The works of Alexander Pennecuik of New-Hall, M.D.; containing the description of Tweeddale, and miscellaneous poems. A new edition, with copious notes, forming a complete history of the county to the present time. To which are prefixed, memoirs of Dr Pennecuik, and a map of the shire of Peebles, or Tweeddale |
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THE LINTOUN CABAL;
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 | The works of Alexander Pennecuik |  |
THE LINTOUN CABAL;
OR THE JOVIAL SMITH OF LINTOUN'S INVITATION OF HIS CLUE TO THEIR MORNING'S DRAUGHT, WHOM HE HAD MADE DRUNK THE NIGHT BEFORE, AFTER A GREAT STORM.
Fly, fearful thoughts of funeral,
Call here James Douglas of the Hall,
And all the rest of that cabal,
Let's rant and merry be.
Call here James Douglas of the Hall,
And all the rest of that cabal,
Let's rant and merry be.
We'll set a table in the smiddy,
And drink till all our heads grow giddy,
If it should cost our necks the woody;
Fy, haste Lass, run, let's see.
And drink till all our heads grow giddy,
If it should cost our necks the woody;
Fy, haste Lass, run, let's see.
But hark! I think no shame to tell it,
Be sure you first fetch Gibby Elliot;
Tell him we trysted at a sallet,
And he must say the grace.
Be sure you first fetch Gibby Elliot;
Tell him we trysted at a sallet,
And he must say the grace.
412
I swear by Omnia vincit amor,
And by my bellows and forehammer,
My tongue for thirst begins to stammer,
Whene'er I see his face.
And by my bellows and forehammer,
My tongue for thirst begins to stammer,
Whene'er I see his face.
He turn'd religious in his fever,
For better thriving late than never,
Yet swears it scorched so his liver,
Before to drouth inclin'd,
For better thriving late than never,
Yet swears it scorched so his liver,
Before to drouth inclin'd,
That though this night he drink the sea,
The morn he'll e'en as drouthy be,
Nor speak a word of sense can he
Till first his skin be lin'd.
The morn he'll e'en as drouthy be,
Nor speak a word of sense can he
Till first his skin be lin'd.
Bring haggis-headed William Younger,
And James, that little brandy-monger;
Laird Giffard looks like cauld and hunger,
He may come warm his soals.
And James, that little brandy-monger;
Laird Giffard looks like cauld and hunger,
He may come warm his soals.
Their entertainment shall be good,
God grant they part but dirt or blood;
Pay but their drink, we'll trust their food,
Cause Scrogs provide us coals.
God grant they part but dirt or blood;
Pay but their drink, we'll trust their food,
Cause Scrogs provide us coals.
But stay, there comes my dainty lads,
By ane and ane, like whores and bawds,
They smell the ale, and need no gauds,
To post or prick them hither.
By ane and ane, like whores and bawds,
They smell the ale, and need no gauds,
To post or prick them hither.
Now welcome, by my faith, good fellows,
I see you haste, like nimble swallows;
Lord keep your craigs lang frae the gallows,
That we may drink together.
I see you haste, like nimble swallows;
Lord keep your craigs lang frae the gallows,
That we may drink together.
But tell me, sirs, how this can be,
The storm made all our sheep to die,
And yet spar'd such a company,
Come let us then be frolic.
The storm made all our sheep to die,
And yet spar'd such a company,
Come let us then be frolic.
413
Laird Giffard cries, “Fy, fetch my mother,
Or my dear sister, chuse you whither,
And master Robert, bring him hither,
For I have ta'en the colic.
Or my dear sister, chuse you whither,
And master Robert, bring him hither,
For I have ta'en the colic.
I'm like to vomit gut and gall,
Good Lord, have mercy on my saul,
My giddy head will make me fall,
In faith I am no jester.
Good Lord, have mercy on my saul,
My giddy head will make me fall,
In faith I am no jester.
Will Younger pray, and Gibby preach,
Cause send for wise John Brown the leech,
He can blaw wind into my breech,
And give mine—a clyster.
Cause send for wise John Brown the leech,
He can blaw wind into my breech,
And give mine—a clyster.
| The works of Alexander Pennecuik | |