;
While ithers kiss baith frank and free,
And never fash their thumb,
On sic a nicht.
The floor fu' fast they're thrangin';
Some shy and blate before their joes,
And some wi' love a' mangin':
Some laugh, and, blushin', bend the knee,
By modesty o'ercome;
While ithers kiss baith frank and free,
And never fash their thumb,
On sic a nicht.
But nane met sic a sair defeat
As plookie-faced Jock Jenkin;
He fain wad measured mou's wi' Kate,
Wha frae his grasp ran linkin';
He follow'd hard, and gat her gripped,
And on a caff-bing flang her;
She flate and flang, and bate and nipped,
And gaed red-wud wi' anger
At him this nicht.
As plookie-faced Jock Jenkin;
He fain wad measured mou's wi' Kate,
Wha frae his grasp ran linkin';
He follow'd hard, and gat her gripped,
And on a caff-bing flang her;
She flate and flang, and bate and nipped,
And gaed red-wud wi' anger
At him this nicht.
Sime interposed atween the twa,
And redd the roughsome tuilyie,
Else there might been, ere lang, club law
In this wanchancie bruilyie;
Syne, when the lo'esome dance is done,
Whilk mony gabs weel gusted,
They hameward spread, wi' licht o' moon,
In love's embraces twisted,
Right close this nicht.
And redd the roughsome tuilyie,
Else there might been, ere lang, club law
In this wanchancie bruilyie;
Syne, when the lo'esome dance is done,
Whilk mony gabs weel gusted,
They hameward spread, wi' licht o' moon,
In love's embraces twisted,
Right close this nicht.
How bless'd their state, compared wi' them
Wha won within the city,
And wallow, in vile vice's flame,
'Mang harlots, void o' pity!
Our landward folk get sic a heize
Frae this day's scaithless fun,
As gars life's wheels, wi' meikle ease,
Maist for a towmond run
Down time's steep brae.
Wha won within the city,
And wallow, in vile vice's flame,
'Mang harlots, void o' pity!
254
Frae this day's scaithless fun,
As gars life's wheels, wi' meikle ease,
Maist for a towmond run
Down time's steep brae.
| Poems, on sacred and other subjects | |