The poetical works of William Nicholson :: :: University of Virginia Library

But ah! there was a merchant loon,
That lived in the neist borough toun,
A wily, spruce, and nipping blade,
Wha made the penny aye his trade,
And played upon the country foibles,
Or soothed the lasses up wi' baubles.
To every creed he tuned his strain,
And sauld his music aye for gain;
Had aft the art, whar'er he went,
To mak' fouk wi' themsel's content:
This gart them aft his fauts forget;
For flattery's aye a sicker bait.

Wi' three half-crowns he wan at hirdin',
He toiled till he had got a birden
O' coats, and gowns, and corduroys,
And lace, and gauze, and ither toys;
Nor after that was he mair slack,
But gat a beast to bear his pack.

At John's he'd stay baith weeks and days,
And clash wi' Kate, and sell them claes;
And whiles upon the trump would play,
Or sing the dools o' “Duncan Gray,”
Or gie to Bet, though she was sma',
A screed o' lace to make her braw:
And aften to himsel' would hum—
“Thy tocher will do good to some.”
A throwgaun, rattlin', merry chiel,
And fouk a' thocht him doin' weel;

Till a' at ance he made a stop,
But after soon set up a shop.

When Betty chanced to gang to fair
To buy some braws, or sell her ware,
Although the shop was e'er sae prest,
He'd spier for her and a' the rest;
Would rub his han's, her chin would pat,
Say, “Love, and dear, and bonny Bet,
Do ye no want a braw new gown,
A muslin mantle, or a crown?
John, show these shawls and sarsnets, quick,
That cam frae Lon'on the last week.
Now, I can tell ye, without flatterin',
Baith for the cheapness and the pattern,
They're most astonishin' to see;
But look yoursel', and heedna me.
I'll mak' them—but ye needna tell,
Nane gets sae low, love, but yoursel'.”
Then wad he kindly lead her ben,
And seat her in the parlour en',
Whar tea and trockery a' war ready,
That weel might ser't the brawest lady;
A Roman urn wi' siller slabs,
And China ware wi' giltet gabs.

“But sic a change was never seen;
Bless me, ye're turned a strappin' quean,
Sin' I stayed at your faither's house,
He was an honest man, and douce!
And then, sae fluently ye speak,
And sic a blossom's on your cheek;
Though our town nymphs be trig and braw,
Shame fa' me but ye ding them a'.

I'm sure the lads are rinnin' mony
For you, sae rich, and braw, and bonny:
Wha saw your craft about the gloamin',
Wad see them thick and thrang a-roamin'.”
A' this he said. Then she again—
“O, sir, ye're surely makin' game;
Or think ye I can a' believe
What ye in compliment me give?
But, Mr Din, if ane might speir,
Ye've haen a house this mony a year,
Wi' a' things fit to comfort life—
How live ye thus without a wife?”
“I own,” quo he, “in this I'm wrang,
But then the warl' held me thrang;
And, ere that I can get gear wi' me,
The fient a ane, I fear, will hae me,
Ye see I've near lost mark o' mouth,
And lasses aye are fond o' youth:
But tell me truly, now, could ye
Be happy wi' the like o' me?
In this, dear Bet, I am not mockin',
Though whiles I hae a gate o' jokin'.
O! what a pleasure I wad hae,
To keep you like a lady gay.”—
But here the prentice in did pop,
And o' the dialogue made a stop.
So she gaed hame while it was light,
And dreamt o' ribbons a' the night.
For fashion's freaks sae filled her head,
She soon forgat her shepherd lad;
Or if she min't him sin' that night,
She saw him in a different light—

A decent lad, and gi'en to readin',
But that has neither house nor haudin';
And then my mither's peace 'twad kill:
Bairns aye should do their parents will—
They maistly aye do weel does that.
Weel, fouk in towns live trig and neat,
And some do say, if poortith come,
That love, like reek, flies up the lum.
Thus by the dint o' soundest reason,
She found her former passion treason—
Let doatin' fools say what they will,
A woman will be woman still.

But in the morning when she raise,
She showed them a' her braw new claes,
And tauld auld Kate she never saw
The merchant ha'e a shop sae braw.
“Frae Lon'on now his goods he brings:
I'm sure he sells a' unco things.
The factor's wife, wi' young Miss Grace,
Were there and bought a new pelisse,
A' trimmed wi' gimp o' velvet green,
The prettiest thing that e'er was seen.
The fouk say, a' the country roun',
He sells the cheapest in the town;
And then, he's aye sae frank and free:
Yestreen he gart me stay to tea,
And showed me a' before we stentit,
Out through the house—it's newly pentit;
And meikle mair than I can name,
O' furniture that's new come hame;
Syne tret me to a glass o' gin,
And wondered that ye ne'er cam in.”

“Guid sooth,” quo Kate, “lass, I'll be bun
To lay a plack, forgain a pun,
He's on you thrown a wily e'e:
For weel I mind when ye were wee,
He'd please you aft when I was thrang,
And sing you mony a merry sang,
And bring you fairins frae the fair,
And speak about your bonny hair.
Although the town's fouk wi' their havers,
About him raise sic lies and clavers,
The fient a civiler chiel there's in't:
Fouk aye should roose the ford's they fin't.”

To please auld John, too, he had skill,
Wi' routh o' cracks and routh o' yill,
“How the last Parliament that sat
Was busied wi' the Lord knows what,
O' kirk and state and dark petitions,
And souderin' mighty coalitions;
What Wellington had done in Spain;
How foreign war keeps up the grain:
That tax and tithes were now nae play,
And land was risin' every day:
How the rude Russians frae the woods,
Had soused poor Boney in the suds,
And cowed his garments by his wame,
And shaved his beard, and sent him hame,
And raised a dearth 'mang Paris barbers;
How Britain shored to block his harbours:
But some said when it cam a thow,
They feared again his beard wad grow,
And learn the Cossacks a new fling,
And cow their whiskers 'gain the spring.

How Yankee's sons, wi' wicked speed,
Wi' Madison at their board head,
Had led our brigs and boats a dance,
And ta'en their trade awa to France.
How, gif the Papist Bill would pass,
'Twould bring the nation to distress;
Sound orthodox it would enthral,
And fill their seats wi' sons o' Baal:
For Satan and the Man o' Sin
Need nought but their wee finger in,
And Gibeon's sons wi' a' their clatter,
Should hew the wood and draw the water”—
Auld John gaes hame, and thought and said,
“Weel, yon chiel has an unco head.”

So a' bowls now rowed square and right,
The auld fouks saw their prospect bright.
While Betty's heart was blythe and gay,
The merchant cam' ae King's fast-day:
They a' a kindly welcome gae'm,
And treat him weel wi' curds and cream;
When in return fu' kind was he,
And fetched auld Kate a pun' o' tea.
They cracked owre a' the news in town,
And preed a drap to synd them down;
Syne tauld his erran' pat and plain,
And saw it wasna that ill ta'en.
Betty looked down and held her tongue;
Her mither doubted she was young,
And aiblins whiles might act amiss,
In managin' a house like his.
“Indeed,” quo John, “I canna tell,
I wished her aye to please hersel';

And whar she liket best to gang,
Unless 'twere a' the farer wrang;
It's nae faut they that bear the load
Should hae the choosin' o' the road,
And they wha climb the slippery tree,
Should pluck the fruits that please the e'e.
The great respect to her ye've paid,
Should surely aye be duly weighed:
What say ye, dochter, speak out plain
Your answer to the gentleman?”
She tarried lang, as in a swither,
Then sought a fortnight to consider;
While he, contentit, slippet hame,
For, 'las! his fire edge was gane.