Songs and poems by the Rev. John Skinner. With a sketch of his life, by H. G. Reid |
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THE MONYMUSK CHRISTMAS BA'ING. |
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 | Songs and poems |  |
THE MONYMUSK CHRISTMAS BA'ING.
Has ne'er in a' this countra been,
Sic shou'dering and sic fa'ing,
As happen'd but few ouks sinsyne,
Here at the Christmas Ba'ing.
At evening syne the fallows keen
Drank till the niest day's dawing,
Sae snell, that some tint baith their een,
And could na pay their lawing
Till the niest day.
Sic shou'dering and sic fa'ing,
As happen'd but few ouks sinsyne,
Here at the Christmas Ba'ing.
At evening syne the fallows keen
Drank till the niest day's dawing,
Sae snell, that some tint baith their een,
And could na pay their lawing
Till the niest day.
Like bumbees bizzing frae a byke,
Whan hirds their riggins tirr;
The swankies lap thro' mire and syke,
Wow as their heads did birr!
They yowff'd the ba' frae dyke to dyke
Wi' unco speed and virr;
Some baith their shou'ders up did fyke,
For blythness some did flirr
Their teeth that day.
Whan hirds their riggins tirr;
The swankies lap thro' mire and syke,
Wow as their heads did birr!
They yowff'd the ba' frae dyke to dyke
Wi' unco speed and virr;
Some baith their shou'ders up did fyke,
For blythness some did flirr
Their teeth that day.
2
Rob Roy, I wat he was na dull,
He first leit at the ba',
Syne wi' a rap clash'd Geordie's skull
Hard to the steeple-wa'.
Wha was aside but auld Tam Tull?—
His frien's mishap he saw,—
Syne rair'd like ony baited bull,
And wi' a thud dang twa
To the yird that day.
He first leit at the ba',
Syne wi' a rap clash'd Geordie's skull
Hard to the steeple-wa'.
Wha was aside but auld Tam Tull?—
His frien's mishap he saw,—
Syne rair'd like ony baited bull,
And wi' a thud dang twa
To the yird that day.
The tanner was a primpit bit,
As flimsy as a feather,
He thought it best to try a hit,
Ere a' the thrang shou'd gadyr:
He ran wi' neither fear nor wit,
As fu' o' wind's a bladder;
Unluckily he tint the fit,
And tann'd his ain bum-lether
Fell weel that day.
As flimsy as a feather,
He thought it best to try a hit,
Ere a' the thrang shou'd gadyr:
He ran wi' neither fear nor wit,
As fu' o' wind's a bladder;
Unluckily he tint the fit,
And tann'd his ain bum-lether
Fell weel that day.
Syne Francie Winsy steppit in,
A sauchin slivery slype,
Ran forrat wi' a furious din,
And drew a swinging swype.
But Tammy Norie thought nae sin
To come o'er him wi' a snype,
Levell'd his nose flat wi's chin,
And gart his swall'd een sype,
Sawt tears that day.
A sauchin slivery slype,
Ran forrat wi' a furious din,
And drew a swinging swype.
But Tammy Norie thought nae sin
To come o'er him wi' a snype,
Levell'd his nose flat wi's chin,
And gart his swall'd een sype,
Sawt tears that day.
3
Bockin red bleed the fleep mair caum,
Ran hame to his nain mammy:
“Alas!” co' Katie, when she saw him,
“Wha did you this, my lammie?”
“A meikle man,” co' he, “foul faw him,”
But kent na it was Tammie,
“Rax'd me alang the chafts a wham
“As soon as e'er he saw me,
“And made me blae.”
Ran hame to his nain mammy:
“Alas!” co' Katie, when she saw him,
“Wha did you this, my lammie?”
“A meikle man,” co' he, “foul faw him,”
But kent na it was Tammie,
“Rax'd me alang the chafts a wham
“As soon as e'er he saw me,
“And made me blae.”
“Deil rax his chandler chafts,” co' Kate,
“For doing you sic wrang,
“Gin I had here the skypel skate,
“Sae weel's I shou'd him bang!”
The gilpy stood, and leuk't fell blate,
To see her in sic a sang;
He squeel'd to her, like a young gyte,
But wad na mird to gang
Back a' that day.
“For doing you sic wrang,
“Gin I had here the skypel skate,
“Sae weel's I shou'd him bang!”
The gilpy stood, and leuk't fell blate,
To see her in sic a sang;
He squeel'd to her, like a young gyte,
But wad na mird to gang
Back a' that day.
The hurry-burry now began,
Was right weel worth the seeing,
Wi' routs and raps frae man to man,
Some getting, and some gieing;
And a' the tricks of fit and hand,
That ever was in being;
Sometimes the ba' a yirdlins ran,
Sometimes in air was fleeing,
Fu' heigh that day.
Was right weel worth the seeing,
Wi' routs and raps frae man to man,
Some getting, and some gieing;
And a' the tricks of fit and hand,
That ever was in being;
Sometimes the ba' a yirdlins ran,
Sometimes in air was fleeing,
Fu' heigh that day.
4
Stout Steen gart mony a fallow stoit,
And flang them o'er like fail;
Said, “he'd na care ae clippit doit,
“Tho' a' should turn their tail.”
But wi' a yark Gib made his queet
As dwabil as a flail,
And o'er fell he, maist like to greet,
Just at the eemest ga'ill,
O' the kirk that day.
And flang them o'er like fail;
Said, “he'd na care ae clippit doit,
“Tho' a' should turn their tail.”
But wi' a yark Gib made his queet
As dwabil as a flail,
And o'er fell he, maist like to greet,
Just at the eemest ga'ill,
O' the kirk that day.
The sutor like tod-lowrie lap,
Three fit at ilka stend:
He did na miss the ba' a chap,
Ilk ane did him commend.
But a lang trypall there was Snap,
Cam' on him wi' a bend;
Gart him, ere ever he wist, cry clap
Upon his nether end;
And there he lay.
Three fit at ilka stend:
He did na miss the ba' a chap,
Ilk ane did him commend.
But a lang trypall there was Snap,
Cam' on him wi' a bend;
Gart him, ere ever he wist, cry clap
Upon his nether end;
And there he lay.
Sanny soon saw the sutor slain,
He was his ain hawf-brither;
I wat right well he was fu' brain,
And fu' could he be ither?
He heez'd in ire a puttin-stane,
Twa fell on him thegither,
Wi' a firm gowff he fell'd the tane,
But wi' a gowff the tither
Fell'd him that day.
He was his ain hawf-brither;
I wat right well he was fu' brain,
And fu' could he be ither?
He heez'd in ire a puttin-stane,
Twa fell on him thegither,
Wi' a firm gowff he fell'd the tane,
But wi' a gowff the tither
Fell'd him that day.
5
In came the insett Dominie,
Just riftin frae his dinner,
A young mess John, as ane cou'd see,
Was neither saint nor sinner.
A brattlin band, unhappily,
Drave by him wi' a binner,
And heels-o'er-goudie coupit he,
And rave his guid horn penner
In bits that day.
Just riftin frae his dinner,
A young mess John, as ane cou'd see,
Was neither saint nor sinner.
A brattlin band, unhappily,
Drave by him wi' a binner,
And heels-o'er-goudie coupit he,
And rave his guid horn penner
In bits that day.
Leitch lent the ba' a loundrin lick,
She flew fast like a flain;
Syne lighted whare faes were maist thick,
Gart ae gruff Grunsie grain.
He whippit up a rotten stick,
I wat he was na fain,
Leitch wi's fit gae 'im sic a kick,
Till they a' thought him slain,
That very day.
She flew fast like a flain;
Syne lighted whare faes were maist thick,
Gart ae gruff Grunsie grain.
He whippit up a rotten stick,
I wat he was na fain,
Leitch wi's fit gae 'im sic a kick,
Till they a' thought him slain,
That very day.
There was nane there could Cowlie byde,
The gryte guidman, nor nane,
He stenn'd bawk-height at ilka stride,
And rampag'd o'er the green:
For the kirk-yard was braid and wide,
And o'er a knablick stane,
He rumbl'd down a rammage glyde,
And peel'd the gardy-bane
O' him that day.
The gryte guidman, nor nane,
He stenn'd bawk-height at ilka stride,
And rampag'd o'er the green:
For the kirk-yard was braid and wide,
And o'er a knablick stane,
He rumbl'd down a rammage glyde,
And peel'd the gardy-bane
O' him that day.
6
His cousin was a bierly swank,
A derf young man, hecht Rob;
To mell wi' twa he wad na mank
At staffy nevel-job:
I wat na fu' but on a bank,
Whare gadder'd was the mob,
The cousins bicker'd wi' a clank,
Gart ane anither sob,
And gasp that day.
A derf young man, hecht Rob;
To mell wi' twa he wad na mank
At staffy nevel-job:
I wat na fu' but on a bank,
Whare gadder'd was the mob,
The cousins bicker'd wi' a clank,
Gart ane anither sob,
And gasp that day.
Tho' Rob was stout, his cousin dang
Him down wi' a gryte shudder;
Syne a' the drochlin hempy thrang
Gat o'er him wi' a fudder;
Gin he should rise, and hame o'ergang,
Lang was he in a swidder;
For bleed frae's mou' and niz did bang,
And in gryte burns did bludder
His face that day.
Him down wi' a gryte shudder;
Syne a' the drochlin hempy thrang
Gat o'er him wi' a fudder;
Gin he should rise, and hame o'ergang,
Lang was he in a swidder;
For bleed frae's mou' and niz did bang,
And in gryte burns did bludder
His face that day.
But, waes my heart, for Petrie Gib,
The carlie's head 'twas scaw't,
Upo' the crown he got a skib,
That gart him yowll and claw't.
Sae he wad slip his wa' to Tib,
And spy at hame some fawt;
I thought he might hae gott'n a snib,
Sae thought ilk ane that saw't,
O' th' green that day.
The carlie's head 'twas scaw't,
Upo' the crown he got a skib,
That gart him yowll and claw't.
Sae he wad slip his wa' to Tib,
And spy at hame some fawt;
I thought he might hae gott'n a snib,
Sae thought ilk ane that saw't,
O' th' green that day.
7
But taylor Hutchin met him there,
A curst unhappy spark,
Saw Pate had caught a camshack cair
At this uncanny wark.
He bade na lang to seek his lare,
But, wi' a yawfu' yark,
Whare Pate's right spawl, by hap, was bare,
He derfly dang the bark
Frae's shins that day.
A curst unhappy spark,
Saw Pate had caught a camshack cair
At this uncanny wark.
He bade na lang to seek his lare,
But, wi' a yawfu' yark,
Whare Pate's right spawl, by hap, was bare,
He derfly dang the bark
Frae's shins that day.
Poor Petrie gae a weary winch,
He could na do but bann;
The taylor baith his sides did pinch,
Wi' laughing out o' hand;
He jee'd na out o' that an inch,
Afore a menseless man,
Came a' at anes athort his hinch
A sowff, and gart him prann
His bum that day.
He could na do but bann;
The taylor baith his sides did pinch,
Wi' laughing out o' hand;
He jee'd na out o' that an inch,
Afore a menseless man,
Came a' at anes athort his hinch
A sowff, and gart him prann
His bum that day.
The Priest's hireman, a chiel as stark
As ony giant cou'd be,
He kent afore o' this day's wark,
For certain that it wou'd be,
He ween'd to drive in o'er the park,
And ilk ane thought it shou'd be;
Whether his foot had mist its mark,
I canna tell, but fou't be,
He fell that day.
As ony giant cou'd be,
He kent afore o' this day's wark,
For certain that it wou'd be,
He ween'd to drive in o'er the park,
And ilk ane thought it shou'd be;
Whether his foot had mist its mark,
I canna tell, but fou't be,
He fell that day.
8
'Ere he cou'd change th' uncanny lair,
And nae help to be gi'en him,
There tumbled a mischievous pair
O' mawten'd lolls aboon him.
It wad ha made your heart fu' sair,
Gin ye had only seen him;
An't had na been for Davy Mair,
The rascals had ondune him,
Belyve that day.
And nae help to be gi'en him,
There tumbled a mischievous pair
O' mawten'd lolls aboon him.
It wad ha made your heart fu' sair,
Gin ye had only seen him;
An't had na been for Davy Mair,
The rascals had ondune him,
Belyve that day.
Cry'd black Pate Mill, “God save the King!”
Cry'd gley'd Gib Gun, “God grant it;”
Syne to the ba' like ony thing,
Baith ran, and baith loud vauntit.
But auld James Stuart drew his sting,
Tauld them they could na want it;
He sware he'd gar their harnpans ring
Till black Pate Mill maist fantit,
For fear that day.
Cry'd gley'd Gib Gun, “God grant it;”
Syne to the ba' like ony thing,
Baith ran, and baith loud vauntit.
But auld James Stuart drew his sting,
Tauld them they could na want it;
He sware he'd gar their harnpans ring
Till black Pate Mill maist fantit,
For fear that day.
A stranger bra', in Highland claise,
Leit mony a sturdy aith,
To bear the ba' thro' a' his faes,
And nae kep meikle skaith.
Rob Roy heard the fricksome fraise,
Weel girded in his graith;
Gowff'd him alang the shins a blaize,
And gart him tyne his faith
And feet that day.
Leit mony a sturdy aith,
To bear the ba' thro' a' his faes,
And nae kep meikle skaith.
Rob Roy heard the fricksome fraise,
Weel girded in his graith;
Gowff'd him alang the shins a blaize,
And gart him tyne his faith
And feet that day.
9
His neiper was a man o' might,
Was few there could ha' quell'd him,
He did na see the dreary sight,
Till some yap gilpy tell'd him,
To Robin syne he flew outright,
As he'd been gaun' to geld him;
But, dolefu' chance, frae some curst wight,
A clammy-houit fell'd him.
Hawf dead that day.
Was few there could ha' quell'd him,
He did na see the dreary sight,
Till some yap gilpy tell'd him,
To Robin syne he flew outright,
As he'd been gaun' to geld him;
But, dolefu' chance, frae some curst wight,
A clammy-houit fell'd him.
Hawf dead that day.
The millart's man, a suple fallow,
Ran's he had been red wud;
He fethir'd fiercely like a swallow,
Cry'd, hech! at ilka thud.
A gawsie gurk, wi' phiz o' yellow,
In youthood's sappy bud,
Nae twa there wad ha gart him wallow,
Wi' fair play i' the mud
On's back that day.
Ran's he had been red wud;
He fethir'd fiercely like a swallow,
Cry'd, hech! at ilka thud.
A gawsie gurk, wi' phiz o' yellow,
In youthood's sappy bud,
Nae twa there wad ha gart him wallow,
Wi' fair play i' the mud
On's back that day.
Tam Tull upon him cuist his ee,
Saw him sae mony fuilzie;
He green'd again some play to pree,
And raise anither bruilzie.
Up the kirk-yard he fast did jee,
I wat he was na hoilie,
And a' the kenzies glowr'd to see
A bonnie kind o' tuilzie
Atween them twa.
Saw him sae mony fuilzie;
He green'd again some play to pree,
And raise anither bruilzie.
Up the kirk-yard he fast did jee,
I wat he was na hoilie,
And a' the kenzies glowr'd to see
A bonnie kind o' tuilzie
Atween them twa.
10
The millart never notic'd Tam,
Sae browden'd he the ba',
He rumbl'd rudely like a ram,
Dang o'er whiles ane, whiles twa.
His enemy in afore him cam',
Ere ever he him saw;
Raught him a rap on the forestam,
But had na time to draw
Anither sae.
Sae browden'd he the ba',
He rumbl'd rudely like a ram,
Dang o'er whiles ane, whiles twa.
His enemy in afore him cam',
Ere ever he him saw;
Raught him a rap on the forestam,
But had na time to draw
Anither sae.
Afore he could step three inch back,
The millart drew a knife,
A curst-like gullie and a snack,
Some blacksmith's wark in Fife.
The lave their thumbs did blythly knack,
To see the stalwart strife;
But Tam, I ken, wad gien a plack
T' hae been safe wi' his wife,
At hame that day.
The millart drew a knife,
A curst-like gullie and a snack,
Some blacksmith's wark in Fife.
The lave their thumbs did blythly knack,
To see the stalwart strife;
But Tam, I ken, wad gien a plack
T' hae been safe wi' his wife,
At hame that day.
The parish-clark came up the yard,
A man fu' meek o' mind;
Right jinch he was, and fell weel-fawr'd,
His claithing was fu' fine.
Just whare their feet the dubs had glawr'd,
And barken'd them like bryne,
Gley'd Gibby Gun wi' a derf dawrd,
Beft o'er the grave divine
On's bum that day.
A man fu' meek o' mind;
Right jinch he was, and fell weel-fawr'd,
His claithing was fu' fine.
Just whare their feet the dubs had glawr'd,
And barken'd them like bryne,
Gley'd Gibby Gun wi' a derf dawrd,
Beft o'er the grave divine
On's bum that day.
11
When a' were pitying his mishap,
And swarm'd about the clark,
Wi' whittles some his hat did scrap,
Some dighted down his sark,
Will Winter gae the ba' a chap,
He ween'd he did a wark,
While Sanny wi' a weel-wyl'd wap,
Youff'd her in o'er the park
A space and mair.
And swarm'd about the clark,
Wi' whittles some his hat did scrap,
Some dighted down his sark,
Will Winter gae the ba' a chap,
He ween'd he did a wark,
While Sanny wi' a weel-wyl'd wap,
Youff'd her in o'er the park
A space and mair.
Wi' that Rob Roy gae a rair,
A rierfu' rout rais'd he,
'Twas heard, they said, three mile and mair,
Wha likes may credit gie.
I wyte his heart was fu' o' care,
And knell'd fell sair to see,
The cleverest callant that was there,
Play himsel' sic a slee
Begeck that day.
A rierfu' rout rais'd he,
'Twas heard, they said, three mile and mair,
Wha likes may credit gie.
I wyte his heart was fu' o' care,
And knell'd fell sair to see,
The cleverest callant that was there,
Play himsel' sic a slee
Begeck that day.
Jock Jalop shouted like a gun,
As something had him ail'd:
Fy, Sirs, co' he, the ba' spel's won,
And we the ba' ha'e hail'd.
Some green'd for hawf an hour's mair fun,
'Cause fresh and nae sair fail'd:
Ithers did Sanny gryte thanks cunn,
And thro' their haffats trail'd
Their nails that day.
As something had him ail'd:
Fy, Sirs, co' he, the ba' spel's won,
And we the ba' ha'e hail'd.
Some green'd for hawf an hour's mair fun,
'Cause fresh and nae sair fail'd:
Ithers did Sanny gryte thanks cunn,
And thro' their haffats trail'd
Their nails that day.
12
Syne a' consented to be frien's,
And lap like sucking fillies:
Some red their hair, some maen'd their banes,
Some bann'd the bensome billies.
The pensy blades doss'd down on stanes,
Whipt out their snishin millies;
And a' ware blyth to tak' their einds,
And club a pint o' Lillie's
Best ale that day.
And lap like sucking fillies:
Some red their hair, some maen'd their banes,
Some bann'd the bensome billies.
The pensy blades doss'd down on stanes,
Whipt out their snishin millies;
And a' ware blyth to tak' their einds,
And club a pint o' Lillie's
Best ale that day.
Has ne'er in Monymuss been seen
Sae mony weel-beft skins:
Of a' the bawmen there was nane
But had twa bleedy shins.
Wi' strenzied shouders mony ane
Dree'd penance for their sins;
And what was warst, scoup'd hame at e'en,
May be to hungry inns,
And cauld that day.
Sae mony weel-beft skins:
Of a' the bawmen there was nane
But had twa bleedy shins.
Wi' strenzied shouders mony ane
Dree'd penance for their sins;
And what was warst, scoup'd hame at e'en,
May be to hungry inns,
And cauld that day.
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