The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd Centenary Edition. With a Memoir of the Author, by the Rev. Thomas Thomson ... Poems and Life. With Many Illustrative Engravings [by James Hogg] |
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The Two Men of Colston;
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 | The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd |  |
The Two Men of Colston;
OR THE TRUE ENGLISH CHARACTER.
Returning to my old friends the Jacobites again, I venture to present my readers with three pretended Cumberland ones, which I introduced in an old Magazine as follows:—“Two Scotsmen come to a poor widow's house in Cumberland, in search of old songs, having heard that she was in possession of some. She tells them that she has plenty, but that they were all written by her brwother Twommy, and proceeds to say, ‘Whoy, didst thou neaver heaur of Twommy? I thowt all Cooamberland had knwoan brwother Twommy. Him wos a swart oof, a keynd of a dwomony, whoy had mwore lear nwor wot to guyde it; and they ca'd him the leympyng dwomony, for heym wos a creypple all the days of heym's layfe. A swort of a treyfling nicky-nacky bwody he wos, and neiver had the pooar to dey a gude turn eyther to the sel o' heym, or wony yan belaunged till heym. Aweel, thou'lt no hender Twommy, but he'll patch up a' the feyne ould sangs i' the weyde warld, and get them prentit in a beuk. And sae, efter he had spent the meast pairt o' him's leyfe gathering and penning, he gyangs his ways to Caril, whoy but he, to maik a greyt fortune. Whew! the prenter woad neaver look at nowther heym nor his lawlyess syangs. Twommy was very crwoss than, and off he sets wey them crippling all the way till Edinborough, and he woffers them till a measter prenter for a greyte swom of mwoney. Ney, he would nae byite! Then he woffers them till anwother measter prenter. He wos reather better, for he woffered Twommy a beauk o' prented syangs for his wretten yans. ‘Wow, Twommy, man!’ quoth I, ‘but thou wast a great feul no till chap him, for then thou wadst hae had a beuk that every body could heave read, wheyras thou hast now neything but a batch o' scrawls, that nay body can read but the sell o' thee.’ Twommy brought heame his beauk o' grand syangs yance myair; but at last there cwoms a Scots chap to Caril, speering after ooar Twommy's syangs, and then, peur man, he was up as heyly as the wund, expecting to pouch the hale mony o' the keuntrey. But afore the Scots gentleman came back, there cwomes anwother visitor, by the bye, and that was Mr. Palsy, and he teuk off peur Twommy leyke the shot of a gun, and then all his grand schemes war gyane leyke a blast o' wunn. The syangs are all to the fore, and for ney euse, that I can sey, but meaking sloughs to the wheeal spindle.’”
Woth all thyne own horses and keye,
With thy pocks on thy back, leyke a pether,
And bearnies and baggage forby?”
“Whoy, dom it, mun, wost thou nwot hearing
Of all the bwad news that are out,
How that the Scwots rascals be cwoming
To reave all our yauds and our nout?
Amang the weyld floshes to heyde,
With all my heall haudding and gyetting,
For fear that the worst should betyde.
Lword, mon! hast thou neaver been hearing,
There's noughts bwot the deavil to pay,
There's a pwope cwoming down fro' the Heylands,
To herry, to bworn, and to slay?
The fearswomest creatures of all,
They call them rebellioners—dom them!
And cannie-bulls swome do them call.
Whoy, mon, they eat Chreastians lyke robbits,
And bworn all the chworches for fwon;
And we're all to be mwordered togyther,
Fro' the bearn to the keyng on the thrwone.
With all his whole army, nwo less;
And what dwoes this pwope and his menzie?
Whoy, Twommy mon, feath thou'lt nwot guess?
Whoy, they fwalls all a-rworing and yelling,
Leyke a pack of mad hounds were there gowls;
And they cwomes wopen-mouth on our swodgers,
And eats them wop, bwodies and sowls!
Come, caw up the yaud woth the cart;
Let us heast out to Bwarton's weyld shieling,
For my blood it runs cold at my heart.
Commend me to Mwoll and thyne wyfe;
If thou see'st oughts of Jwhonny's wee Meary,
Lword, tell her to rwon for her lyfe!”
Thou'st heard the wrong seyd of the treuth;
For this is the true Keyng that's cwoming,
A brave and mwoch-wrong'd rwoyal yeuth.
Thou's ignorant as the yaud that thou reyd'st on,
Or cauve that thou dreyv'st out to the lwone;
For this pwope is the Prince Charles Stuart,
And he's cwome bwot to clayme what's his own.
For a meatter of ten thowsand years,
Till there cwomes a bit dwom'd scrwogy bwody,
A theyvish ould rascal, I hears;
And he's stown the brave honest lad's crown fro'm,
And kick'd him out of house and hould,
And rewin'd us all with taxations,
And hang'd up the brave and the bwold.
If swome crabbit half-wotted lown
Should cwome and seize on thy bit haudding,
And droyve thee fro' all that's theyne own?
And, Josey mon, how wod'st thou lyke it,
If thou in theyne freands had swome hwope,
If they should all tworn their backs on thee,
And call thee a thief and a pwope?”
Thou'lt droyve the ould creature to dead;
Hould still the cart till I conseyder—
Gyang, take the ould yaud bee the head.
Whoy, Twommy mon, what wast thou saying?
Cwome, say't all again without feal;
If thou'lt swear unto all thou hast tould me,
I've had the wrong sow bee the teal.”
That this is our true Sovereign Keyng;
There never was house so ill gueydit,
And bee swuch a dwort of a theyng.”
“Bwot what of the cannie-bulls, Twommy?
That's reyther a doubtful concern;
The thoughts of these hworrid meale weeyming
Make me tremble for Heaster and bearn?”
As brave men as ever had breath;
They've ta'en the hard seyde of the quorrel,
To stand by the reyght until death.
They have left all their feythers and mwothers,
Their weyves and their sweethearts and all,
And their heames, and their dear little bearnies,
With their true prince to stand or to fall.”
Lword, Twommy! I's crying like mad!
I dwont know at all what's the matter,
But 'tis summat of that rwoyal lad.
Hoy, Heaster! thou fusionless hussey,
Tworn back the yaud's head towards heame;
Get wop on the top of the panniels,
And dreyve back the rwod that thou keame.
I's changed seydes, and sey let that stand,
And, mwore than mwost gentles can say for,
I've changed both with heart and with hand;
And since this lad is our true Sovereign,
I'll geave him all that I possess,
And I'll feyght for him too, should he need it,—
Can any true swobject do less?”
That's spoke leyke a true Englishman;
He needs but a pleyne honest stworey,
And he'll dwo what's reyght if he can.
Cwome thou down to ould Nanny Cworbat's,
I'll give thee a quart of good brown,
And we'll dreynk to the health of Prince Charles,
And every true man to his own.”
| The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd | |