Poems on several subjects

The Epitaph of Johnie Galla',
A singular and antique fallow;
Wrought without tyring, fed wi' pleasure,
Despising honour, pomp, and treasure.
Of all e'er wore a liv'ry coat,
He was the mirror without spot.
Though here he lyes in dust, yet he
Shall live in this his elegie.

Inhabitants of Rossie, now
Doubtless your tears are not a few;
John Galla' ye nae mair can view,
Without remead:
He's tane his last good night o' you,
Alas! and died.

He was a servant neat and tight,
Baith leel, and trusty, and upright:
His master's turn he cou'd nae slight;
Nor was he sweer,
Either by day or yet by night,
This mony year.

He kept the doors baith snug and clean,
And a' things feat as a new prin:
Baith ear' at morn, and late at e'en;
He never tyr'd:
His equal's scantly to be seen;
Yet he's expir'd.

His feet sae harness'd on the soles,
That he could tread on burning coals:
It set him well to smile at droles,
And shake his head:
Well cou'd he purge the scuter holes:
But now he's dead.

His doublet brisk fac'd up wi' red,
And well cock'd hat upon his head;
He by his mein might seem to lead
The British force;
His aspect look'd sae fierce and dread,
On foot or horse.

When he was mounted on a beast,
Don Quixote was to him but jest:
For ilka squire wou'd have embrac'd
Him for a knight;
If he had been in harness dress'd,
And armour bright.

Though he was fit for actions brave,
He did nae lord it o'er the lave,
Nor like ambitious fools behave;
But wi' mair wit,
In sober mood, with visage grave,
Did ay submit.

He took his lot just as it came,
Nor fate nor fortune did he blame;
Untouch'd by a revengefu' flame,
Or jealousie:
This character was ay his aim,
Fair honestie.

Like him at weddings wha cou'd dance,
Sae nimbly in the ring advance?
He gar'd his metal-buttons glance,
Like fire and tow;
And kiss'd the lasses as by chance
They came in's row.

Well cou'd he waught at ale or beer;
And gar fouk swelter, laugh, and sneer,
When he the lasses but came near,
And mint'd to kiss:
But now he wins nae langer here,
Ah, and alas!

Now, wha will manage his wheel-barrow,
Sae fairly drive the plow and harrow?
Malicious thoughts he did debar a',
And vengefu' feud:
Behind he has nae left his marrow;
But now he's dead.

The geese and swine will miss him sair,
He gae them curns of pease and bear:
Of out-things he took special care:
And a' he said
Was simple truth, and naething mair:
But now he's dead.

The church's odd debates he shun'd,
And was nae at state factions stun'd:
He laid nae stress on monie's fund;
But e'en jogg'd on,
Judging plain dealing surest ground
To walk upon.

Sure his religion was the best,
Unstain'd wi' envy or contest:
'Mongst other things that he profest,
He was intent
To take his victuals, and his rest,
Wi' free content.

He made nae whining fair profession,
To raise his pastor's expectation,
That he was working for salvation,
Like hypocrites:
Against him never court nor session
Gave out decreets.

He was nae drunkard, nor a glutton;
Yet he could taste good ale and mutton:
The world he valued not a button,
That is well kent:
Nor had he change of suits to put on,
Yet ay content.

He was a subject in his station,
Loyal as any in the nation,
And well behav'd in his vocation,
And was indeed
The quite reverse of affectation:
But now he's dead.

He neither spent his time nor money
In courting lasses, black or bonny;
He never ca'd them Dear nor Honey,
When in his prime:
Good truth they were a' ane to Johnie
At ony time.

There's nane can ban his banes when rotten,
For gear he had that was ill-gotten:
He'd rather that he had been sodden,
Hale in a kettle;
Or in some desert lyen forgotten
Under a nettle.

He died in nae choleric pet,
Nor was his stomach overset,
Nor age nor labour made him fret:
But death unseen
Came sliding in when it was late,
And clos'd his een.

100

When on his tae side like a lamb,
Death wi' a sweat, baith cauld and clam,
Soon smoor'd out a' the rudy flame
That life express'd;
While in a grouffing easy dwame
He slept to rest.

Thus Johnie died withoutten pine;
And was well row'd in linen fine.
Ilk ane that kend him, cry'd, Oh whine,
Poor Johnie's dead!
Nane 'tween St Johnstoun and the Skrine,
Can fill his stead.

Right was he in a coffin laid,
Like ane of qualitie array'd:
In caps good ale and brandy gade,
Just like dub-water;
That gar'd the carlins crack that stay'd,
And nonsense clatter.

Nae little honour was conferr'd
Upon him when he was interr'd:
Nane o' the company deferr'd
To see it sae;
But when they came to the kirkyard,
Ilk ane look'd wae:

And as a sign he was respected,
There was nae ane call'd, that neglected
To come just at the time expected;
Nor did they part
'Till they his grave-stane had erected,
A' griev'd in heart.

He buried was within the night,
Wha hang out a' her torches bright:
Wow! they shin'd dowie at the sight,
And unco blae;
For Phœbus had withdrawn his light,
He was sae wae.

101

Then all, as men discreet and wise,
Cry'd “Poor man, in his grave he lyes:
“Though we should greet out of our eyes
“The brinish tear;
“Yet fate, alas! to us denies
“His presence mair.

“Sin' he sae honestly is laid
“Now in his grave, it may be said,
“'Tis nature's debt that maun be paid
“Wi's a' as well:
“Let's try if we'll by Bacchus' aid
“O'er grief prevail.”

Then back they went to Rossie green,
Where at the first they did conveen:
They drank his dredgie late at e'en,
Ilk ane cap out;
Nae dool nor dolour mair was seen,
But health about.

University of Virginia Library

An ELEGY on Johnie Galla'.