 | Poems And Songs |  |
189
TAM CAMFILL.
Oh! ken ye Tam Camfill that comes frae Larkha'?—
Honest Tam Camfill that comes frae Larkha'?
In summer and winter, through sunshine and snaw,
Ye'll meet Tammy ladened, far, far frae Larkha'.
Honest Tam Camfill that comes frae Larkha'?
In summer and winter, through sunshine and snaw,
Ye'll meet Tammy ladened, far, far frae Larkha'.
Tam Camfill's a merchant o' nae feckless grade,
A dealer in stuffs frae abroad and hame-made;
And whether his faither was Japheth or Ham,
There's few mair deservin' o' honour than Tam.
Though some merchants mak' a mair gaudy display
O' jewels and spices, and sic things as thae,
In scorn honest labour wad pass by them a',
And deal wi' Tam Camfill that comes frae Larkha'.
A dealer in stuffs frae abroad and hame-made;
And whether his faither was Japheth or Ham,
There's few mair deservin' o' honour than Tam.
Though some merchants mak' a mair gaudy display
O' jewels and spices, and sic things as thae,
In scorn honest labour wad pass by them a',
And deal wi' Tam Camfill that comes frae Larkha'.
Tam Camfill has cleedin' for back and for wame,
Abundance o' moleskins for wark and at hame—
He has coats for the market and coats for the fair,
And coats for the Lord's house, if e'er ye gang there;
If tweeds ye're in want o', or braid English claith,
O' fine woo' or coorse woo', or aiblins o' baith,
To gang to the toun ye hae nae need ava—
Apply to Tam Camfill that comes frae Larkha'.
Abundance o' moleskins for wark and at hame—
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And coats for the Lord's house, if e'er ye gang there;
If tweeds ye're in want o', or braid English claith,
O' fine woo' or coorse woo', or aiblins o' baith,
To gang to the toun ye hae nae need ava—
Apply to Tam Camfill that comes frae Larkha'.
Tam Camfill has sarks made o' Alloa woo',
O' a' kinds in pattern, and a' shades in hue:
A plaid frae Tam Camfill the winter win' daurs,
And comfort abides wi' his simmets and drawers.
Wi' mittens and socks for the haun's and the feet,
His stock o' bed plenishing aye is complete:
Sae, whether ye lack o' the bein or the braw,
Apply to Tam Camfill that comes frae Larkha'.
O' a' kinds in pattern, and a' shades in hue:
A plaid frae Tam Camfill the winter win' daurs,
And comfort abides wi' his simmets and drawers.
Wi' mittens and socks for the haun's and the feet,
His stock o' bed plenishing aye is complete:
Sae, whether ye lack o' the bein or the braw,
Apply to Tam Camfill that comes frae Larkha'.
Braw caps trimmed wi' buckles or buttons has he,
O' fashion and fineness in every degree,
Wi' braw flashy waistcoats—their price jist a catch—
And fine silken napkins and neckties to match.
When blithe Larkie maidens wad busk for a dance,
Wee Tammie has ribbons and gum-flowers frae France;
And wifies that nice weddin'-mutches wad shaw,
Can get them frae Tammie that comes frae Larkha'.
O' fashion and fineness in every degree,
Wi' braw flashy waistcoats—their price jist a catch—
And fine silken napkins and neckties to match.
When blithe Larkie maidens wad busk for a dance,
Wee Tammie has ribbons and gum-flowers frae France;
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Can get them frae Tammie that comes frae Larkha'.
And Tammie, forbye, deals in coffee and tea;
The real Turkey bean and the genuine Bohea;
And mony a wife, wi' her caddy sair doun,
Thinks lang for the day that Tam Camfill comes roun'.
But hoolly! my muse! ye've nae richt to reveal,
And count ane by ane a' the spokes o' his wheel—
For puffs in the papers and bills on the wa'
Are scorned by Tam Camfill that comes frae Larkha'.
The real Turkey bean and the genuine Bohea;
And mony a wife, wi' her caddy sair doun,
Thinks lang for the day that Tam Camfill comes roun'.
But hoolly! my muse! ye've nae richt to reveal,
And count ane by ane a' the spokes o' his wheel—
For puffs in the papers and bills on the wa'
Are scorned by Tam Camfill that comes frae Larkha'.
Some ere they daur face lonely roads need a dram,
But nae siccan helps e'er were needed by Tam;
On the loneliest road, in the eeriest hour,
Tam's spunk kept himsel' and his bundles secure.
When the glare o' the ir'nwarks were hid frae his view
In the thick winter's mist he could hardly press through,
Though his head and his heart into slumber might fa',
His feet, trodgin' on, brang him safe to Larkha'.
But nae siccan helps e'er were needed by Tam;
On the loneliest road, in the eeriest hour,
Tam's spunk kept himsel' and his bundles secure.
When the glare o' the ir'nwarks were hid frae his view
In the thick winter's mist he could hardly press through,
Though his head and his heart into slumber might fa',
His feet, trodgin' on, brang him safe to Larkha'.
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When snaw, meltin' fast frae the holms and the hills,
To floods turned the rivers, to torrents the rills—
When nicht after nicht dreepin' cluds hid the starns,
While foamy and red ran the stream o' Carbarns,
Although the wild flood gurgled up to his chin,
Wi' his pack on his head, fearless Tam ventured in;
The haughs micht be soopit, auld brigs washed awa',
But Tam aye wan safe wi' his pack to Larkha'.
To floods turned the rivers, to torrents the rills—
When nicht after nicht dreepin' cluds hid the starns,
While foamy and red ran the stream o' Carbarns,
Although the wild flood gurgled up to his chin,
Wi' his pack on his head, fearless Tam ventured in;
The haughs micht be soopit, auld brigs washed awa',
But Tam aye wan safe wi' his pack to Larkha'.
Some ca' this the reason that Tam's aye sae thrang:
He credits the colliers—he ne'er kens hoo lang—
But haith! he keeps gaucy his braw wife and weans,
Forbye makin' siller, they say, like “sclate stanes.”
And lang may he thrive in his fast-risin' toun,
Till, when it's a burgh, whilk's sure to come roun',
He'll lounge at his ease on a sofa fu' braw,
A bailie at least 'mang the lords o' Larkha'.
He credits the colliers—he ne'er kens hoo lang—
But haith! he keeps gaucy his braw wife and weans,
Forbye makin' siller, they say, like “sclate stanes.”
And lang may he thrive in his fast-risin' toun,
Till, when it's a burgh, whilk's sure to come roun',
He'll lounge at his ease on a sofa fu' braw,
A bailie at least 'mang the lords o' Larkha'.
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