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The Taylor cry'd, and fell unto a Cough,
And the whole Quire, did hold their Hips and laugh;
And waxen in their Mirth, and sneez and swear,
A merryer Hour was never wasted here.
Shakspear.

The Winter Nights in Merryment and Play,
They pass, to drive the tedious Hours away.
TINKLARIAN DOCTOR.

On a Winters Night, my Gran'am spinning,
To make a Web of good Scots Linen;
Her Stool being plac'd next to the Chimney,
For she was auld and saw right dimly:

My Lucky Dade, an honest Whig,
Was telling Tales of Bothwell-Brig;
He could not miss to mind th'Attempt,
For he was sitting peeling Hemp.
My Aunt, whom nane dare say has no Grace,
Was reading on the Pilgrim's Progress;
The meikle Tasker, Davie Dallas,
Was telling Blads of William Wallace:
My Mither bad her second Son say,
What he'd by Heart of Davie Lindsay.
Our Herd, whom all Folk hates that knows him,
Was busy hunting in his Bosom,
Till being tir'd with twa Hours scratching;
He fell at length to quick dispatching;
Nere Roman slew sae mony Græcians,
As he did of his blood Relations,
Nor did he think it was a Sin,
To be the Dead of all his Kin.
The Bairns and Oyes were all within Doors,
The youngest of us chawing Cyndars,
And all the auld anes telling Wonders:
I'll tell you mine, ye nere hear'd droller,
(It's meikle worth to be a Scholar.)

I've seen you where you never was,
And where you nere will be;
But yet within that very Place,
You shall be seen by me.

Grandam.
Na, that dings all; but it's a Fiction,
A plain and perfect Contradiction;
You'll see me where I nere will be,
I never hear'd a greater Lie.

Tink. Doctor.
Gran'am look up unto the Glass,
And there ye'll see your wrinkled Face.

Grandam.
I vow I'd rather giv'n ten Dollars,
Before I had nae bred you Scholars,
I love to hear your sweet debating,
With ane Word Scots the other Latine;
There's nane of all the Bairn-time stupid,
Their Beards may all wag in the Pulpit,
Ev'n Sandy if to next Year spar'd,
May be a Chaplain to a Laird.
But, hear me Willie, ye're the eldest,
I ken ye can a Story tell best,
With all your Clergy tell the Wonder,
I cannot tho' I'm near an hunder,
Why my Teeth younger than my Tongue,
Hard as a Stain, or well dry'd Rung,
Should moulder like an rotten Liver,
Yet my soft Tongue continue clever?
Or, why Shoe-Soals so soon decay,
In less than six Months quite away,

Yet my thin Hide should never wear,
Tho daily worn this ninty Year?
Or, tell me if you ken the Matter,
How Ale being thicker far than Water,
When I drink Ale, it gets an easie downfall,
But Water choaks we tho 'twere a spoonfull?

Tinkl. Doctor.
Grandam I'll answer all your Wonders,
Beginning at the first, your Grinders;
Must not that wear which nere lies still,
Ay grinding like the Canno-Mill:
Your just a Mill your Mouths the Happer,
Your Teeth the Mill-Stains, Tongue the Clapper;
Ye ken the Clapper is but thin,
And like your Tongue ay making din,
Yet it will wear out twenty Mill-Stains,
Tho they are kend not to be ill Stains.
As to the second, you'd consider,
That Beasts have diff'rent kind of Leather;
Shoe-Soals from dead Beasts they do flae,
But ye are living, lang be't sae.
As to the last, 'bout Ale and Water,
Ale gangs down cause you love it better.

Grandam.
The last's the truest of the three,
The shame a Word of that's a Lie.

Tinkl. Doctor.
Gran'am I've answer'd all your Questions,
Giv's a Tale, ane of your best ones.

Grandam.
I'll tell you a Tale, in the Days of Cromwell,
When Charles the First from the Throne did tumble;
I was then about fourten Years and an half old,
When the Rogues took his Head aff upon a Scaffold:
We were very ill fash'd with the English Land-Loupers
And the haill Country was o'er-run with Mos-Troopers;
I went out upon a Night with my Sister Jean,
I mind very well it was on a Valentin's Ev'n,
We'd been drawing our Valentines, I drew John Strang,
He had a base Property 'twas scyre Wrang;

Red Hair'd, Dish Browd,
Bladder Lipped, meikle Mow'd.

We met with my auld Joe Geordie Brown,
He liv'd when he was living, in th'Overtown,
His Face was big and fair like a fow Moon;
He had on a Suit with Princess Mettal Button,
His twa Hands was like twa hind Legs of Mutton;
I'm sure it was nae with eating, he was nae Glutton.
His Legs mens'd all the Parish at Kirk and Market,
He said to me, its bawdy, I had best hark it,
Lend me your Lug, Giles, and I'll round it in,
Now for your Life Limmer, offer to tell't again:
But we were cry'd back upon, by my Sister Mary,
So Geordie and we, fell to play at blind Hary.
Geordie gigled and leugh ay, whan I was ta'n,
And the place he gript me be, was ay the Wame:

But the Farmers coming in to birle their Placks,
We left the drunken Carles to their awn Cracks,
We went to the Barn-Yard and play'd bogle about the Stacks.
When I was wearied with hiding, and he with pursuing,
We sat down at a Hay-Stack, and fell closs to the wooing;
He slaver'd all my Lips, and turn'd very uncivil,
He thrust up his Hand the length of my Navel,
I gar'd all the Folk hear me, I cry'd out like a D---l.
The D---l take me, quoth I, blessing my self, if I be your Lown,
Sae tell me, are ye in mows or earnest Geordie Brown?
I'm in earnest, quo Geordie, it's better nor cracking,
Make nae Noise Bessie, it's ay good to be taking;
But out came my Mither with a Rock in her Bosom,
She gave him his Paicks and soundly did toss him,
He took to his Heels, and scowr'd thro' the Green,
So I'll ne'er forget that Valantin's Ev'n.

Tinkl. Doctor.
Gran'am, I'm ay fear'd you've been an auld Sinner,
You love a bawdy Tale, as I do my Dinner;
I'll tell you a Tale should not be forgotten,
The Wife I'm speaking of is both dead and rotten,
She was an honest Cammeronian near the Bow-Head,
She was sae very afflicted when her Husband was Dead,
Ev'ning and Morning she went to the Gray-Friars:
If this be not true, mony anes Liers)
It happ'n'd anes as she went there to mourn,
But first she behov'd for to make her Burn;

And hunk'ring down upon the cald Grass,
A Thistle on the Grave jagged her A---e,
She thought her B---ks was touch'd by old Cuff,
Thrusting his Hand up thro' the Turff;
She ran away crying five times or six,
Dead or alive ye mind your auld Tricks.

Mauss.
Out fy, Brother, ye stain your Profession,
If you speak that way, I'll tell the Session;
A Story that's bawdy, is not worth a Plack Man,
I'll tell a Tale of Jamie the Pack-Man.
Ye could not but ken glied Jamie Cunninghame,
As he was travelling, within a Mile of Tuninghame,
He sat down at a Fald-Dyke for to ease his Back;
'Twad bursten our Mare to've carried his Pack,
As he was rising to gang some Miles farther,
He hitch'd his Pack o'er the left Shoulder,
The swing of the Pack brought him to the Ground,
And choak'd him Dead; the Laird of the Ground
On the very Spot where his Servants fand him,
Put up a Stain with this Memorandum.

What e'er come of the Pack,
Spend ay the other Plack,
And let ne'er your Gear o'ergang you;
Keep ay your Back light,
And your Pack tight,
And then it will not hang you.

Little Jamie.
Gran'am give me a pair of new Breicks,
And I'll tell you somethings will gar you rive your Cheeks:

Grandam.
Blessings upon the wi ane, hear how he speaks,
My Dear, ye'll not want it, if I should buy them with Straicks.

Little Jamie.
'Twas auld lang syne, in an hamely Converse,
A Scots-Man bade the King and Court kiss his A---e

Grandam.
Mislear'd Fallow, the meikle D---l speed him,
I'm sure the King wad gar hang him, or head him.

Little Jamie.
Indeed he did neither, but thought him a fit Tool,
To be carry'd to Court, and made the King's Fool.

Grandam.

They turn all Fools gaes there, Jamie, that's nae Lie,
Our Laird spends his Silver there, ilk a Babie:
He had ance a bra Fortune; it's all gane to Wrack,
For London's a Place that herrys the Pack)
I believe this Day he's not worth five and a Plack:

The Lords and Lairds that gae up sae fast thither,
Are just like the Bairns that forget their auld Mither;
And like the Northland Folk, that come from beyond the Tay,
To return back again they seldom find the Way:
They say ay our Laird's ta'n up about State-Affairs,
Shame fa that Wark makes such poor Heirs.

Little Jamie.

Let us who stay at hame, study to be Thrivers,
And well turn Lairds, when the Lairds turn Dyvers:
But, Gran'am, let me tell out my bra Sport,
How the Man spake to the King and his Court;
'Twas King James the Sixth, when he rang twenty Years
King of England, he came down with his Peers
To visit Scotland, where he got his Being,
The Kings sinsyne thinks we're not worth the seeing
King George wad nae come, if it wou'd save us fra dying;
For these English Cuckolds, who wou'd cut our Throats,
Gars the honest Man turn his Back on the Scots,
I love ay that Minister, he was an honest Gentleman
Who said ance in a preaching, the D---l was an Englishman
And by the Reason he gave, it's very true indeed,
When Scholars raise the D---ll he has Horns on his Head.
But to return to my Tale, the King and his Dunns wassels,
Came to see the Scots Gentry, and all his Vassals;

As he lodg'd on the Road, where they sauld Brandy and Ale,
And the King was turn'd kanty with the other Gill,
He asked the Landlord, how lang he'd liv'd there,
The Man answer'd, five hundred Years and mair
I and my Predecessors, tho' you may think it a base Lie
It's als true as ony thing in the black Book of Paisly.
Do you ken, said the King, wha was your Chief,
He was hang'd, quo the Man, on the kind Gallows of Crieff,
Waes me, quo the King, it seems he's been a Thief.
Indeed I'm sure he was nae that, quo the other,
But King David gar'd hang baith him and his Brother,
What was the Crimes they died for, said King James,
May be they were Rebells, what was their Names?
Indeed answer'd the Man, I believe they were not baptiz'd,
But just took to themselves what Names they pleas'd;
For the sign of the Cross, us'd then by popish Fellows,
Look'd as if the Bairns were to die on the Gallows:
But for the good of Scotland, they gate aft sare Banes,
The Name of the eldest was, praise God, Bare Banes;
The second Brother's Name, who was a Laird in the Merse,
Was, an't please your Majesty, kiss my A---e,
Bare Banes came to be Treasurer by which he wan Siller,
And for two Years together, kiss my A---e Chancellor;
But thereafter Bare Banes was Ch---r, for he was a cunning Spark,
And kiss my A---e twice L--- J---ce C---k:

Yet falling someway thereafter under the King's Anger,
They kend they wad be hang'd, if they staid ony langer,
Sae they travell'd in Disguise that they might not be kend,
And turn'd baith of them Trencher-Makers to their Lifes end:
They travell'd with Tinkers and Gypsies, thro' mony Mans Ground,
Bare Banes made his four nook'd, kiss my A---e all round.

Grandam.

Sirs, heard you e'er a Bairn speak sae in his Age,
He'll be the Tinklarian all o'er, I see by his Vissage,
Who is well ken'd to be the prettiest Man in this Age.