 | Poems on several subjects |  |
SONG XVII. The Auld Goodman.
One morning of May, by light of the day,
As I was walking over the lee,
A little near by, I heard a man cry,
Alas! alas! what will I do?
My wife she is proud, and clamours ay loud;
I canna' content her, do what I can:
She lends me a gouf, and tells me I'm douf,
I'll ne'er be like her last goodman.
As I was walking over the lee,
A little near by, I heard a man cry,
Alas! alas! what will I do?
My wife she is proud, and clamours ay loud;
I canna' content her, do what I can:
She lends me a gouf, and tells me I'm douf,
I'll ne'er be like her last goodman.
Oh! had I liv'd single, although with a pingle,
I had preserv'd my chastity;
I would have liv'd quiet, although sober diet
Had been my lot continually:
But now, as a slave, my noddle to save,
I lout and lour as well's I can;
While I'm confus'd, and thus abus'd,
Cause I'm no like her last goodman.
I had preserv'd my chastity;
I would have liv'd quiet, although sober diet
Had been my lot continually:
But now, as a slave, my noddle to save,
I lout and lour as well's I can;
While I'm confus'd, and thus abus'd,
Cause I'm no like her last goodman.
Oh! had she been young, I might her vile tongue
In process of time perhaps have reclaim'd,
And made her grow better; but of her ill nature,
When we were marry'd, I never dream'd.
But great Jove himsel, knows now, as in hell,
I belsh out oaths, and curse and ban,
When to it I'm furdert, and almost murder'd,
'Cause I'm no like her last goodman.
In process of time perhaps have reclaim'd,
And made her grow better; but of her ill nature,
When we were marry'd, I never dream'd.
40
I belsh out oaths, and curse and ban,
When to it I'm furdert, and almost murder'd,
'Cause I'm no like her last goodman.
May never poor lad meet wi' sik a bad
And crossful wife as I have done;
My life is a burden while I'm wi' the lurden;
Come death, and haste, and fly, and run,
And cut my life's thread, in my extreme need,
And carry me safely to the plain,
That Jove has assign'd for comfort of mind,
Where folk like me forget their pain.
And crossful wife as I have done;
My life is a burden while I'm wi' the lurden;
Come death, and haste, and fly, and run,
And cut my life's thread, in my extreme need,
And carry me safely to the plain,
That Jove has assign'd for comfort of mind,
Where folk like me forget their pain.
Her REPLY.
You blame your wife for your poor life;
Shame light upon your calf-like face,
That plaints on me, when I from thee,
Scarce in three months obtain a kiss.
You gaunt and groan, in slumber you moan;
No active spirit remains in thee;
Whilk gars me cry out, and lend thee a rout,
You, silly John Snool, a plague to me.
Shame light upon your calf-like face,
That plaints on me, when I from thee,
Scarce in three months obtain a kiss.
You gaunt and groan, in slumber you moan;
No active spirit remains in thee;
Whilk gars me cry out, and lend thee a rout,
You, silly John Snool, a plague to me.
You rant and sport 'mong your consort,
And make a jest of me your wife;
And meikle good gear, whilk, both late and air,
My husband wan during his life,
You spend; 'tis seen, then late at e'en,
You homeward stagger as you can,
And tumble to bed, where ony young maid
May ly unknown, you calf-like man.
And make a jest of me your wife;
And meikle good gear, whilk, both late and air,
My husband wan during his life,
You spend; 'tis seen, then late at e'en,
You homeward stagger as you can,
And tumble to bed, where ony young maid
May ly unknown, you calf-like man.
You pray that death would cut your breath;
Death scarcely thinks you worth his pains,
To ware his dart on your dull heart;
But if he would, he'd loose my chains.
Then would I be quit of you a dead sot,
That yields me no pleasure, do what I can:
His saul be at rest; I think I was bless'd
When living was my auld goodman.
Death scarcely thinks you worth his pains,
To ware his dart on your dull heart;
But if he would, he'd loose my chains.
Then would I be quit of you a dead sot,
That yields me no pleasure, do what I can:
His saul be at rest; I think I was bless'd
When living was my auld goodman.
| Poems on several subjects | |