The collected writings of Dougal Graham "Skellat" Bellman of Glasgow: edited with notes: Together with a Biographical and Bibliographical Introduction, and a Sketch of the Chap Literature of Scotland: by George MacGregor: In two volumes |
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 | II. |
VOL. II.
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 | The collected writings of Dougal Graham |  |
II. VOL. II.
43
An EPITAPH.
Here lies the dust of John Bell's Mither,Against her will, death's brought her hither;
Clapt in this hole, hard by his dady,
Death snatch't her up, or she was ready;
Lang might she liv'd wer't not her wame,
But wha can live beyond their time?
44
So here she lyes looking about her;
Looking about her! how can that be?
Yes, she sees her state, better than we.
An ELEGY on the Death of Jockey's Mother
Now a' body ken's my Mither's dead,
For weel a wat I bore her head,
And in the grave I saw her laid,
It was e'en right drole,
For her to change a warm fire side:
For a cauld kirk-hole.
For weel a wat I bore her head,
And in the grave I saw her laid,
It was e'en right drole,
For her to change a warm fire side:
For a cauld kirk-hole.
But every ane tell'st just like a sang,
That yon's the gate we have to gang,
For me to do it, I think nae lang,
If I can do better.
For I trow my Mither thinks it nae sang,
What needs we clatter.
That yon's the gate we have to gang,
For me to do it, I think nae lang,
If I can do better.
For I trow my Mither thinks it nae sang,
What needs we clatter.
But thanks to death ay for the futer,
That did not let her get the Suter,
For about her gear wad been a splutter,
And sae had been,
For he came ay snoaking about her,
Late at een.
That did not let her get the Suter,
For about her gear wad been a splutter,
And sae had been,
For he came ay snoaking about her,
Late at een.
For our Maggy watch't and saw,
My Mither's back was at the wa',
But what was mair hach ha' hach ha'
I winna tell,
She to do yon stood little aw',
Just like mysell.
My Mither's back was at the wa',
But what was mair hach ha' hach ha'
I winna tell,
She to do yon stood little aw',
Just like mysell.
45
But to get gear was a' her drift,
And used many a pinging shift:
About her spinning and her thrift,
Was a' her care,
She's gotten but little o't abune the lift,
Wi' her ti wear.
And used many a pinging shift:
About her spinning and her thrift,
Was a' her care,
She's gotten but little o't abune the lift,
Wi' her ti wear.
84
THE PLOWMAN'S Glory; or, TOM'S SONG.
As I was a walking one morning in the spring,
I heard a young plowman so sweetly to sing,
And as he was singing, these words he did say,
No life is like the plowman's in the month of May.
I heard a young plowman so sweetly to sing,
And as he was singing, these words he did say,
No life is like the plowman's in the month of May.
The lark in the morning rises from her nest,
And mounts in the air with the dew on her breast,
And with the jolly plowman she'll whistle and she'll sing,
And at night she'll return to her nest back again.
And mounts in the air with the dew on her breast,
And with the jolly plowman she'll whistle and she'll sing,
And at night she'll return to her nest back again.
If you walk in the fields any pleasure to find,
You may see what the plowman enjoys in his mind;
There the corn he sows grows and the flowers do spring,
And the plowman's as happy as a prince or a king.
You may see what the plowman enjoys in his mind;
There the corn he sows grows and the flowers do spring,
And the plowman's as happy as a prince or a king.
When his days work is done that he has to do,
Perhaps to some country walk he will go;
There with a sweet lass he will dance and sing,
And at night return with his lass back again.
Perhaps to some country walk he will go;
There with a sweet lass he will dance and sing,
And at night return with his lass back again.
85
And as they return from the walk in the town,
When the meadows is mowed and the grass is cut down,
If they chance for to tumble among the green hay,
It's kiss me now or never the damsel will say.
When the meadows is mowed and the grass is cut down,
If they chance for to tumble among the green hay,
It's kiss me now or never the damsel will say.
Then he rises next morning to follow his team,
Like a jolly plowman so neat and so trim;
If he kiss a pretty girl he will make her his wife,
And she loves her jolly plowman as dear as her life.
Like a jolly plowman so neat and so trim;
If he kiss a pretty girl he will make her his wife,
And she loves her jolly plowman as dear as her life.
Come Molly and Dolly let's away to the wake,
There the plow boys will treat us with beer ale and cake,
And if in coming home they should gain their Ends,
Ne'er fear but they'll marry us, or make us amends.
There the plow boys will treat us with beer ale and cake,
And if in coming home they should gain their Ends,
Ne'er fear but they'll marry us, or make us amends.
There's Molly and Dolly, Nelly and Sue,
There's Ralph John and Willie and young Tommy too;
Each lad takes his lass to the wake or the fair,
Adzooks they look rarely, I vow and declare.
There's Ralph John and Willie and young Tommy too;
Each lad takes his lass to the wake or the fair,
Adzooks they look rarely, I vow and declare.
THE WITTY AND ENTERTAINING EXPLOITS OF GEORGE BUCHANAN.
245
His SPEECH to his Executioners.
Here's a female band with bags of stones,To kill a man for rumple groans.
I'm clean of rapine, blood, and thefts,
Could I convert my farts to rifts;
Since I, the first, for farting die,
Close up the place from whence they fly;
To commit my crime, I think ye'll scarce,
If once you do cork up your arse.
And now since women stones do carry,
Men need not in the world tarry.
Judge if such women be chaste complete,
With forty stones between their feet.
But since 'tis so, ye will come on,
The greatest whore throw the first stone.
270
[Your servant, master wise man]
Your servant, master wise man,
And yet you have no books:
How can one have knowledge,
That no man instructs?
And yet you have no books:
How can one have knowledge,
That no man instructs?
Your servant, master bishop,
Your salutation's good:
Your knowledge is in your library,
While other's is in their hood.
Your salutation's good:
Your knowledge is in your library,
While other's is in their hood.
Good night, hail master bishop,
Of books you have great store;
Yet cannot read the half of them;
Then what use are they for?
Of books you have great store;
Yet cannot read the half of them;
Then what use are they for?
272
MOTTO
Here sits the bishop of Canterbury,Who at the schools disdain'd to tarry,
Far better skill'd at games than preaching.
Although he lives by others teaching
Blind leaders of the blind indeed;
'Tis blind and lame who chariots need,
Six brutes with eyes, this brute doth carry,
I mean the bishop of Canterbury.
My feet being lame, I gave a dollar,
To be drove in state like you a scholar;
For which, myself I do abhor;
Shame caus'd me make another door.
279
[My honour'd liege, and sovereign king]
My honour'd liege, and sovereign king,Of your boasting great, I dread nothing:
On your feud or favour I'll fairly venture:
E'er that day I'll be where few kings will enter.
| The collected writings of Dougal Graham | |