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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An Elegy
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 | Poems, on sacred and other subjects |  |
An Elegy
On the Death of the Kilbride Beadle, Charles Mair.
O death! thou base and treach'rous loun,
Wha flees the country roun' and roun',
Again thou hast come through our toun,
Wi' dagger bare,
And hew'd thy nearest nei'bour doun,
Poor Charlie Mair.
Wha flees the country roun' and roun',
Again thou hast come through our toun,
Wi' dagger bare,
And hew'd thy nearest nei'bour doun,
Poor Charlie Mair.
Perfidious deed! how could you do it?
Ere lang, I trow, ye'll sairly rue it;
To gi'e thy gard'ner sic a flewet,
Wha still rejoiced
When thy black ensign he did view it
By thee up hoised.
Ere lang, I trow, ye'll sairly rue it;
To gi'e thy gard'ner sic a flewet,
Wha still rejoiced
When thy black ensign he did view it
By thee up hoised.
Kilbride may sigh, and greet, and moan,
And stitch her doolfu' weepers on,
Since her auld Beadle's fairly gone,
Ne'er to return:
Cauld on his back he lies, ochone!
Within death's urn.
And stitch her doolfu' weepers on,
Since her auld Beadle's fairly gone,
Ne'er to return:
Cauld on his back he lies, ochone!
Within death's urn.
150
Wi' asthmas lang he pechtan grain'd,
And gravel-pangs richt sair him pain'd;
Yet, while ae spark o' health remain'd,
Fu' fain wad he
Inspect the lairs, wi' sorrow feign'd,
When ane did die.
And gravel-pangs richt sair him pain'd;
Yet, while ae spark o' health remain'd,
Fu' fain wad he
Inspect the lairs, wi' sorrow feign'd,
When ane did die.
Syne wad he fetch his shankin tools,
His pinches, mattocks, spades, and shools,
And raise in heaps the putrid mools
On ilka side,
Mix'd wi' the pows o' saints and fools,
Now close allied.
His pinches, mattocks, spades, and shools,
And raise in heaps the putrid mools
On ilka side,
Mix'd wi' the pows o' saints and fools,
Now close allied.
Aft, wi' his colleague Robin Aiton,
The black procession he wad wait on;
Or, frae the bell arouse the wae-tone,
Wi' doolfu' din;
Or, fast as trouts do seize the bait on,
The cash draw in.
The black procession he wad wait on;
Or, frae the bell arouse the wae-tone,
Wi' doolfu' din;
Or, fast as trouts do seize the bait on,
The cash draw in.
Though he in death's drear shambles toil'd,
An occupation dull and wild,
Yet wha than Charlie blither smiled
Out owre a gill,
Or time wi' better jokes beguiled
Beside gude yill.
An occupation dull and wild,
Yet wha than Charlie blither smiled
Out owre a gill,
Or time wi' better jokes beguiled
Beside gude yill.
In some mad freak, wanchancie nature
Had him denied ilk manly feature,
And burden'd wi' a humph the creature,
His patience tryin';
But yet he wore a saul o' stature
Micht saired O'Brien.
Had him denied ilk manly feature,
And burden'd wi' a humph the creature,
His patience tryin';
But yet he wore a saul o' stature
Micht saired O'Brien.
Though he, in early life, was bred
To tug at auld King Crispin's trade,
Yet easier ways to earn his bread
He aim'd at still;
To assassinate a sheep weel-fed,
And sell a gill.
To tug at auld King Crispin's trade,
Yet easier ways to earn his bread
He aim'd at still;
To assassinate a sheep weel-fed,
And sell a gill.
Forbye, he held that occupation
Contemned by folk in ilka station—
A beagle—omen o' vexation,
By poind or summons;
For wham they leave their habitation,
And skulk on commons.
Contemned by folk in ilka station—
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By poind or summons;
For wham they leave their habitation,
And skulk on commons.
The fumbler club, wi' ruefu' faces,
May sair lament their umquhile preses,
For he the brunt o' their disgraces
Did bear for lang;
And jockies at our summer races,
Our days o' thrang.
May sair lament their umquhile preses,
For he the brunt o' their disgraces
Did bear for lang;
And jockies at our summer races,
Our days o' thrang.
Owre Kittoch-brig afttimes he trode,
But now he'll nae mair gang that road,
To wauchle wi' the holy code
Owre to the kirk:
Death's claucht him to his ain abode,
Cauld, drear, and mirk.
But now he'll nae mair gang that road,
To wauchle wi' the holy code
Owre to the kirk:
Death's claucht him to his ain abode,
Cauld, drear, and mirk.
And now upon his verdant grave
The gowans bloom and nettles wave;
But since he's left nae heir, to save
His name frae death,
We'll on his headstane deep engrave
As underneath.
The gowans bloom and nettles wave;
But since he's left nae heir, to save
His name frae death,
We'll on his headstane deep engrave
As underneath.
| Poems, on sacred and other subjects | |