Stray Leaves from the Portfolios of Alisander the Seer, Andrew Whaup, and Humphrey Henkeckle Edited by Alexander Rodger |
 |
 |
|
|
Songs of the Kirk.
|
 | Stray Leaves from the Portfolios of Alisander the Seer, Andrew Whaup, and Humphrey Henkeckle |  |
Songs of the Kirk.
THE MOURNFUL LAMENTATION OF THE SILVERSMITHS OF EPHESUS,
AFTER HAVING BEEN REBUKED BY THE TOWN CLERK.
BY HUMPHREY HENKECKLE, EGG-CADGER.
Our ‘craft’ is in danger, our calling's at stake,
Our temple's proud walls are beginning to shake;
Our darling Diana, our hope and our all,
Now totters, and, Dagon-like, threatens to fall.
Her shrines—not exactly pure silver and gold—
So tarnished have grown, that we can't get them sold,—
While mankind, confound them, are growing so wise,
That truly they're seeing now with their own eyes.
The blinds, which for ages we made them to wear
The guilt-hardened wretches remorselessly tear,
And throw them behind them with pride and disdain,
Declaring they'll ne'er be blindfolded again.
For they've tasted the fruit of the forbidden tree
Of Knowledge, and hence, like ourselves, they can see;
The good that is for them they've sense now to choose,
While that which is evil the rascals refuse.
Our temple's proud walls are beginning to shake;
Our darling Diana, our hope and our all,
Now totters, and, Dagon-like, threatens to fall.
Her shrines—not exactly pure silver and gold—
So tarnished have grown, that we can't get them sold,—
While mankind, confound them, are growing so wise,
That truly they're seeing now with their own eyes.
The blinds, which for ages we made them to wear
The guilt-hardened wretches remorselessly tear,
And throw them behind them with pride and disdain,
Declaring they'll ne'er be blindfolded again.
For they've tasted the fruit of the forbidden tree
Of Knowledge, and hence, like ourselves, they can see;
The good that is for them they've sense now to choose,
While that which is evil the rascals refuse.
O! woe to that day when sound science began,
It has made us to lose all control over man:
Our oracles, omens, our shrines and our beads,
Our temples, our statues, our forms, and our creeds,
And all our inventions, which ignorance prized,
By the keen eye of reason are now scrutinised;
While lo! her hand-writing appears on the wall,
A dread Mene Tekel, foredooming our fall.
It has made us to lose all control over man:
118
Our temples, our statues, our forms, and our creeds,
And all our inventions, which ignorance prized,
By the keen eye of reason are now scrutinised;
While lo! her hand-writing appears on the wall,
A dread Mene Tekel, foredooming our fall.
O, it is with a perfect heart-hatred we hate
These new-fangled ‘crafts’ which have sprung up of late,
Invading our rights with mischievous design,
And calling in question our Mission Divine;
Denying our title to Basket and Store,
And styling our lovely Diana a ---.
Nay, worse; there are some grown so wickedly bold,
As our sanctified cloth in derision to hold;
As to laugh at our temple, to mock at our bell,
To throttle our Pluto, and --- out our h---l.
Such wretches as these to perdition must go,
And wail o'er their crimes in the regions below.
Our Fiat is such, and we shall make it good,
By condemning in toto that infidel brood;
For while we're possessed of state temple, and bell,
We'll carry the keys of both heaven and h---l.
These new-fangled ‘crafts’ which have sprung up of late,
Invading our rights with mischievous design,
And calling in question our Mission Divine;
Denying our title to Basket and Store,
And styling our lovely Diana a ---.
Nay, worse; there are some grown so wickedly bold,
As our sanctified cloth in derision to hold;
As to laugh at our temple, to mock at our bell,
To throttle our Pluto, and --- out our h---l.
Such wretches as these to perdition must go,
And wail o'er their crimes in the regions below.
Our Fiat is such, and we shall make it good,
By condemning in toto that infidel brood;
For while we're possessed of state temple, and bell,
We'll carry the keys of both heaven and h---l.
Ah! such was the language we held till of late,
But now there awaits us a far other fate;
For lo! half our power in this world is gone,
And that once away, in the next we'll have none.
But now there awaits us a far other fate;
For lo! half our power in this world is gone,
And that once away, in the next we'll have none.
O dire was the day when we bearded the laws,
And rose in our own, and Diana's great cause;
For, blindly intent upon riches and power,
We saw not approaching our sad trying hour;
But madly rushed on in the teeth of the law,
Convinced that our craft would create such an awe
In the minds of all men, as would make them afraid
To undo what we did—to unsay what we said.
And rose in our own, and Diana's great cause;
119
We saw not approaching our sad trying hour;
But madly rushed on in the teeth of the law,
Convinced that our craft would create such an awe
In the minds of all men, as would make them afraid
To undo what we did—to unsay what we said.
But fled with the day are our arrogant dreams,
Our Bobadil boastings—our sly hidden schemes;
All futile alike; for, O horror and spite!
That law which we laughed at has risen in its might,
And thundered its threatenings so loud in our ears,
As to fill us with awful forebodings and fears;
For the Town Clerk has told us in language most plain,
What awaits us if e'er we turn rebels again.
Our Bobadil boastings—our sly hidden schemes;
All futile alike; for, O horror and spite!
That law which we laughed at has risen in its might,
And thundered its threatenings so loud in our ears,
As to fill us with awful forebodings and fears;
For the Town Clerk has told us in language most plain,
What awaits us if e'er we turn rebels again.
O, now that the charm of our calling is broke,
And the dupes whom we led are let loose from our yoke,
What arts can avail us our power to regain?
For the vail of our temple is riven in twain,
Disclosing our craft's inmost secrets to view,
So long kept concealed from the gullable crew;
And showing Diana, all loathsome and bare,
A spectacle sad for vulgarity's stare.
And the dupes whom we led are let loose from our yoke,
What arts can avail us our power to regain?
For the vail of our temple is riven in twain,
Disclosing our craft's inmost secrets to view,
So long kept concealed from the gullable crew;
And showing Diana, all loathsome and bare,
A spectacle sad for vulgarity's stare.
Well, well, since our snug occupation is gone,
What stay have we left us? alas, we have none.
But downward, and downward, we fear we must fall,
Neglected, rejected, and hated by all.
Yet one consolation for us still remains,
Though reft of our glory, our power and our gains;
Though sorrow and suffering be henceforth our fate,
We'll shout till our latest, ‘Diana is great.’
What stay have we left us? alas, we have none.
But downward, and downward, we fear we must fall,
Neglected, rejected, and hated by all.
120
Though reft of our glory, our power and our gains;
Though sorrow and suffering be henceforth our fate,
We'll shout till our latest, ‘Diana is great.’
OUR KIRK.
Our kirk, as established by law,
Our kirk, as established by law;
It's braw to belang to a kirk
That's secured by a Parliament wa':
Secured by a Parliament wa',
And built on a parchment rock;
Then how can our kirk ever fa',
When she's law-fenced against ilka shock?
Our kirk, as established by law;
It's braw to belang to a kirk
That's secured by a Parliament wa':
Secured by a Parliament wa',
And built on a parchment rock;
Then how can our kirk ever fa',
When she's law-fenced against ilka shock?
Your heathenish vile Voluntary
On his Rock of Ages may rest;
We found on a different quarry,
Our rock of Endowment's the best:
Our rock of Endowment's the best,
To erect Mammon's altar upon;
'Tis there we have feathered our nest,
And there we'll reign eagle alone.
On his Rock of Ages may rest;
We found on a different quarry,
Our rock of Endowment's the best:
Our rock of Endowment's the best,
To erect Mammon's altar upon;
'Tis there we have feathered our nest,
And there we'll reign eagle alone.
The Catholic leans on St Peter;
The Hindoo in Vishnu puts trust;
The Turk, that vile opium eater,
Pays homage to Mahomet's dust:
Pays homage to Mahomet's dust;
While the Jew for Jerusalem sighs;
But, O, his late Majesty's bust
Upon gold, is the god which we prize.
The Hindoo in Vishnu puts trust;
The Turk, that vile opium eater,
Pays homage to Mahomet's dust:
121
While the Jew for Jerusalem sighs;
But, O, his late Majesty's bust
Upon gold, is the god which we prize.
Poh! what were your early Apostles,
Wi' a' their great light from above?
Poor innocent, tractable dociles,
Their labours were labours of love,
Their labours were labours of love:
Our labours are labours of gain,
Our horse-leech's cry is—‘Give, give!’
Yes, give till we cannot retain.
Wi' a' their great light from above?
Poor innocent, tractable dociles,
Their labours were labours of love,
Their labours were labours of love:
Our labours are labours of gain,
Our horse-leech's cry is—‘Give, give!’
Yes, give till we cannot retain.
The poor, how they clamour for bread!
How loud are their sighs and their moans!
But the rogues must have something instead,
So we'll give them a rickle of stones:
Yea, we'll give them a rickle of stones,
In shape of a bonnie bit kirk;
And we'll join in their tears and their groans,
And gull them by each pious quirk.
How loud are their sighs and their moans!
But the rogues must have something instead,
So we'll give them a rickle of stones:
Yea, we'll give them a rickle of stones,
In shape of a bonnie bit kirk;
And we'll join in their tears and their groans,
And gull them by each pious quirk.
Then, O, for some further Endowments,
Our paunches and pouches to cram;
For wanting such earthly bestowments,
Our craft would be not worth a ---;
Our craft would be not worth a ---,
Unless we were handsomely paid.
But hush, never blab, 'tis all sham,
While the State is our bulwark and aid.
Our paunches and pouches to cram;
For wanting such earthly bestowments,
Our craft would be not worth a ---;
Our craft would be not worth a ---,
Unless we were handsomely paid.
But hush, never blab, 'tis all sham,
While the State is our bulwark and aid.
122
MIND THE BUTTER.
[_]
During Dr Chalmers' late visit to the guid town of Greenock, we are assured that he, in the course of an after-dinner speech, spoke nearly as follows:—
‘My brethren and beloved friends, I have been often asked, in the course of these agitations, how much I thought would suffice, if we were to get what we wanted in the shape of Endowments? I always replied that that was a difficult question to answer. But I happened, a few days ago, to be looking through an old book on cookery, and I saw a recipe for some dish or other, I forget the name of it just now—(Laughter)—but the recipe, I think, was a capital answer to the question, how much would suffice for Endowments. After enumerating several items necessary for the preparation of the dish, the recipe added, any quantity of Butter, and the cook was very particular about the Butter, for, (quoth the Doctor,) at the end of the recipe there was this injunction—mind the Butter—be sure to mind the Butter. Now, my friends, (added the Doctor at the close of this climax,) in regard to endowments, I would just tell you, as the cook did, do not be particular about the quantity—but just mind the Butter— be sure and mind the Butter.’
—Scotch Reformers' Gazette, 22d December, 1838.
Hail! chosen Champion o' the kirk,
Endowment-hunting doughty Chalmers,
On wi' thy great Extension work,
Nor heed the vile Dissenters' clamours;
While King, Heugh, Marshall (precious three,)
Their Voluntary speeches sputter,
Let this thy motto henceforth be—
‘Oh, mind the butter, mind the butter.’
Endowment-hunting doughty Chalmers,
On wi' thy great Extension work,
Nor heed the vile Dissenters' clamours;
While King, Heugh, Marshall (precious three,)
Their Voluntary speeches sputter,
Let this thy motto henceforth be—
‘Oh, mind the butter, mind the butter.’
Auld grunting, gouty Granny Kirk
Comes hobbling on her twa State crutches,
Determined by ilk wily quirk
To grab a' wi' her haly clutches;
Her bloated bouk and brandy een—
Her staggering step and stammering stutter,
Have made the Carlin still mair keen
To ‘mind the butter, mind the butter.’
Comes hobbling on her twa State crutches,
Determined by ilk wily quirk
To grab a' wi' her haly clutches;
123
Her staggering step and stammering stutter,
Have made the Carlin still mair keen
To ‘mind the butter, mind the butter.’
Then quick and cook her up a feast
Of vile unhowkit heathens' livers—
The heart's blood of a Popish Priest:
A Deist's cranium cracked to shivers;
Frae puffed-up Prelate's pampered painch,
A whang o' morbid matter cut her—
A sturdy Independent's hainch;
But, oh, be sure to ‘mind the butter.’
Of vile unhowkit heathens' livers—
The heart's blood of a Popish Priest:
A Deist's cranium cracked to shivers;
Frae puffed-up Prelate's pampered painch,
A whang o' morbid matter cut her—
A sturdy Independent's hainch;
But, oh, be sure to ‘mind the butter.’
For Granny Kirk's not half content
Wi' a' the guid things she has gotten,
But, still on fresh Endowments bent,
Has grown a downright greedy glutton.
Her Corbies through the land she sends,
Their ever-craving screams to utter;
And, as each greedy throat extends,
Their craik is still—‘Oh, mind the butter.’
Wi' a' the guid things she has gotten,
But, still on fresh Endowments bent,
Has grown a downright greedy glutton.
Her Corbies through the land she sends,
Their ever-craving screams to utter;
And, as each greedy throat extends,
Their craik is still—‘Oh, mind the butter.’
But, oh, the days when she was young!
And free from blemish, blotch, and swelling;
Her muirland plaid around her flung—
The breezy hill-side was her dwelling;
Plain hame-spun plaiden was her wear,
Nae silks about her then did flutter;
Her drink, the mountain streamlet clear,
And aft she lack'd baith bread and butter.
And free from blemish, blotch, and swelling;
Her muirland plaid around her flung—
The breezy hill-side was her dwelling;
Plain hame-spun plaiden was her wear,
Nae silks about her then did flutter;
Her drink, the mountain streamlet clear,
And aft she lack'd baith bread and butter.
124
Chased like a roe from hill to dale,
Debarred from village, town, and city;
Her bleeding feet and visage pale,
Ne'er moved her wicked hunters' pity:
To every murderous wretch a prey,
Who chose to mangle, maim, and cut her,
Heaven was her only hope and stay,
In whom to trust for bread or butter.
Debarred from village, town, and city;
Her bleeding feet and visage pale,
Ne'er moved her wicked hunters' pity:
To every murderous wretch a prey,
Who chose to mangle, maim, and cut her,
Heaven was her only hope and stay,
In whom to trust for bread or butter.
But mark the change on Madam now!
While silk and velvet robes bedeck her,
Wi' greedy een and brazen brow,
She glow'rs into the State Exchequer;
Though bread be given, and water sure,
Yet these do not exactly fit her,
Some richer thing she maun procure,
And hence her howl, ‘Oh, mind the butter.’
While silk and velvet robes bedeck her,
Wi' greedy een and brazen brow,
She glow'rs into the State Exchequer;
Though bread be given, and water sure,
Yet these do not exactly fit her,
Some richer thing she maun procure,
And hence her howl, ‘Oh, mind the butter.’
The ‘Poor Man's Kirk’ is all her cry,
Yet wi' the rich she fondly dallies;
Yea—poortith's cot she passes by,
To banquet in the lordly Palace.
Wi' Dukes and Lords she feasts and rants,
Drinks smutty toasts—kicks up a splutter;
Then wails about her waefu' wants,
And whining cries—‘Oh, mind the butter.’
Yet wi' the rich she fondly dallies;
Yea—poortith's cot she passes by,
To banquet in the lordly Palace.
Wi' Dukes and Lords she feasts and rants,
Drinks smutty toasts—kicks up a splutter;
Then wails about her waefu' wants,
And whining cries—‘Oh, mind the butter.’
Her ‘Kingdom is not of this warl',’
At least, if we may trust her story:
But oh! she's fond to get a haurl
O' warldly wealth, and pomp, and glory.
Her bloody sister up the gate—
Wha lang did tramp her in the gutter—
She fawns, now, on her air and late,
And cries—‘Oh, help me to the butter!’
At least, if we may trust her story:
But oh! she's fond to get a haurl
O' warldly wealth, and pomp, and glory.
125
Wha lang did tramp her in the gutter—
She fawns, now, on her air and late,
And cries—‘Oh, help me to the butter!’
But hail! redoubted Chalmers, hail,
On in thy glorious course careering,
Though Voluntaries rave and rail,
Treat with contempt their gibes and jeering;
In pleading greedy Granny's cause,
Ne'er stick a rousing whid to utter,
Till cheering echoes rend the wa's,
Wi' ‘mind the butter, mind the butter.’
On in thy glorious course careering,
Though Voluntaries rave and rail,
Treat with contempt their gibes and jeering;
In pleading greedy Granny's cause,
Ne'er stick a rousing whid to utter,
Till cheering echoes rend the wa's,
Wi' ‘mind the butter, mind the butter.’
‘THE REEL O' BOGIE.’
AS DANCED BY THE REV. DR CHALMERS, THE REV. MESSRS. CUNNINGHAM, CANDLISH, AND GORDON.
DEDICATED (WITHOUT PERMISSION) TO THEIR REVERENCES, BY
HUMPHREY HENKECKLE, EGG-CADGER.
There's sour kail in Aberdeen—
Het water in Strathbogie—
Dunkeld is rinning red-wud clean,
And a' about the cogie.
The cogie O! the cogie O!
The Kirk's capacious cogie;
O waesuck, sirs, the vera girs
They're riving aff her cogie.
Parody on Old Song.
Het water in Strathbogie—
Dunkeld is rinning red-wud clean,
And a' about the cogie.
The cogie O! the cogie O!
The Kirk's capacious cogie;
O waesuck, sirs, the vera girs
They're riving aff her cogie.
Parody on Old Song.
Weel done, dear Doctor, that's the thing,
Wow, but you're skeigh and vogie!
Come, wheel about, and gie's a fling,
At this new ‘Reel o' Bogie.’
While Ritchie thrums his fiddle-string,
(That Voluntary roguie,)
Mak' wowf wee Candlish round you swing,
To ‘Bannocks in Strathbogie.’
Wow, but you're skeigh and vogie!
Come, wheel about, and gie's a fling,
At this new ‘Reel o' Bogie.’
126
(That Voluntary roguie,)
Mak' wowf wee Candlish round you swing,
To ‘Bannocks in Strathbogie.’
My certie! but ye link it weel,
Light louping, like a frogie,
Though whiles ye mak' an unco wheel,
As if ye were half groggy;
Sae meikle smeddum's in your heel,
Nae yirthly weight can clog ye—
Not even Nick can damp your zeal,
While at your ‘Reel o' Bogie.’
Light louping, like a frogie,
Though whiles ye mak' an unco wheel,
As if ye were half groggy;
Sae meikle smeddum's in your heel,
Nae yirthly weight can clog ye—
Not even Nick can damp your zeal,
While at your ‘Reel o' Bogie.’
‘Retract! no, not a single inch!’
Part rather wi' your cogie;
Nor let poor greeting Gordon flinch,
That terror-stricken doggie:
Gar Cunningham his hurdies pinch,
And gie his doup a brogie,
Till round he wheels, despite the Bench,
And joins your ‘Reel o' Bogie.’
Part rather wi' your cogie;
Nor let poor greeting Gordon flinch,
That terror-stricken doggie:
Gar Cunningham his hurdies pinch,
And gie his doup a brogie,
Till round he wheels, despite the Bench,
And joins your ‘Reel o' Bogie.’
What! heed the Hope-ful President?
That gurly surly fogie,
Haud out—the carle may yet relent,
And whisk you past Strathbogie.
Or should you by his breath be sent
To martyrdom's kiln-logie,
Even there, ‘retract not,’ nor repent,
Of your rare ‘Reel o' Bogie.’
That gurly surly fogie,
Haud out—the carle may yet relent,
And whisk you past Strathbogie.
Or should you by his breath be sent
To martyrdom's kiln-logie,
Even there, ‘retract not,’ nor repent,
Of your rare ‘Reel o' Bogie.’
127
But lift your voice, and do not spare
Ilk vile ‘intruding’ roguie,
Wha'd mount up by the Auld Back Stair,
Like some folk in Strathbogie.
And keep an e'e on Glasgow Chair,
Whilk yields a dainty cogie:
O rare to see you wheeling there,
Your darling ‘Reel o' Bogie.’
Ilk vile ‘intruding’ roguie,
Wha'd mount up by the Auld Back Stair,
Like some folk in Strathbogie.
And keep an e'e on Glasgow Chair,
Whilk yields a dainty cogie:
O rare to see you wheeling there,
Your darling ‘Reel o' Bogie.’
Even should the Kirk's horizon lour,
Wi' clouds baith mirk and foggy,
Ne'er quail to ony yirthly power,
Like crouching coward doggie;
But help her in her trying hour,
To keep her weel-filled cogie,
Till rampant a' the Queendom owre,
She loups your ‘Reel o' Bogie.’
Wi' clouds baith mirk and foggy,
Ne'er quail to ony yirthly power,
Like crouching coward doggie;
But help her in her trying hour,
To keep her weel-filled cogie,
Till rampant a' the Queendom owre,
She loups your ‘Reel o' Bogie.’
A CLERICAL CANTICLE,
As canted by the Rev. Reel o' Bogie Ranters, at their Secret Non-Intrusion
Meetings, held in their Private Room, Presbyterian
Close, Auld Reekie. Communicated, by an Ear-Witness, to
HUMPHREY HENKECKLE, EGG-CADGER.
It's hey for glebe, stipend, and manse,
And hey for the kirk wi' the steeple;
Let's try our bit clerical dance,
To quiz and bamboozle the people.
And hey for the kirk wi' the steeple;
Let's try our bit clerical dance,
To quiz and bamboozle the people.
128
Wi' our dancing we'll raise sic a stour,
As will blind the intractable rabble;
And when they're ance mair in our power,
How we'll silence their insolent gabble.
As will blind the intractable rabble;
And when they're ance mair in our power,
How we'll silence their insolent gabble.
Then hey for glebe, &c.
We'll lecture them on their misdeeds,
Their shortcomings, backslidings, errors,
And gie them most terrible screeds
About breach o' the Law and its terrors.
Their shortcomings, backslidings, errors,
And gie them most terrible screeds
About breach o' the Law and its terrors.
Then hey for glebe, &c.
We'll mak' them to kneel and obey
The Kirk, our auld Reverend Granny;
And if the vile pack mutter ‘nay,’
We'll just hand them owre to Auld Sawney.
The Kirk, our auld Reverend Granny;
And if the vile pack mutter ‘nay,’
We'll just hand them owre to Auld Sawney.
Then hey for glebe, &c.
Thus, while for their spiritual good,
Our ‘vials of wrath’ we're out-pouring,
We'll scrimp them o' temporal food,
To keep them from playing Jeshuran.
Our ‘vials of wrath’ we're out-pouring,
We'll scrimp them o' temporal food,
To keep them from playing Jeshuran.
Then hey for glebe, &c.
Though ‘Patronage’ now we decry,
And clamour against ‘Lay-Intrusion,’
That door we oursels entered by,
And not by the people's ain choosing.
And clamour against ‘Lay-Intrusion,’
That door we oursels entered by,
And not by the people's ain choosing.
Then hey for glebe, &c.
129
But now we maun shut up that door,
Against wily Whig and tough Tory;
And, for our ain order, secure
Kirk-Patronage, profit, and glory.
Against wily Whig and tough Tory;
And, for our ain order, secure
Kirk-Patronage, profit, and glory.
Then hey for glebe, &c.
For our Kirk independent must be
Of the State, and ilk yirthly connection,
Except that bit yirthly thing—Fee,
To which we've nae yirthly objection.
Of the State, and ilk yirthly connection,
Except that bit yirthly thing—Fee,
To which we've nae yirthly objection.
Then hey for glebe, stipend, and manse,
And hey for the kirk wi' the steeple;
Let's try our bit clerical dance,
To quiz and bamboozle the people.
And hey for the kirk wi' the steeple;
Let's try our bit clerical dance,
To quiz and bamboozle the people.
A CLERICAL CANTICLE,
As canted by the Rev. Reel o' Bogie Ranters, at their Secret Non-Intrusion
Meetings, held in the Presbyterian Close, Auld Reekie.
Communicated, by an Ear-Witness, to
HUMPHREY HENKECKLE, EGG-CADGER.
There's sour kail in Aberdeen,
And sourer in Strathbogie,
For ilka ane's contesting keen,
And a' about the Cogie;
And sourer in Strathbogie,
For ilka ane's contesting keen,
And a' about the Cogie;
The Cogie, lads, the Cogie, lads,
Our Kirk's capacious Cogie;
O dool and wae, baith frien' and fae
Are striving for her Cogie.
Our Kirk's capacious Cogie;
O dool and wae, baith frien' and fae
Are striving for her Cogie.
130
They're rugging here, they're tugging there,
Frae Irvine to Strathbogie,
And a' to get an orra share
O' kail frae out her Cogie;
Frae Irvine to Strathbogie,
And a' to get an orra share
O' kail frae out her Cogie;
Her Cogie, lads, her Cogie lads,
Her wally weel-filled Cogie;
Gude saff us, sirs, the vera girs
They're riving aff her Cogie.
Her wally weel-filled Cogie;
Gude saff us, sirs, the vera girs
They're riving aff her Cogie.
She's nurst a set o' graceless loons,
Wha lang ha'e played the roguie,
And wi' their crookit carnal spoons,
Ha'e clautit at her Cogie.
Wha lang ha'e played the roguie,
And wi' their crookit carnal spoons,
Ha'e clautit at her Cogie.
Her Cogie, lads, her Cogie, lads,
Our darling dish—her Cogie;
Wi' clauting keen, they've scartit clean
A hole out through her Cogie.
Our darling dish—her Cogie;
Wi' clauting keen, they've scartit clean
A hole out through her Cogie.
They've rowed her into waters deep,
They've lair'd her in a bogie,
And left her there to wail and weep,
And howl about her Cogie.
They've lair'd her in a bogie,
And left her there to wail and weep,
And howl about her Cogie.
Her Cogie, lads, her Cogie, lads,
Her dear time-hallowed Cogie;
The worldly knaves they'd ding in staves
Her State-begirded Cogie.
Her dear time-hallowed Cogie;
The worldly knaves they'd ding in staves
Her State-begirded Cogie.
131
And there's your Voluntary crew,
Wi' minds sae dark and foggy,
They think that we should tamely boo,
And yield them up her Cogie.
Wi' minds sae dark and foggy,
They think that we should tamely boo,
And yield them up her Cogie.
Her Cogie lads, her Cogie lads,
Our staff and stay—her Cogie;
While we hae breath, we'll fecht till death,
Before we lose her Cogie.
Our staff and stay—her Cogie;
While we hae breath, we'll fecht till death,
Before we lose her Cogie.
Then let us smite the wicked jaws
O' ilk intruding roguie,
Wha'd daur wi' his unhallowed claws
To touch her sacred Cogie.
O' ilk intruding roguie,
Wha'd daur wi' his unhallowed claws
To touch her sacred Cogie.
Her Cogie, lads, her Cogie lads,
Her precious dear-bought Cogie;
Let's form a ring, and lilt a spring,
And dance around her Cogie.
Her precious dear-bought Cogie;
Let's form a ring, and lilt a spring,
And dance around her Cogie.
For we, her independent sons,
Despite ilk snarling doggie,
Maun fettle now our swords and guns,
And rally round her Cogie.
Despite ilk snarling doggie,
Maun fettle now our swords and guns,
And rally round her Cogie.
Her Cogie, lads, her Cogie, lads,
Our faith and hope—her Cogie;
Wi' hand on hilt, fye let us till't,
And loup our ‘Reel o' Bogie.’
Our faith and hope—her Cogie;
Wi' hand on hilt, fye let us till't,
And loup our ‘Reel o' Bogie.’
132
A CLERICAL CANTICLE,
As canted by the Rev. Reel o' Bogie Ranters, &c. Communicated,
by an Ear-Witness, to
HUMPHREY HENKECKLE, EGG-CADGER.
(Chorus sung as a Quartetta.)
Hey for the loaves, loaves,Hey for the loaves and fishes!
Gie us Lucky Kirk's massy loaves,
And nice little delicate dishes.
(Solo by Dr C---s.)
A haddock is good at a time,A salmon is truly delicious;
But turbot and skate—O how prime!
For they are the flats among fishes.
(Full Chorus)
—Hey for the loaves, &c.(Solo by Mr C---m.)
We've anchored our boat in Kirk Bay,And spread out our mystical meshes;
And O we've had excellent play,
At hauling in shoals o' flat fishes.
Hey for the loaves, &c.
133
(Solo by Mr C---ish.)
O dear to our hearts is dear corn,It raises the loaf to our wishes;
Yea, makes us exalt our proud horn,
And brings us abundance o' fishes.
Hey for the loaves, &c.
(Solo by Dr C---s.)
Elijah by ravens was fed,And meagre chance meals were Elisha's:
We'll trust neither corbie nor gled,
We've the State for our loaves and our fishes.
Hey for the loaves, &c.
(Solo by Mr C---m.)
The Galilee fishers of yoreWere men of such moderate wishes,
Their weak simple minds ne'er could soar
To the tything o' loaves or o' fishes.
Hey for the loaves, &c.
(Solo by Mr C---ish.)
They just went about doing good,Cured leprosies, blindness, and issues,
Gied famishing multitudes food,
By dispensing their loaves and their fishes.
Hey for the loaves, &c.
134
(Solo by Dr C---s.)
But we, their successors—ha, ha!Will ne'er treat the mob to sic dishes;
The herd—they may munch at their straw,
But we'll have the loaves and the fishes.
Hey for the loaves, &c.
(Solo by Mr G---n.)
But, boys, should our late ‘Bogie Reel’Ere land us 'mang Law's loopy meshes,
Entangled, how awkward we'd feel,
At the fate o' our loaves and our fishes.
Hey for the loaves, &c.
(Solo by Mr C---m.)
For lo! there's a storm coming on,A storm that may fairly undish us;
Then ply we our oars every one,
And pull for our loaves and our fishes.
Hey for the loaves, &c.
(Solo by Mr G---n.)
But see our twa Kirk-and-State oarsHow they're bending like. fushionless rushes;
And O how the hurricane roars,
A-threatening our loaves and our fishes.
Hey for the loaves, loaves:
Hey for the loaves and fishes;
Let's haud to the last by our loaves,
Nor yield up our delicate dishes.
Hey for the loaves and fishes;
Let's haud to the last by our loaves,
Nor yield up our delicate dishes.
135
THE DIVINITY CHAIR.
Ah Tam, Ah Tam, thou'st got thy fairin',
Thou thought'st to sit the Glasgow Chair in;
In vain thy Clique await thy comin'—
That Chair thou ne'er shalt set thy bum in.
Not Robert Burns.
Thou thought'st to sit the Glasgow Chair in;
In vain thy Clique await thy comin'—
That Chair thou ne'er shalt set thy bum in.
Not Robert Burns.
O whare hast thou a-wandering been,
Our boy Tammy?
We've miss'd thee sair baith morn and e'en,
Our boy Tammy.
I've been out owre Strathbogie braes,
Where godless flocks wild wandering graze,
To win them frae their wilfu' ways,
Back to their honoured Mammy.
Our boy Tammy?
We've miss'd thee sair baith morn and e'en,
Our boy Tammy.
I've been out owre Strathbogie braes,
Where godless flocks wild wandering graze,
To win them frae their wilfu' ways,
Back to their honoured Mammy.
Then tell us how did'st thou succeed,
Our boy Tammy,
Wi' that camstrairy graceless breed,
Our boy Tammy?
Indeed, gin I the truth maun tell,
They still rin mad owre muir and fell,
Determined ever to rebel
Against their rev'rend Mammy.
Our boy Tammy,
Wi' that camstrairy graceless breed,
Our boy Tammy?
Indeed, gin I the truth maun tell,
They still rin mad owre muir and fell,
Determined ever to rebel
Against their rev'rend Mammy.
How shall we treat those brutes sae bauld,
Our boy Tammy;
To bring them back into the fauld,
Our boy Tammy?
Just shake them owre the Brumstane Pit,
As lang and sair as we are fit,
Till ilka cloot o' them submit,
And turn again to Mammy.
Our boy Tammy;
To bring them back into the fauld,
Our boy Tammy?
136
As lang and sair as we are fit,
Till ilka cloot o' them submit,
And turn again to Mammy.
But tell us, hast thou lost the Chair,
Our boy Tammy;
For a' thy wheeling, pains, and care,
Our boy Tammy?
Alas, alas! the tale's owre true,
Confound the graceless Glasgow crew!
Wi' me they wad hae nought to do,
For a' my wheels for Mammy.
Our boy Tammy;
For a' thy wheeling, pains, and care,
Our boy Tammy?
Alas, alas! the tale's owre true,
Confound the graceless Glasgow crew!
Wi' me they wad hae nought to do,
For a' my wheels for Mammy.
But as thou bitterly maun feel,
Our boy Tammy,
Wilt thou still lilt the Bogie Reel,
Our boy Tammy?
Yes, yes,—until the day I dee,
That reel shall aye be flung by me,
Ay—twenty thousand wheels I'll gie,
To help the Kirk—our Mammy.
Our boy Tammy,
Wilt thou still lilt the Bogie Reel,
Our boy Tammy?
Yes, yes,—until the day I dee,
That reel shall aye be flung by me,
Ay—twenty thousand wheels I'll gie,
To help the Kirk—our Mammy.
137
VERSES,
WRITTEN UPON THE OPENING OF THE GLASGOW AND GREENOCK RAILWAY, 30TH MARCH, 1841.
While Bards of renown sing their heroes of yore,
Who marched on to fame—to the knees up in gore,
Whose chief entertainment was dying the sod,
And marring and mangling the image of God,
We'll choose a more homely, though happier theme,—
The genius of Watt, and the triumphs of Steam.
Who marched on to fame—to the knees up in gore,
Whose chief entertainment was dying the sod,
And marring and mangling the image of God,
We'll choose a more homely, though happier theme,—
The genius of Watt, and the triumphs of Steam.
Had some gifted spirit arisen of old,
And to our great-grandfathers fearlessly told
The powers and the virtues which vapour contains,
They had deemed him a madman and fool for his pains;
The plain, honest, simple folks never could dream
Of the powers and the virtues inherent in Steam.
And to our great-grandfathers fearlessly told
The powers and the virtues which vapour contains,
They had deemed him a madman and fool for his pains;
The plain, honest, simple folks never could dream
Of the powers and the virtues inherent in Steam.
But forth came our Watt, in the strength of his mind,
Too powerful and vast for old fetters to bind—
He saw what was wanting—he planned what was right,
Then rose giant Steam in his fulness of might,
All vigorous and fresh as the sun's primal beam,
And darkness soon fled from the presence of Steam.
Too powerful and vast for old fetters to bind—
He saw what was wanting—he planned what was right,
Then rose giant Steam in his fulness of might,
All vigorous and fresh as the sun's primal beam,
And darkness soon fled from the presence of Steam.
O Steam! what great wonders thou lately hast wrought,
For Time's but thy plaything, and Distance is nought;
Outstripping in fleetness the wings of the wind,
And leaving the storm-driven clouds far behind,
Thou link'st distant lands, thou o'ercom'st rock and stream,
Thou greatest of all Revolutionists—Steam.
For Time's but thy plaything, and Distance is nought;
Outstripping in fleetness the wings of the wind,
And leaving the storm-driven clouds far behind,
138
Thou greatest of all Revolutionists—Steam.
The gentle and simple by thee both are fed,
Thou grindest their grain, thou preparest their bread,
Thou guidest the saw, and thou turnest the screw,
And things the most obdurate thou can'st subdue;
Thy cylinder, piston, and ponderous beam,
Are the creatures of thine own creation—O Steam!
Thou grindest their grain, thou preparest their bread,
Thou guidest the saw, and thou turnest the screw,
And things the most obdurate thou can'st subdue;
Thy cylinder, piston, and ponderous beam,
Are the creatures of thine own creation—O Steam!
The prince and the peasant by thee, too, are drest,
The jenny and loom thy minuteness attest,
The forge and the furnace proclaim thy great power,
Fresh wonders on wonders arise every hour,
And wonders on wonders for ages may teem,
So various and vast are the workings of Steam.
The jenny and loom thy minuteness attest,
The forge and the furnace proclaim thy great power,
Fresh wonders on wonders arise every hour,
And wonders on wonders for ages may teem,
So various and vast are the workings of Steam.
What mighty achievements thou yet hast in store,
No heart may conceive, and no eye yet explore,—
The desert Sahaara may yet own thy sway,
And the huge Polar icebergs before thee give way;
The Atlantic into the Pacific may stream,
And the whirl of the Maelstroom may yield yet to Steam.
No heart may conceive, and no eye yet explore,—
The desert Sahaara may yet own thy sway,
And the huge Polar icebergs before thee give way;
The Atlantic into the Pacific may stream,
And the whirl of the Maelstroom may yield yet to Steam.
Then fill up a bumper—yea, fill to the brim,
And drain to the bottom in memory of him
Who, wisely directing the Steam's latent powers,
Has given a new face to this planet of ours—
May his name float along upon Time's mighty stream,
Till sun, moon, and stars, be enveloped in Steam.
And drain to the bottom in memory of him
Who, wisely directing the Steam's latent powers,
Has given a new face to this planet of ours—
May his name float along upon Time's mighty stream,
Till sun, moon, and stars, be enveloped in Steam.
139
VERSES,
SUGGESTED ON VIEWING MR ANDERSON'S COMIC GROUP OF FIGURES IN STONE, ‘THE DEIL'S AWA' WI' THE EXCISEMAN.’
BY HUMPHREY HENKECKLE, EGG-CADGER.
Weel, Saunders, thou has made a seizure,
The Gauger's now thy siccar treasure;
O what a smile o' fiendish pleasure
Lurks in that leer,
While he, poor saul, beyond a' measure,
Seems struck wi' fear:
The Gauger's now thy siccar treasure;
O what a smile o' fiendish pleasure
Lurks in that leer,
While he, poor saul, beyond a' measure,
Seems struck wi' fear:
His mouth, hands, nostrils, een, and hair,
What terror is depicted there!
What agonies o' fell despair
Contort his face!
He'll ne'er seize cask nor caldron mair:
O hopeless case!
What terror is depicted there!
What agonies o' fell despair
Contort his face!
He'll ne'er seize cask nor caldron mair:
O hopeless case!
I trow thou hast him tightly graspit,
Thy barbed tail about him claspit;
Firm as a bolt securely haspit,
There is he fixt;
Ne'er to get loose, till down thy ash-pit
The wretch thou kick'st.
Thy barbed tail about him claspit;
Firm as a bolt securely haspit,
There is he fixt;
Ne'er to get loose, till down thy ash-pit
The wretch thou kick'st.
140
My sang, thou art nae lazy lurdane,
In takin' on thee sic a burden,
Boa-Constrictor-like, a girdin'
His worthless waist;
But, Clootie, let me put a word in,—
What's a' thy haste?
In takin' on thee sic a burden,
Boa-Constrictor-like, a girdin'
His worthless waist;
But, Clootie, let me put a word in,—
What's a' thy haste?
Wad'st thou not let him aff again?
Thou ken'st he'll yet be a' thine ain;
Then, wherefore gie him needless pain
Before his time?
He yet might yield thee meikle gain,
By future crime.
Thou ken'st he'll yet be a' thine ain;
Then, wherefore gie him needless pain
Before his time?
He yet might yield thee meikle gain,
By future crime.
Fair fa' the Artist—clever chiel,
For truly he's portrayed thee weel:
Frae snout to tail, frae horn to heel,
‘The foul thief loon;’
The veritable, true Scotch deil,
The ‘auld Mahoun.’
For truly he's portrayed thee weel:
Frae snout to tail, frae horn to heel,
‘The foul thief loon;’
The veritable, true Scotch deil,
The ‘auld Mahoun.’
Could Burns himsel' but rise and see
The pawkie glint o' hellish glee
That plays about thy mouth and e'e,
As aff thou hies,
Wi' welcome hand he'd wish to thee
‘Luck o' thy prize.’
The pawkie glint o' hellish glee
That plays about thy mouth and e'e,
As aff thou hies,
Wi' welcome hand he'd wish to thee
‘Luck o' thy prize.’
But, ah! 'twas hardly fair to trace
His Dukeship's beak upon thy face;
Had Bailie P—l's but ta'en its place,
Or Chartist R—s's,
Such wad hae gi'en a coup de grace
To thy proboscis.
His Dukeship's beak upon thy face;
141
Or Chartist R—s's,
Such wad hae gi'en a coup de grace
To thy proboscis.
Or had the visage a' thegither,
Been lent thee o' the ane or ither,
Those wha ance saw thee ne'er could swither,
About thee mair;
For like thou should'st be as a brither,
To that choice pair.
Been lent thee o' the ane or ither,
Those wha ance saw thee ne'er could swither,
About thee mair;
For like thou should'st be as a brither,
To that choice pair.
O had'st thou never done mair ill
Than seized the seizer o' a still,
Mankind, in mony a Highland gill,
Had toasted thee;
And drank thy health wi' right good will,
In barley bree.
Than seized the seizer o' a still,
Mankind, in mony a Highland gill,
Had toasted thee;
And drank thy health wi' right good will,
In barley bree.
But O, thou auld malignant thief!
Fell origin of a' mischief;
Thou art the author o' our grief,
Our toil and pain,
And never shall we get relief
Till thou art gane.
Fell origin of a' mischief;
Thou art the author o' our grief,
Our toil and pain,
And never shall we get relief
Till thou art gane.
But though thou art the vera fiend,
Thou'rt still the Clergy's dearest freend,
By thy vast influence unscreen'd,
They might shut shop,
For, wanting thee, baith tythe and tiend,
I trow would stop.
Thou'rt still the Clergy's dearest freend,
By thy vast influence unscreen'd,
They might shut shop,
For, wanting thee, baith tythe and tiend,
I trow would stop.
142
Hence, I'd propose a vote o' thanks
Frae them to thee, for thy d—d pranks:
'Tis thou wha keep'st them on their shanks,
And gi'est them bread,
Their weel-filled aumries soon were blanks,
Gin thou wert dead.
Frae them to thee, for thy d—d pranks:
'Tis thou wha keep'st them on their shanks,
And gi'est them bread,
Their weel-filled aumries soon were blanks,
Gin thou wert dead.
Therefore, just carry on thy calling,
To keep their Reverences frae falling,
For O they'd raise a hideous bawling,
Wert thou to stop;
As in the mud they lay a-sprawling,
'Reft o' their prop.
To keep their Reverences frae falling,
For O they'd raise a hideous bawling,
Wert thou to stop;
As in the mud they lay a-sprawling,
'Reft o' their prop.
Improve thy time, then, while thou'rt here,
The ‘Thousand Years’ will soon draw near,
When closed will be thy curst career
For that lang season;
Man winna then be fool'd by fear,
But ruled by reason.
The ‘Thousand Years’ will soon draw near,
When closed will be thy curst career
For that lang season;
Man winna then be fool'd by fear,
But ruled by reason.
But, Nick—gin I might ca' thee such—
I've ae request, if not too much:
I carena though thou sametimes clutch
A greedy Gauger;
But O, I pray thee, dinna touch
The Auld Egg-Cadger.
I've ae request, if not too much:
I carena though thou sametimes clutch
A greedy Gauger;
But O, I pray thee, dinna touch
The Auld Egg-Cadger.
143
THE WAEFU' LAMENT OF THE AGNEWITES
OVER THEIR DEFEAT IN THE ROYAL EXCHANGE, GLASGOW, ON THE 30TH NOVEMBER, 1841,
When they were baffled in their attempt to Shut up the Public
Reading-room on the first day of the week—not on the Jewish
Sabbath. Rendered into ryhme, by
HUMPHREY HENKECKLE, EGG-CADGER.
Hech! what is this come owre us now?—
Our loopy tricks are a' seen through;
In turning round Coercion's screw,
We toil in vain,
For spite o' a' that we can do,
Its power is gane.
Our loopy tricks are a' seen through;
In turning round Coercion's screw,
We toil in vain,
For spite o' a' that we can do,
Its power is gane.
Wi' a' our simpering sauntly airs,
Our turned-up een and lengthy prayers,
We find mankind a set o' bears,
Sae curst uncivil,
That fient a ane about us cares,
Nor yet our Deevil.
Our turned-up een and lengthy prayers,
We find mankind a set o' bears,
Sae curst uncivil,
That fient a ane about us cares,
Nor yet our Deevil.
We tried to steek ilk Public Room,
And mak' our day a day o' gloom,
Sae dark ye couldna see your thoomb
Before your een;
But O, the pack hae sealed our doom,
And nail'd us clean.
And mak' our day a day o' gloom,
Sae dark ye couldna see your thoomb
Before your een;
But O, the pack hae sealed our doom,
And nail'd us clean.
144
We tried by ilka wily quirk
To force the wretches to the kirk,
Whether to hear a calf or stirk,
It didna matter,
If we our ends could only work,
So much the better.
To force the wretches to the kirk,
Whether to hear a calf or stirk,
It didna matter,
If we our ends could only work,
So much the better.
But now we're beat, Och on! Och on!
Nor left a leg to stand upon:
‘Othello's occupation's gone,’
‘His meal's a' daigh.’
Now we maun hurkle down and moan
Right loun and laigh.
Nor left a leg to stand upon:
‘Othello's occupation's gone,’
‘His meal's a' daigh.’
Now we maun hurkle down and moan
Right loun and laigh.
They've nail'd our Wright, that godly chap,
And eke our dainty douce Dunlap,
Wha never wants for bite nor drap
On haly days:
An' mair than a' that, doesna stap
To yoke his chaise.
And eke our dainty douce Dunlap,
Wha never wants for bite nor drap
On haly days:
An' mair than a' that, doesna stap
To yoke his chaise.
They've pinned our prim and pious K---e,
Wha made a grand and glorious ettle,
To keep us a' in Jewish fettle,
And haud us right,
Like ane o' true Mosaic mettle,
Baith stanch and tight.
Wha made a grand and glorious ettle,
To keep us a' in Jewish fettle,
And haud us right,
Like ane o' true Mosaic mettle,
Baith stanch and tight.
But K---e, too, can boil his pot,
And tak' his dinner piping hot;
Yea, shave his beard, and dust the coat
That busks his body;
And prie a canny ‘drappie o't,’
In reeking toddy.
And tak' his dinner piping hot;
145
That busks his body;
And prie a canny ‘drappie o't,’
In reeking toddy.
They've maul'd our mighty M---n,
That gaucy, gash-like gospel gun,
Wha ne'er left a gude cause undone,
E'en on a Sunday,
Nor let a weel-fledged client run
About till Monday.
That gaucy, gash-like gospel gun,
Wha ne'er left a gude cause undone,
E'en on a Sunday,
Nor let a weel-fledged client run
About till Monday.
O wae befa' this graceless nation,
Sae prone to Sabbath desecration;
It's perfect evendown profanation
The way they walk,
Their every Sunday's recreation
And idle talk.
Sae prone to Sabbath desecration;
It's perfect evendown profanation
The way they walk,
Their every Sunday's recreation
And idle talk.
And foul befa' that wicked pack,
Wha'd tatoe-boggles o' us mak',
And paint our doings aye sae black
In their vile papers,
The wuddie yet their craigs may rack
For their curst capers.
Wha'd tatoe-boggles o' us mak',
And paint our doings aye sae black
In their vile papers,
The wuddie yet their craigs may rack
For their curst capers.
And O confound that Loyal Peter,
Wha puts us into wicked metre;
May he get Moloch's hettest heater
To birsle on,
For lashing wi' his tawse sae bitter,
Rab, James, and John!
Wha puts us into wicked metre;
May he get Moloch's hettest heater
To birsle on,
For lashing wi' his tawse sae bitter,
Rab, James, and John!
146
SUNDAY RAILWAY TRAINS.
DEDICATED (WITHOUT PERMISSION) TO THE REV. DR. MACKAY OF DUNOON.
BY HUMPHREY HENKECKLE, EGG-CADGER.
Has mad Revival
Burns broke out,
Prowling the kintra round about,
And biting wi' his teeth devout,
Baith men and women,
That now there's sic a yell and shout,
'Gainst Sunday steamin'?
Prowling the kintra round about,
And biting wi' his teeth devout,
Baith men and women,
That now there's sic a yell and shout,
'Gainst Sunday steamin'?
Or has Saint Andrew, 'clept Agnew,
O' Sabbath keeping zeal sae fou,
Been galloping ilk clachan through,
A-convert making,
That there is sic a great ado
'Bout Sabbath breaking?
O' Sabbath keeping zeal sae fou,
Been galloping ilk clachan through,
A-convert making,
That there is sic a great ado
'Bout Sabbath breaking?
Indeed it's true—what need ye spier?
And troth ye weel may think it queer,
That ne'er a whish you'll ever hear
'Bout gigs or noddies,
Or gilded coaches, built to bear
Braw bailie bodies.
And troth ye weel may think it queer,
That ne'er a whish you'll ever hear
'Bout gigs or noddies,
Or gilded coaches, built to bear
Braw bailie bodies.
Drivers may drink, and swear, and battle,
Horses may reek—poor hard-wrought cattle,—
And wheels owre causey-stanes may rattle,
Wi' ceaseless birr;
But sic unhallowed wark to settle,
What tongue will stir?
Horses may reek—poor hard-wrought cattle,—
And wheels owre causey-stanes may rattle,
Wi' ceaseless birr;
But sic unhallowed wark to settle,
What tongue will stir?
147
The Fourth Command enjoins, at least,
A day of rest for man and beast;
That a' that toil may be released
Frae yoke and team;
But say, when was the veto placed
Upon the steam?
A day of rest for man and beast;
That a' that toil may be released
Frae yoke and team;
But say, when was the veto placed
Upon the steam?
Whisht, whisht; we never maun reproach,
A great man riding in his coach,
A vulgar, fat, unloesome hotch,
Beside him lolling;
But should a puff o' steam encroach,
'Twere past a' tholing.
A great man riding in his coach,
A vulgar, fat, unloesome hotch,
Beside him lolling;
But should a puff o' steam encroach,
'Twere past a' tholing.
Indeed, 'twad be an awfu' sin
For Sunday Trains on rails to rin,
Disturbing wi' their whizzing din
A peacefu' nation;
And whirling a' that ride therein
To red d---n.
For Sunday Trains on rails to rin,
Disturbing wi' their whizzing din
A peacefu' nation;
And whirling a' that ride therein
To red d---n.
But might the humble sons o' care,
Wha toil and pine sax days and mair,
Not get a breath o' callar air,
Ae day in seven?
No, no; the pack maun gang to prayer,
If they want heaven.
Wha toil and pine sax days and mair,
Not get a breath o' callar air,
Ae day in seven?
No, no; the pack maun gang to prayer,
If they want heaven.
My certy, it wad set them weel
To get a Sunday forenoon's wheel—
They wha can scarce get milk and meal
To mak' their crowdie;
And yet they'd steam it to the deil,
Baith saul and body.
To get a Sunday forenoon's wheel—
148
To mak' their crowdie;
And yet they'd steam it to the deil,
Baith saul and body.
But if ye'd keep the day sae holy,
Wi' visage sour and melancholy,
How will you stop the thochtless folly
O' that vile gang,
Whase motto is, ‘Live and be jolly’
The hale day lang?
Wi' visage sour and melancholy,
How will you stop the thochtless folly
O' that vile gang,
Whase motto is, ‘Live and be jolly’
The hale day lang?
Just hing a mortclaith owre the sun,
Mak' nature dreary, dark, and dun,
Till even the blade upon the grun'
Forget to grow;
Till mighty rivers cease to run,
And burns to row.
Mak' nature dreary, dark, and dun,
Till even the blade upon the grun'
Forget to grow;
Till mighty rivers cease to run,
And burns to row.
Let woods and forests a' be dumb,
Nor let the reek ascend the lum,
Let man forget his fellow-chum,
And faithfu' rib,
And hurkle down, morose and glum,
Low in his crib.
Nor let the reek ascend the lum,
Let man forget his fellow-chum,
And faithfu' rib,
And hurkle down, morose and glum,
Low in his crib.
Shut up ‘rude Boreas’ in his caves;
Nor let ‘old Ocean’ sport his waves;
Mak' trees and shrubs fauld up their leaves,
As if a-dying;
Stop ‘Johnny Ged’ frae howking graves;
And wives—frae crying.
Nor let ‘old Ocean’ sport his waves;
Mak' trees and shrubs fauld up their leaves,
As if a-dying;
Stop ‘Johnny Ged’ frae howking graves;
And wives—frae crying.
149
Mak' cities solitary glens,
Gie social creatures caves and dens,
Put rams and ewes in separate pens,
To bleat and fast,
And lock the cock up frae the hens
Till Sabbath's past.
Gie social creatures caves and dens,
Put rams and ewes in separate pens,
To bleat and fast,
And lock the cock up frae the hens
Till Sabbath's past.
Such is the day wad please a Jew,
And rabid Burns, and Saint Agnew,
And a' the sanctimonious crew,
Wi' looks demure,
Wha wi' the bigot's vice wad screw
The labouring poor.
And rabid Burns, and Saint Agnew,
And a' the sanctimonious crew,
Wi' looks demure,
Wha wi' the bigot's vice wad screw
The labouring poor.
O, gin our Pastors could prevail,
How wad they mak' us cower and quail,
The fient a ride upon a rail
They'd grant ava;
For then their flocks might tak' steam bail,
And skelp awa'.
How wad they mak' us cower and quail,
The fient a ride upon a rail
They'd grant ava;
For then their flocks might tak' steam bail,
And skelp awa'.
To check it, then, they've right good cause,
For some might preach to empty wa's;
On pews unlet their lungs and jaws
Might spend their force;
And, therefore, mind ye, ‘empty sta's
Mak' biting horse.’
For some might preach to empty wa's;
On pews unlet their lungs and jaws
Might spend their force;
And, therefore, mind ye, ‘empty sta's
Mak' biting horse.’
Hence, Public Meetings now they ca',
At which they glibly gab awa',
Wi' haly zeal denouncing a'
Steam Sunday trips;
But catch them hinting aught ava
'Gainst spurs and whips.
At which they glibly gab awa',
150
Steam Sunday trips;
But catch them hinting aught ava
'Gainst spurs and whips.
And, look ye, how our meek Leadbetter,
The Sunday trains wad try to fetter,
And mak' them, to the vera letter,
The Sabbath keep,
But 'gainst the Sunday Navigator,
Say, will he cheep?
The Sunday trains wad try to fetter,
And mak' them, to the vera letter,
The Sabbath keep,
But 'gainst the Sunday Navigator,
Say, will he cheep?
Nae farther gane than Sabbath last,
Despising every surly blast,
Did he not stand beside the mast,
And watch his luggage,
Till at Dunoon he fairly pass'd
Wi' bag and baggage?
Despising every surly blast,
Did he not stand beside the mast,
And watch his luggage,
Till at Dunoon he fairly pass'd
Wi' bag and baggage?
And though 'twas then the hour of prayer,
What did his Lowly Meekship care?
Stout porters had his trunks to bear
Up through the toon;
But Glasgow did nae see him there,
'Twas just Dunoon.
What did his Lowly Meekship care?
Stout porters had his trunks to bear
Up through the toon;
But Glasgow did nae see him there,
'Twas just Dunoon.
And there's our worthy Bailie Bain,
O how it gies the good man pain!
To see the godless puffing train
Swift sweep the rails;
For weel it's kent he mak's nae gain
By Sunday mails.
O how it gies the good man pain!
To see the godless puffing train
Swift sweep the rails;
For weel it's kent he mak's nae gain
By Sunday mails.
151
For poor horse flesh how much he feels,
While smack—the brutes tak' to their heels;
Loud blaws the horn, round whirl the wheels—
Awa' they dash;
But then their torture never yields
The Bailie cash.
While smack—the brutes tak' to their heels;
Loud blaws the horn, round whirl the wheels—
Awa' they dash;
But then their torture never yields
The Bailie cash.
The mail arrives—what crowds convene,
(Nae desecration, this, I ween,)
Wi' gaping mouths and glowring e'en
The news to swallow;
And wi' debating fierce and keen,
The day to hallow.
(Nae desecration, this, I ween,)
Wi' gaping mouths and glowring e'en
The news to swallow;
And wi' debating fierce and keen,
The day to hallow.
It maun gie meikle consolation,
To ane in our gude Bailie's station,
To think how Sabbath desecration
His soul abhors;
Nae pelfish vile consideration,
E'er opes his doors.
To ane in our gude Bailie's station,
To think how Sabbath desecration
His soul abhors;
Nae pelfish vile consideration,
E'er opes his doors.
It's a' to serve the cause of God,
The Bailie's coaches tak' the road,
Bearing alang their righteous load,
O' news and letters,
Concerning cotton, corn, and cod,
And sic like matters.
The Bailie's coaches tak' the road,
Bearing alang their righteous load,
O' news and letters,
Concerning cotton, corn, and cod,
And sic like matters.
These are but samples o' the lave,
Wha wi' demeanour staid and grave,
At Sabbath strollers rail and rave,
As hardened sinners;
Yet aft in secret, sweet conclave,
Munch Sunday dinners.
Wha wi' demeanour staid and grave,
152
As hardened sinners;
Yet aft in secret, sweet conclave,
Munch Sunday dinners.
Wi' lengthened phiz, and sour grimace,
They'll talk o' mercy, faith, and grace,
Parading in ilk public place
Their saintly airs;
Yet mock their Maker to his face,
Wi' hollow prayers.
They'll talk o' mercy, faith, and grace,
Parading in ilk public place
Their saintly airs;
Yet mock their Maker to his face,
Wi' hollow prayers.
O for a robe of dazzling white,
To clothe ilk hollow hypocrite,
And hide his doings, dark as night,
Frae sinfu' view;
For O, Sirs, 'twere an unco spite
To be seen through!
To clothe ilk hollow hypocrite,
And hide his doings, dark as night,
Frae sinfu' view;
For O, Sirs, 'twere an unco spite
To be seen through!
Weel, let the rich enjoy their ride,
Through town and kintra, far and wide,
In a' their dignity, and pride,
And consequence,
While they the sons o' toil deride
For want o' sense.
Through town and kintra, far and wide,
In a' their dignity, and pride,
And consequence,
While they the sons o' toil deride
For want o' sense.
But cease to growl, ye worthless poor,
Ye're born privations to endure;
What! Sunday steaming, air that's pure,
And relaxation?
No, mount the tread-mill, that's mair sure
To suit your station.
Ye're born privations to endure;
What! Sunday steaming, air that's pure,
And relaxation?
No, mount the tread-mill, that's mair sure
To suit your station.
153
THE ADVENTURES OF BILL BLARNEY,
THE FORTUNE-HUNTER.
Och, Bill was a broth of a boy,
And he wanted to make a big fortin;
Says he, ‘now, my luck I'll go try,
And be after some heiress a-courting.’
He heard that Miss Jane had the cash,
And off in prime style went to woo, sur,
Och, sowl, what a wonderful dash,
He cut wid his cane and surtout, sur.
And he wanted to make a big fortin;
Says he, ‘now, my luck I'll go try,
And be after some heiress a-courting.’
He heard that Miss Jane had the cash,
And off in prime style went to woo, sur,
Och, sowl, what a wonderful dash,
He cut wid his cane and surtout, sur.
He stapt—rung the bell—was let in,
And into the parlour was shown, sur,
Thinks Bill, ‘If Miss Jane I could win,
This house it would soon be my own, sur.’
About his great fortin and rank,
He towld hur a power of palavers,
He had thousands of cash in the Bank,
And a hundred-and-thurty fine waevers.
And into the parlour was shown, sur,
Thinks Bill, ‘If Miss Jane I could win,
This house it would soon be my own, sur.’
About his great fortin and rank,
He towld hur a power of palavers,
He had thousands of cash in the Bank,
And a hundred-and-thurty fine waevers.
Now says Bill, my swaet Jewel, d'ye see,
I'm com'd just to ax you in marriage;
And if your dear self will agree,
Why you soon will be druve in your carriage.
But och! how astounded look'd Bill,
The blood it run cowld in his bones, sur,
When she ax'd if he wanted a spell,
Wid his friends at the breaking of stones, sur.
I'm com'd just to ax you in marriage;
And if your dear self will agree,
Why you soon will be druve in your carriage.
But och! how astounded look'd Bill,
The blood it run cowld in his bones, sur,
When she ax'd if he wanted a spell,
Wid his friends at the breaking of stones, sur.
154
Away flew the boy in a huff,
Wid a flourish and twirl of his cane, sur,
Lamenting the loss of the stuff,
Much more than the loss of Miss Jane, sur.
But soon he fell in wid another,
And soon, too, wid hur got acquainted;
For she, not so shy as the other,
Was everything, sure, that Bill wanted.
Wid a flourish and twirl of his cane, sur,
Lamenting the loss of the stuff,
Much more than the loss of Miss Jane, sur.
But soon he fell in wid another,
And soon, too, wid hur got acquainted;
For she, not so shy as the other,
Was everything, sure, that Bill wanted.
He gain'd her consent quite delighted,
The names were thrice call'd on the Sunday,
And friends and relations invited,
To see the knot tied upon Monday.
But och! from his summit of bliss,
Poor Bill got a tarrible fall, sur,
When he found her a Jantleman's Miss,
Wid never a fortin at all, sur.
The names were thrice call'd on the Sunday,
And friends and relations invited,
To see the knot tied upon Monday.
But och! from his summit of bliss,
Poor Bill got a tarrible fall, sur,
When he found her a Jantleman's Miss,
Wid never a fortin at all, sur.
Bill left her, and wid a deep sigh,
Declared that he fairly disclaim'd hur,
Then wid a swaet ‘bowl-waever’ boy,
To act as his valut-dee-chaembur;
He off to the courting again,
Rigg'd out as the spruce Money-facturer,
And the hart of an heiress did gain,
So swaetly on love did he lacture hur.
Declared that he fairly disclaim'd hur,
Then wid a swaet ‘bowl-waever’ boy,
To act as his valut-dee-chaembur;
He off to the courting again,
Rigg'd out as the spruce Money-facturer,
And the hart of an heiress did gain,
So swaetly on love did he lacture hur.
The night of the wedding came on,
In the Parson's the folks were assembled;
Bill whisper'd, ‘now boy, it's my own,’
The blushing bride timidly trembled.
The Priest had begun to pronounce
The rite that would make them each others,
When up flew the door wid a bounce,
And in rush'd, bad luck! the bride's brothers.
In the Parson's the folks were assembled;
Bill whisper'd, ‘now boy, it's my own,’
The blushing bride timidly trembled.
155
The rite that would make them each others,
When up flew the door wid a bounce,
And in rush'd, bad luck! the bride's brothers.
Arrah, whack! how poor Bill stood aghast,
How quaer look'd his ‘valut bowl waever,’
When out pop'd the truth, sur, at last,
That Bill was an arrant deceiver.
The bride, then, did fervently pray
To be taken back by her brothers,
While Bill like a fool slunk away,
Disappointed and cow'd, to his mother's.
How quaer look'd his ‘valut bowl waever,’
When out pop'd the truth, sur, at last,
That Bill was an arrant deceiver.
The bride, then, did fervently pray
To be taken back by her brothers,
While Bill like a fool slunk away,
Disappointed and cow'd, to his mother's.
Now all you good people, come pray
That Bill may be cur'd of his foible,
Nor go about more to betray,
And get himself duped for his trouble.
And learn, ye young couples from hence,
To keep mind of this maxim when courting,
Sincerity, Love, and Good Sense,
Make still the most durable Fortin.
That Bill may be cur'd of his foible,
Nor go about more to betray,
And get himself duped for his trouble.
And learn, ye young couples from hence,
To keep mind of this maxim when courting,
Sincerity, Love, and Good Sense,
Make still the most durable Fortin.
156
ANE WAEFU' LAMENT
FOR THE LOSS O' OUR WORDIE BAILIE'S SPEECH, QUHILK SULD HAE BEEN DELIVERIT AT ANE DINNER GIEN TO YE HONOURABLE AND NOBLE YIRL GREY, BE YE GUDE FOLK O' AULD REEKIE, IN YE ZIER O' GRACE AUGHTEEN HUNDER AND THRETTIE-THREE.
O heard ze o' this sad affaire
Hals happenit in Auld Reekie?
That wordie mann, our Magistrat,
Hals deevilit a' our Cleekie;
And brocht us intil sad disgrace,
Be stickand o' hys lesson,
Ane waefu' pruif that Bailzies ne'er
Suld sit wi' lords a-messin'.
An' it's O waes me!
Hals happenit in Auld Reekie?
That wordie mann, our Magistrat,
Hals deevilit a' our Cleekie;
And brocht us intil sad disgrace,
Be stickand o' hys lesson,
Ane waefu' pruif that Bailzies ne'er
Suld sit wi' lords a-messin'.
An' it's O waes me!
Quhan our gude toon's prosperitie,
In bumpers deep wals drank,
Our Bailzie, als in dutie bound,
Gat up ye folk till thank;
But, waesucks! palsie or nightmare
Sae prest upon hys tongue,
That dumb als ane Egyptian quhalp,
Our wordie Bailzie sung,
An' it's O waes me!
In bumpers deep wals drank,
Our Bailzie, als in dutie bound,
Gat up ye folk till thank;
But, waesucks! palsie or nightmare
Sae prest upon hys tongue,
That dumb als ane Egyptian quhalp,
Our wordie Bailzie sung,
An' it's O waes me!
But tell me, wals't ye Bailzie's faut,
Or wals't ye printer loon,
That sett hys speech ye backward way,
Or turned it upside doon?
Na, Gude in heaven only kens,
Bot this they say quha see'd it,
That thoch hee tryit it wi' hys specks,
Ye Bailzie culdna read it.
An' it's O waes me!
Or wals't ye printer loon,
That sett hys speech ye backward way,
Or turned it upside doon?
157
Bot this they say quha see'd it,
That thoch hee tryit it wi' hys specks,
Ye Bailzie culdna read it.
An' it's O waes me!
Hee leukit richt, hee leukit left,
Hee gapit and hee glowrit,
Bot wi' ye dazzland o' ye starrs,
Hee wals swa overpowrit,
Hee tynt hys tongue, hee tynt hys eyne,
Hee culdna see ane blink;
Na, waur,—hee gat swa doitrefiet,
Hee walsna fitt till think.
An' it's O waes me!
Hee gapit and hee glowrit,
Bot wi' ye dazzland o' ye starrs,
Hee wals swa overpowrit,
Hee tynt hys tongue, hee tynt hys eyne,
Hee culdna see ane blink;
Na, waur,—hee gat swa doitrefiet,
Hee walsna fitt till think.
An' it's O waes me!
Hee sett hys specks, hee clawit hys pow,
He gied ane hum and haw,
Bot lyk ane tale beyond ye flood,
Hys speech it wals awa'.
Hee fumblit for't, hee mumblit for't,
Alace! 'twals fairlie gane,
Swa back hee stoiterit till hys seat,
And gied ane awfu' grane.
An' it's O waes me!
He gied ane hum and haw,
Bot lyk ane tale beyond ye flood,
Hys speech it wals awa'.
Hee fumblit for't, hee mumblit for't,
Alace! 'twals fairlie gane,
Swa back hee stoiterit till hys seat,
And gied ane awfu' grane.
An' it's O waes me!
Ye wickit waggs o' Enbro toon,
O wearie 'fa' ye pack!
Quhan they beheld our Bailzie's plicht,
Their sport began till mak'.
Sum cryit ane ‘Glasgow magistrate,’
Sum ‘caller herring’ sung,
Quhat pitie bot ye wickit wordis
Wald blysterit ilka tongue.
An' it's O waes me!
O wearie 'fa' ye pack!
Quhan they beheld our Bailzie's plicht,
Their sport began till mak'.
158
Sum ‘caller herring’ sung,
Quhat pitie bot ye wickit wordis
Wald blysterit ilka tongue.
An' it's O waes me!
Then henceforth let our Bailzies learn,
To bee less proud and vaine,
Nor rin awa' to drinke and dyne,
Wi' jukis and lordis againe,
For they're ane Order be themsels,
Swa farr 'buve common menn,
That honest folk suld shunn them, als
They'd shunn ane tigger's denn,
And it's O waes me!
To bee less proud and vaine,
Nor rin awa' to drinke and dyne,
Wi' jukis and lordis againe,
For they're ane Order be themsels,
Swa farr 'buve common menn,
That honest folk suld shunn them, als
They'd shunn ane tigger's denn,
And it's O waes me!
EPIGRAM,
ON A LOW, GROVELLING, SELFISH FELLOW.
O, grovelling, gripping, greedy Willie C---se,The C joined to thy name is all a farce;
Come lop it off, and then the world will see
How well thy nature and thy name agree:
For thou wert ne'er a rich and fertile carse,
But just a low, unseemly, dirty---!
161
EPIGRAM,
ON A VERY STUPID MAN, WITH A MOST UNMEANING FACE, WHO WAS A MOST GREEDY SNUFF-TAKER.
If such a thing exist as real space,It must be, Paul, in thy unmeaning face.
But, hold: there is another blank beside,
I had forgot,—thy skull—thy skull's a void.
I'm wrong again: thy skull contains enough,—
Of what? of brains?—yes, brains of fusty snuff.
162
THE INDIAN COTTAGER'S SONG.
FOUNDED UPON ST PIERRE'S TALE OF THE INDIAN COTTAGE, AND ADAPTED TO AN HINDOSTAN AIR.
Though exiled afar from the gay scenes of Delhi,
Although my proud kindred no more shall I see,
I've found a sweet home in this thick-wooded valley,
Beneath the cool shade of the green banyan tree;
'Tis here my loved Paria and I dwell together,
Though shunned by the world, truly blest in each other;
And thou, lovely boy, lisping ‘father’ and ‘mother,’
Art more than the world to my Paria and me.
Although my proud kindred no more shall I see,
I've found a sweet home in this thick-wooded valley,
Beneath the cool shade of the green banyan tree;
'Tis here my loved Paria and I dwell together,
Though shunned by the world, truly blest in each other;
And thou, lovely boy, lisping ‘father’ and ‘mother,’
Art more than the world to my Paria and me.
How dark seemed my fate, when we first met each other,
My own fatal pile ready waiting for me;
While incense I burned on the grave of my mother,
And knew that myself the next victim would be.
'Twas then that my Paria, as one sent from heaven,
To whom a commission of mercy is given,
Shed peace through this bosom, with deep anguish riven,
To new life, to love, and to joy waking me.
My own fatal pile ready waiting for me;
While incense I burned on the grave of my mother,
And knew that myself the next victim would be.
'Twas then that my Paria, as one sent from heaven,
To whom a commission of mercy is given,
Shed peace through this bosom, with deep anguish riven,
To new life, to love, and to joy waking me.
He wooed me with flowers, to express the affection
Which sympathy woke in his bosom for me;
My poor bleeding heart clung to him for protection;
I wept—while I vowed with my Paria to flee.
My mind, too, from darkness and ignorance freeing,
He taught to repose on that mercifnl Being,
The Author of Nature, all-wise and all-seeing,
Whose arm still protecteth my Paria and me.
Which sympathy woke in his bosom for me;
My poor bleeding heart clung to him for protection;
I wept—while I vowed with my Paria to flee.
165
He taught to repose on that mercifnl Being,
The Author of Nature, all-wise and all-seeing,
Whose arm still protecteth my Paria and me.
Now safely we dwell in this cot of our rearing,
Contented, industrious, cheerful, and free;
To each other still more endeared and endearing,
While heaven sheds its smiles on my Paria and me.
Our garden supplies us with fruits and with flowers,
The sun marks our time, and our birds sing the hours,
And thou, darling boy, shooting forth thy young powers,
Completest the bliss of my Paria and me.
Contented, industrious, cheerful, and free;
To each other still more endeared and endearing,
While heaven sheds its smiles on my Paria and me.
Our garden supplies us with fruits and with flowers,
The sun marks our time, and our birds sing the hours,
And thou, darling boy, shooting forth thy young powers,
Completest the bliss of my Paria and me.
THE PEASANT'S FIRESIDE.
How happy lives the peasant, by his ain fireside,
Wha weel employs the present, by his ain fireside,
Wi' his wifie blythe and free, and his bairnie on her knee,
Smiling fu' o' sportive glee, by his ain fireside.
Nae cares o' State disturb him, by his ain fireside,
Nae foolish fashions curb him, by his ain fireside,
In his elbow chair reclined, he can freely speak his mind,
To his bosom-mate sae kind, by his ain fireside.
Wha weel employs the present, by his ain fireside,
Wi' his wifie blythe and free, and his bairnie on her knee,
Smiling fu' o' sportive glee, by his ain fireside.
Nae cares o' State disturb him, by his ain fireside,
Nae foolish fashions curb him, by his ain fireside,
In his elbow chair reclined, he can freely speak his mind,
To his bosom-mate sae kind, by his ain fireside.
When his bonnie bairns increase, around his ain fireside,
That health, content, and peace, surround his ain fireside,
A' day he gladly toils, and at night delighted smiles,
At their harmless pranks and wiles, around his ain fireside.
And while they grow apace, about his ain fireside,
In beauty, strength, and grace, about his ain fireside,
Wi' virtuous precepts kind, by a sage example join'd,
He informs ilk youthfu' mind, about his ain fireside.
That health, content, and peace, surround his ain fireside,
A' day he gladly toils, and at night delighted smiles,
At their harmless pranks and wiles, around his ain fireside.
167
In beauty, strength, and grace, about his ain fireside,
Wi' virtuous precepts kind, by a sage example join'd,
He informs ilk youthfu' mind, about his ain fireside.
When the shivering orphan poor, draws near his ain fireside,
And seeks the friendly door, that guards his ain fireside,
She's welcomed to a seat, bidden warm her little feet,
While she's kindly made to eat, by his ain fireside.
When youthfu' vigour fails him, by his ain fireside,
And hoary age assails him, by his ain fireside,
With joy he back surveys all his scenes of bygone days,
While he trod in wisdom's ways, by his ain fireside.
And seeks the friendly door, that guards his ain fireside,
She's welcomed to a seat, bidden warm her little feet,
While she's kindly made to eat, by his ain fireside.
When youthfu' vigour fails him, by his ain fireside,
And hoary age assails him, by his ain fireside,
With joy he back surveys all his scenes of bygone days,
While he trod in wisdom's ways, by his ain fireside.
And when grim death draws near him, by his ain fireside,
What cause has he to fear him, by his ain fireside?
With a bosom-cheering hope, he takes heaven for his prop,
Then calmly down doth drop, by his ain fireside.
O may that lot be ours, by our ain fireside,
Then glad will fly the hours, by our ain fireside,
May virtue guard our path, till we draw our latest breath,
Then we'll smile and welcome death, by our ain fireside.
What cause has he to fear him, by his ain fireside?
With a bosom-cheering hope, he takes heaven for his prop,
Then calmly down doth drop, by his ain fireside.
O may that lot be ours, by our ain fireside,
Then glad will fly the hours, by our ain fireside,
May virtue guard our path, till we draw our latest breath,
Then we'll smile and welcome death, by our ain fireside.
WHETHER OR NO.
'Mang a' the braw lads that come thither to woo me,
There's only but ane I wad fain mak' my joe;
And though I seem shy, yet sae dear is he to me,
I scarce can forgie mysel' when I say ‘No.’
My sister she sneers 'cause he hasna the penny,
And cries, ‘Ye maun reap, my lass, just as ye sow,’
My brither he bans, but it's a' ane to Jenny,
She'll just tak' the lad she likes—whether or no.
There's only but ane I wad fain mak' my joe;
And though I seem shy, yet sae dear is he to me,
I scarce can forgie mysel' when I say ‘No.’
168
And cries, ‘Ye maun reap, my lass, just as ye sow,’
My brither he bans, but it's a' ane to Jenny,
She'll just tak' the lad she likes—whether or no.
My father he cries, ‘tak’ the laird o' Kinlogie,
For he has baith mailins and gowd to bestow;’
My mither cries neist, ‘tak' the heir o' Glenbogie,’
But can I please baith o' them?—weel I wat, no;
And since 'tis mysel' maun be gainer or loser—
Maun drink o' life's bicker, be't weal or be't woe—
I deem it but fair I should be my ain chooser;
To love will I lippen, then—whether or no.
For he has baith mailins and gowd to bestow;’
My mither cries neist, ‘tak' the heir o' Glenbogie,’
But can I please baith o' them?—weel I wat, no;
And since 'tis mysel' maun be gainer or loser—
Maun drink o' life's bicker, be't weal or be't woe—
I deem it but fair I should be my ain chooser;
To love will I lippen, then—whether or no.
Cauld prudence may count on his gowd and his acres,
And think them the sum o' a' blessings below,
But tell me, can wealth bring content to its makers?
The care-wrinkled face o' the miser says ‘No!’
But, oh, when pure love meets a love corresponding,
Such bliss it imparts as the world cannot know;
It lightens life's load, keeps the heart from desponding,
Let fate smile or scowl, it smiles—whether or no.
And think them the sum o' a' blessings below,
But tell me, can wealth bring content to its makers?
The care-wrinkled face o' the miser says ‘No!’
But, oh, when pure love meets a love corresponding,
Such bliss it imparts as the world cannot know;
It lightens life's load, keeps the heart from desponding,
Let fate smile or scowl, it smiles—whether or no.
I HAD A HAT, I HAD NAE MAIR.
I had a hat, I had nae mair,
I gat it frae the hatter;
My hat was smash'd, my skull laid bare,
Ae night when on the batter;
And sae I thocht me on a plan,
Whereby to mend the matter—
Just turn at ance a sober man,
And tak' to drinking water.
I gat it frae the hatter;
My hat was smash'd, my skull laid bare,
Ae night when on the batter;
169
Whereby to mend the matter—
Just turn at ance a sober man,
And tak' to drinking water.
My plan I quickly put in force,
Yea, stuck till't most sincerely,
And now I drive my gig and horse,
And hae an income yearly.
But, had I still kept boozing on,
'Twa'd been anither matter,
My credit, cash, and claes had gone,
In tatter after tatter.
Yea, stuck till't most sincerely,
And now I drive my gig and horse,
And hae an income yearly.
But, had I still kept boozing on,
'Twa'd been anither matter,
My credit, cash, and claes had gone,
In tatter after tatter.
My wife, perhaps, a worthless pest,
My wanes half-starved and duddy;
And I mysel', at very best,
Gaun wi' an auld coal cuddie;
Wi' scarce a stick in a' the house,
Or spoon, or bowl, or platter,
Or milk, or meal, to feed a mouse,
Or blanket, save a tatter.
My wanes half-starved and duddy;
And I mysel', at very best,
Gaun wi' an auld coal cuddie;
Wi' scarce a stick in a' the house,
Or spoon, or bowl, or platter,
Or milk, or meal, to feed a mouse,
Or blanket, save a tatter.
Now, Gude be praised, I've peace o' mind,
Clear head, and health o' body,
A thrifty wifie, cosh and kind,
And bairnies plump and ruddy.
Hence, I'd advise ilk weirdless wight,
Wha likes the gill-stoup's clatter,
To try my plan this very night,
And tak' to drinking water.
Clear head, and health o' body,
A thrifty wifie, cosh and kind,
And bairnies plump and ruddy.
Hence, I'd advise ilk weirdless wight,
Wha likes the gill-stoup's clatter,
To try my plan this very night,
And tak' to drinking water.
170
SINCE FATE HAS DECREED IT.
Since fate has decreed it—then e'en let her gang,
I'll comfort mysel' wi' a canty bit sang:
Yes, I'll sing like a lintie, and laugh at it a',
Though the auld donnart dotard has wiled her awa'.
O wae worth that siller! what mischief it breeds,
Dame Fortune's pet weans, how it pampers and feeds;
It has made them baith ane whom auld Nature meant twa,
And has torn frae my arms, my dear lassie awa.
I'll comfort mysel' wi' a canty bit sang:
Yes, I'll sing like a lintie, and laugh at it a',
Though the auld donnart dotard has wiled her awa'.
O wae worth that siller! what mischief it breeds,
Dame Fortune's pet weans, how it pampers and feeds;
It has made them baith ane whom auld Nature meant twa,
And has torn frae my arms, my dear lassie awa.
The neighbours will clatter about the affair,
But e'en let them talk—that's the least o' my care,
For the sugh will blaw by in a fortnight or twa,
But ne'er can restore to me her that's awa.
Come cheer up, my heart!—yet, what need'st thou be wae?
There are thousands behint her, sae e'en let her gae;
Yes, thousands as bonnie, as good, and as braw—
Then why should'st thou grieve for her, now she's awa?
But e'en let them talk—that's the least o' my care,
For the sugh will blaw by in a fortnight or twa,
But ne'er can restore to me her that's awa.
Come cheer up, my heart!—yet, what need'st thou be wae?
There are thousands behint her, sae e'en let her gae;
Yes, thousands as bonnie, as good, and as braw—
Then why should'st thou grieve for her, now she's awa?
But ah! hapless lassie, my heart's wae for thee,
To think what a comfortless life thou maun dree;
How cheerless to sit in a rich splendid ha',
'Midst desolate grandeur, when love is awa'.
And thou, her auld mither, ah, what wilt thou say,
When thou seest thy poor lassie heart-broken and wae?
Ah, what will avail then her cleeding sae braw,
When it covers a bosom that's riven in twa.
To think what a comfortless life thou maun dree;
How cheerless to sit in a rich splendid ha',
'Midst desolate grandeur, when love is awa'.
And thou, her auld mither, ah, what wilt thou say,
When thou seest thy poor lassie heart-broken and wae?
Ah, what will avail then her cleeding sae braw,
When it covers a bosom that's riven in twa.
171
THE HAPPY MEETING.
Have you hail'd the glowing morning,
When the sun first gilds the plain?
Or the genial spring returning,
After winter's dreary rain?
Then conceive, to me how dear,
When my Anna—faithful, fair,
After years of lonely pain,
Bless'd my fond eyes—my arms again.
When the sun first gilds the plain?
Or the genial spring returning,
After winter's dreary rain?
Then conceive, to me how dear,
When my Anna—faithful, fair,
After years of lonely pain,
Bless'd my fond eyes—my arms again.
Every charm more finely heighten'd,
Fix'd my raptured, wondering eyes!
Every grace divinely brighten'd,
Held my soul in sweet surprise;
O! I could have gazed my last,
On her bosom heaving fast—
Met her eyes, benignly bright,
With ever-growing new delight.
Fix'd my raptured, wondering eyes!
Every grace divinely brighten'd,
Held my soul in sweet surprise;
O! I could have gazed my last,
On her bosom heaving fast—
Met her eyes, benignly bright,
With ever-growing new delight.
Who'd not bear a separation,
Thus again to fondly meet,
And to find no alteration,
Save the heart's more ardent beat?
Thus, the same soft hand to grasp,
Thus, the same fair form to clasp,
Thus, the same warm lips to kiss—
O, say, can heaven give more than this?
Thus again to fondly meet,
And to find no alteration,
Save the heart's more ardent beat?
Thus, the same soft hand to grasp,
Thus, the same fair form to clasp,
Thus, the same warm lips to kiss—
O, say, can heaven give more than this?
172
COME TO THE BANKS OF CLYDE.
Come to the Banks of Clyde,
Where health and joy invite us;
Spring, now, in virgin pride,
There waiteth to delight us;
Enrobed in green, she smiles serene—
Each eye enraptured views her;
A brighter dye o'erspreads her sky,
And every creature woes her.
Come to the banks of Clyde,
Where health and joy invite us;
Spring, now, in virgin pride,
There waiteth to delight us.
Where health and joy invite us;
Spring, now, in virgin pride,
There waiteth to delight us;
Enrobed in green, she smiles serene—
Each eye enraptured views her;
A brighter dye o'erspreads her sky,
And every creature woes her.
Come to the banks of Clyde,
Where health and joy invite us;
Spring, now, in virgin pride,
There waiteth to delight us.
Mark! how the verdant lea,
With daisies she is strewing;
Hark! now, on every tree,
The birds their mates are wooing;
Love wakes the notes that swell their throats,
Love makes their plumage brighter;
Old Father Clyde, in all his pride,
Ne'er witness'd bosoms lighter;
Mark! how the verdant lea,
With daisies she is strewing;
Hark! how, on every tree,
The birds their mates are wooing.
With daisies she is strewing;
Hark! now, on every tree,
The birds their mates are wooing;
Love wakes the notes that swell their throats,
Love makes their plumage brighter;
Old Father Clyde, in all his pride,
Ne'er witness'd bosoms lighter;
Mark! how the verdant lea,
With daisies she is strewing;
Hark! how, on every tree,
The birds their mates are wooing.
173
ROLL, FAIR CLUTHA.
When Nature first, with mighty hand
Traced Clutha's windings to the main,
'Twas then the Genii of the land,
Assembled round, and sung this strain;
Traced Clutha's windings to the main,
'Twas then the Genii of the land,
Assembled round, and sung this strain;
‘Roll, fair Clutha, fair Clutha to the sea,
And be thy banks for ever free.’
And be thy banks for ever free.’
For on thy banks in future times,
A brave and virtuous race shall rise,
Strangers to those unmanly crimes,
That taint the tribes of warmer skies.
A brave and virtuous race shall rise,
Strangers to those unmanly crimes,
That taint the tribes of warmer skies.
‘Roll,’ &c.
And stately towns and cities fair,
Thy lovely shores shall decorate;
With seats of science, to prepare
Thy sons for all that's good and great.
Thy lovely shores shall decorate;
With seats of science, to prepare
Thy sons for all that's good and great.
‘Roll,’ &c.
And on thy pure translucent breast,
Shall numerous fleets majestic ride;
Destined to south, north, east, and west,
To waft thy treasures far and wide.
Shall numerous fleets majestic ride;
Destined to south, north, east, and west,
To waft thy treasures far and wide.
‘Roll,’ &c
174
And up thy gently sloping sides,
Shall woods o'er woods in grandeur tower;
Meet haunts for lovers and their brides,
To woo in many a sylvan bower.
Shall woods o'er woods in grandeur tower;
Meet haunts for lovers and their brides,
To woo in many a sylvan bower.
‘Roll,’ &c.
And early on each summer morn,
Thy youth shall bathe their limbs in thee;
Thence to their various toils return
With increased vigour, health, and glee.
Thy youth shall bathe their limbs in thee;
Thence to their various toils return
With increased vigour, health, and glee.
‘Roll,’ &c.
And still on summer evenings fair,
Shall groups of happy pairs be seen,
With hearts as light as birds of air,
A-straying o'er thy margin green.
Shall groups of happy pairs be seen,
With hearts as light as birds of air,
A-straying o'er thy margin green.
‘Roll,’ &c.
And oft the Bard by thee will stray,
When Luna's lamp illumes the sky,
Musing on some heart-melting lay,
Which fond hope tells him ne'er shall die.
When Luna's lamp illumes the sky,
Musing on some heart-melting lay,
Which fond hope tells him ne'er shall die.
‘Roll, fair Clutha, fair Clutha to the sea,
And be thy banks for ever free.
And be thy banks for ever free.
THE ROYAL UNION.
There's joy in the Lowlands and Highlands,
There's joy in the hut and the ha';
The pride o' auld Britain's fair islands
Is woo'd and wedded an' a';
She's got the dear lad o' her choosing—
A lad that's baith gallant and braw;
And lang may the knot be a-loosing
That firmly has buckled the twa.
There's joy in the hut and the ha';
The pride o' auld Britain's fair islands
Is woo'd and wedded an' a';
175
A lad that's baith gallant and braw;
And lang may the knot be a-loosing
That firmly has buckled the twa.
Woo'd and wedded an' a',
Buckled and bedded an' a';
The loveliest lassie in Britain
Is woo'd and wedded an' a'.
Buckled and bedded an' a';
The loveliest lassie in Britain
Is woo'd and wedded an' a'.
May heaven's all-bountiful Giver
Shower down his best gifts on the twa;
May love round their couch ever hover,
Their hearts closer and closer to draw.
May never misfortune o'ertake them,
Nor blast o' adversity blaw:
But every new morning awake them
To pleasures unsullied as snaw.
Shower down his best gifts on the twa;
May love round their couch ever hover,
Their hearts closer and closer to draw.
May never misfortune o'ertake them,
Nor blast o' adversity blaw:
But every new morning awake them
To pleasures unsullied as snaw.
Woo'd and wedded an' a', &c.
Then here's to our Queen an' her Marrow,
May happiness ay be their fa',
May discord and sickness and sorrow
Be banished for ever their ha'.
So, fy let us coup aff our bicker,
And toast meikle joy to the twa,
And may they, till life's latest flicker,
Together in harmony draw.
May happiness ay be their fa',
May discord and sickness and sorrow
Be banished for ever their ha'.
So, fy let us coup aff our bicker,
And toast meikle joy to the twa,
And may they, till life's latest flicker,
Together in harmony draw.
Woo'd and wedded an' a', &c.
176
'TWAS MORN.
'Twas morn—and the lambs on the green hillocks played,
The laverock sung sweetly on high,
The dew-draps bespangled ilk green spiky blade,
And the woods rang wi' music and joy;
When young Patie down the vale
Met fair Kitty wi' her pail,
He clasp'd her hand and blythely speered,
‘Dear lassie, where to now?’
‘A wee bit down the glen,’ quo' she,
‘To milk our bruckit cow.’
The laverock sung sweetly on high,
The dew-draps bespangled ilk green spiky blade,
And the woods rang wi' music and joy;
When young Patie down the vale
Met fair Kitty wi' her pail,
178
‘Dear lassie, where to now?’
‘A wee bit down the glen,’ quo' she,
‘To milk our bruckit cow.’
‘O Kitty! I've lo'ed you this towmond an' mair,
And wha lo'es na you canna see,
There's nane on our plains half sae lovely and fair,—
No; nane half sae lovely to me:
Will you come, dear lass, at e'en,
Up the burnie's bank sae green?
And there beneath the beechen shade,
You'll meet a lover true.’
‘Na, na,’ she cried, ‘I canna come
At e'en to meet wi’ you.
And wha lo'es na you canna see,
There's nane on our plains half sae lovely and fair,—
No; nane half sae lovely to me:
Will you come, dear lass, at e'en,
Up the burnie's bank sae green?
And there beneath the beechen shade,
You'll meet a lover true.’
‘Na, na,’ she cried, ‘I canna come
At e'en to meet wi’ you.
‘My mither will flyte, and my father will ban,
Gin here meikle langer I stay;
Come cease wi' your daffiin, and let gae my han’,
It's daft like at this time o' day.’
‘Dearest lassie, ere ye gang,
Tell me, shall we meet ere lang?
Come, say't and seal't wi' ae sweet smack
O' that enticing mou';’
‘Haud aff,’ she cried, ‘nor think that I
Was made for sport to you.’
Gin here meikle langer I stay;
Come cease wi' your daffiin, and let gae my han’,
It's daft like at this time o' day.’
‘Dearest lassie, ere ye gang,
Tell me, shall we meet ere lang?
Come, say't and seal't wi' ae sweet smack
O' that enticing mou';’
‘Haud aff,’ she cried, ‘nor think that I
Was made for sport to you.’
‘Then, farewell, proud lassie, for since ye're sae shy,
Nae langer I'll press you to bide;
E'en show aff your airs, toss your head and look high,
Your beauty demands a' your pride;
I may find some ither where,
Ane mair kind, although less fair.’
He turned to gang—she laughing cried,
‘Stop, lad, I've ta'en the rue,
Come back and set the tryst wi' me,
And I will meet wi' you.’
Nae langer I'll press you to bide;
E'en show aff your airs, toss your head and look high,
Your beauty demands a' your pride;
179
Ane mair kind, although less fair.’
He turned to gang—she laughing cried,
‘Stop, lad, I've ta'en the rue,
Come back and set the tryst wi' me,
And I will meet wi' you.’
181
SONG.
[O Jeanie! why that look sae cauld]
O Jeanie! why that look sae cauld,
And withering to me now?
And wherefore lours that cloud o' gloom
Upon thy bonnie brow?
What hae I said, what hae I done,
To draw sic looks frae thee;
Is this the love—the fond regard
Sae lately pledged to me?
And withering to me now?
And wherefore lours that cloud o' gloom
Upon thy bonnie brow?
What hae I said, what hae I done,
To draw sic looks frae thee;
Is this the love—the fond regard
Sae lately pledged to me?
O Jamie! wherefore spier at me?
Ye ken the cause yoursel',
Ye thocht yestreen, ye werena seen
Alang wi' bonnie Bell:
Your arm was claspit round her waist,
Your cheek to her's was laid,
And mony a melting kiss she gat,
While row'd within your plaid.
Ye ken the cause yoursel',
Ye thocht yestreen, ye werena seen
Alang wi' bonnie Bell:
Your arm was claspit round her waist,
Your cheek to her's was laid,
And mony a melting kiss she gat,
While row'd within your plaid.
O lassie dear! thou wrang'st me sair,
Wi' jealous thochts and mean;
For I was twenty miles and mair,
Awa' frae hame yestreen:
I gaed to see my brither dear,
A gift he sent to thee;
And see—thou maun this necklace wear,
That day thou'rt wed to me.
Wi' jealous thochts and mean;
For I was twenty miles and mair,
Awa' frae hame yestreen:
I gaed to see my brither dear,
A gift he sent to thee;
And see—thou maun this necklace wear,
That day thou'rt wed to me.
182
And art thou, then, still true to me?
I'll ne'er forgie mysel';
O, what could tempt me to believe,
Thou'd'st leave thy Jean for Bell?
But there's my hand, I'll never mair
Dream foolish thochts o' thee;
But love wi' a' a woman's love,
Till light forsake mine e'e.
I'll ne'er forgie mysel';
O, what could tempt me to believe,
Thou'd'st leave thy Jean for Bell?
But there's my hand, I'll never mair
Dream foolish thochts o' thee;
But love wi' a' a woman's love,
Till light forsake mine e'e.
SONG.
I ANCE WAS IN LOVE.
I ance was in love—maybe no lang ago,
And I lo'ed ae sweet lassie most dearly,
I sought her wee hand, but her daddy growled ‘no,’
Which stung my young heart most severely;
For he, wealthy wight, was an auld crabbit carle,
Wha held fast the grip he had got o' the warl,
So, the poor plackless laddie got nought but a snarl
For lo'eing the lassie sincerely.
And I lo'ed ae sweet lassie most dearly,
I sought her wee hand, but her daddy growled ‘no,’
Which stung my young heart most severely;
For he, wealthy wight, was an auld crabbit carle,
Wha held fast the grip he had got o' the warl,
So, the poor plackless laddie got nought but a snarl
For lo'eing the lassie sincerely.
But love wadna hide, and the lassie lo'ed me,
And O her black een tald it clearly,
That she'd tak' and wed me without a bawbee,
Although she had twa hundred yearly.
So, ae winter night when her dad was asleep,
And the wind made the doors a' to rattle and cheep,
Frae out the back window she made a bit leap,
And my arms kepp'd the prize I lo'ed dearly.
And O her black een tald it clearly,
That she'd tak' and wed me without a bawbee,
Although she had twa hundred yearly.
So, ae winter night when her dad was asleep,
And the wind made the doors a' to rattle and cheep,
Frae out the back window she made a bit leap,
And my arms kepp'd the prize I lo'ed dearly.
183
Auld Gripsiccar wasna to haud nor to bin':
He tint a' his wee judgment nearly,
He stormed, he rampaged, he ran out, he ran in,
And he vowed we should smart for it dearly:
But time wrought a change, when he saw his first oe,
Nae langer was heard then the growl and the ‘no:’
Our house now is Gripsiccar, Goodson, & Co.,
While our labours are prospering yearly.
He tint a' his wee judgment nearly,
He stormed, he rampaged, he ran out, he ran in,
And he vowed we should smart for it dearly:
But time wrought a change, when he saw his first oe,
Nae langer was heard then the growl and the ‘no:’
Our house now is Gripsiccar, Goodson, & Co.,
While our labours are prospering yearly.
COME, FILL A BUMPER.
Come, fill a bumper, dear friends and good neighbours now,
Drink to the right we hae struggled for sairly;—
We shall enjoy the reward of our labours now:
Clyde's bonny banks are made free to us fairly.
Pledge me then, honest men, now since we've got our ain,
Dearly let's prize what we've purchased so dearly;
Now may we tread with glee Clyde's lovely margin free,
High as the dyke was—'tis tumbled right rarely.
Drink to the right we hae struggled for sairly;—
We shall enjoy the reward of our labours now:
Clyde's bonny banks are made free to us fairly.
Pledge me then, honest men, now since we've got our ain,
Dearly let's prize what we've purchased so dearly;
Now may we tread with glee Clyde's lovely margin free,
High as the dyke was—'tis tumbled right rarely.
Late, the abode of seclusion and dreariness,
Still as the vale of death's shadow—or nearly,
Clyde's bonny banks are a' life, now, and cheeriness.
Throng'd with each class that loves liberty dearly;
Age, with his silver hairs, youth, too, in loving pairs,
Gladly pursuing their course, late and early,
Childhood that scarce can run, boyhood, with noisy fun:
Joyous that matters are now settled squarely.
Still as the vale of death's shadow—or nearly,
Clyde's bonny banks are a' life, now, and cheeriness.
Throng'd with each class that loves liberty dearly;
Age, with his silver hairs, youth, too, in loving pairs,
Gladly pursuing their course, late and early,
Childhood that scarce can run, boyhood, with noisy fun:
Joyous that matters are now settled squarely.
184
Here's to the brave honest hearts of our Committee!
Lang hae they battled and striven for't sairly;
Wha now dare challenge, or yet cast a gloom at ye,
While on your banks ye can go late or early?
Come, then, our Committee, ‘nine times nine’ let it be,
They in the front stood, and fought it out rarely;
Wha wad hae done like them, tyranny's tide to stem?
Then let us honour them—ever sincerely.
Lang hae they battled and striven for't sairly;
Wha now dare challenge, or yet cast a gloom at ye,
While on your banks ye can go late or early?
Come, then, our Committee, ‘nine times nine’ let it be,
They in the front stood, and fought it out rarely;
Wha wad hae done like them, tyranny's tide to stem?
Then let us honour them—ever sincerely.
THE LOVELY LASS OF INVERKIP.
O'er Cowal Hills the sinking Sun
Was bidding Clutha's vale good day,
And from his gorgeous golden throne,
Was shedding evening's mildest ray;
As round the Cloch I bent my way,
With buoyant heart and bounding skip;
To meet my lass at gloaming grey,
Amang the shaws of Inverkip.
Was bidding Clutha's vale good day,
And from his gorgeous golden throne,
Was shedding evening's mildest ray;
As round the Cloch I bent my way,
With buoyant heart and bounding skip;
To meet my lass at gloaming grey,
Amang the shaws of Inverkip.
We met—and what an eve of bliss,
A richer, sweeter, never flew;
With mutual vow—with melting kiss,
And ardent throb of bosoms true.
The bees 'mid flowers of freshest hue,
Would cease their honeyed sweets to sip,
If they her soft sweet lips but knew,
The lovely lass of Inverkip.
A richer, sweeter, never flew;
With mutual vow—with melting kiss,
And ardent throb of bosoms true.
The bees 'mid flowers of freshest hue,
Would cease their honeyed sweets to sip,
If they her soft sweet lips but knew,
The lovely lass of Inverkip.
185
Her ebon locks, her hazel eye,
Her placid brow, so fair and meek,
Her artless smile, her balmy sigh,
Her bonnie blushing modest cheek:
All these a stainless mind bespeak,
As pure as is the lily's tip;
Then O may sorrow's breath so bleak
Ne'er blight my bud of Inverkip!
Her placid brow, so fair and meek,
Her artless smile, her balmy sigh,
Her bonnie blushing modest cheek:
All these a stainless mind bespeak,
As pure as is the lily's tip;
Then O may sorrow's breath so bleak
Ne'er blight my bud of Inverkip!
STANZAS,
WRITTEN ON A WOMAN-HATER, WHOM THE AUTHOR HEARD DECLARE BEFORE A COMPANY, THAT HE WOULD RATHER SEE A SOW WITH A LITTER OF PIGS, THAN SEE A MOTHER SUCKLING HER INFANT AT HER BREAST.
He who hateth lovely woman,
And forswears her dear embrace,
Can lay claim to nothing human,
Save, perhaps, an idiot's face.
And forswears her dear embrace,
Can lay claim to nothing human,
Save, perhaps, an idiot's face.
Thick his skull, as blocks for wigs,
Cold his heart as coldest metal,
Who'd prefer the grunt of pigs
To the smiling infant's prattle.
Cold his heart as coldest metal,
Who'd prefer the grunt of pigs
To the smiling infant's prattle.
With the pigs, then, let him herd,
Ne'er may smile of woman bless him;
And if e'er he be intered,
None but pigs will ever miss him.
Ne'er may smile of woman bless him;
And if e'er he be intered,
None but pigs will ever miss him.
186
STANZAS,
WRITTEN ON MR JAMES P*G*N, A FEW DAYS BEFORE HIS MARRIAGE.
‘O ken ye the man wi' the Heathenish name?—
For P*g*n and Heathen are nearly the same;’
Come, truce wi' your joking, though P*g*n he be,
He's as true a Christian as mony ye'll see.
He's open, he's honest, mild-tempered, and warm,
Inclined to do good, but averse to work harm:
For his motto is this—as ilk ane's ought to be—
‘Let me do unto others as they should to me.’
For P*g*n and Heathen are nearly the same;’
Come, truce wi' your joking, though P*g*n he be,
He's as true a Christian as mony ye'll see.
He's open, he's honest, mild-tempered, and warm,
Inclined to do good, but averse to work harm:
For his motto is this—as ilk ane's ought to be—
‘Let me do unto others as they should to me.’
He spins a good story, he weaves a good tale,
He lilts a good sang owre a tankard o' ale,
He cracks a good joke, too, wi' humorsome glee;
But nane lashes vice mair severely than he.
And ilk body likes him wherever he gangs,
Sae fond o' his stories—his jokes and his sangs;
But the thing he's maist prized for by meikle and wee,
Is the generous heart, ever open and free.
He lilts a good sang owre a tankard o' ale,
He cracks a good joke, too, wi' humorsome glee;
But nane lashes vice mair severely than he.
And ilk body likes him wherever he gangs,
Sae fond o' his stories—his jokes and his sangs;
But the thing he's maist prized for by meikle and wee,
Is the generous heart, ever open and free.
He never can hear o' a poor mortal's woes,
But his hand's in his pouch, while his heart overflows;
For when the heart wills it, the hand's sure to gi'e,
And blest are the heart and the hand—thus so free.
But P*g*n has fauts, like the rest o' guid chiels;
He likes to keep oiling Humanity's wheels;
But he oils them sae gently, when creaking awee,
That he keeps the machine aye in good working key.
But his hand's in his pouch, while his heart overflows;
For when the heart wills it, the hand's sure to gi'e,
And blest are the heart and the hand—thus so free.
But P*g*n has fauts, like the rest o' guid chiels;
He likes to keep oiling Humanity's wheels;
But he oils them sae gently, when creaking awee,
That he keeps the machine aye in good working key.
187
He likes his bit lass, too, as ilka man should;
And, O! that sweet lass is so fair and so good,
And returns so his love, that in twa weeks or three,
She may be prevailed on—a P*g*n to be.
A health, then, to P*g*n—a health to his lass;
May bright days of happiness still o'er them pass,
And a braw fruitfu' vine may the bonnie lass be,
Till clusters o' P*g*n-grapes cling round her knee.
And, O! that sweet lass is so fair and so good,
And returns so his love, that in twa weeks or three,
She may be prevailed on—a P*g*n to be.
A health, then, to P*g*n—a health to his lass;
May bright days of happiness still o'er them pass,
And a braw fruitfu' vine may the bonnie lass be,
Till clusters o' P*g*n-grapes cling round her knee.
AN ADMONITORY ADDRESS
TO THE FREE AND INDEPENDENT ELECTORS OF THE KILMARNOCK DISTRICT OF BURGHS.
BY HUMPHREY HENKECKLE, EGG-CADGER.
Ye gude folks o' Killie, and Ruglen auld toon
I rede ye beware o' that oily-tongued loon,
The smooth-lippit, white-livered, canting C---n,
Nor mair by sic harpies be pounced on;
But a' ye gude wabsters and spinners o' woo',
An' ye wha keep knittin' at bonnets o' blue,
Wale out for yoursels, now, a gude man and true,
And such ye will find Saunders Johnston.
I rede ye beware o' that oily-tongued loon,
The smooth-lippit, white-livered, canting C---n,
Nor mair by sic harpies be pounced on;
But a' ye gude wabsters and spinners o' woo',
An' ye wha keep knittin' at bonnets o' blue,
Wale out for yoursels, now, a gude man and true,
And such ye will find Saunders Johnston.
The Saint will come down wi' his Prelatic face,
And whine ye a lang Presbyterian grace,
But kick Mr Doublecreed back to his place,
To preach to his rocks o' blue whinstone;—
What! trust to a man wha professes twa creeds,
He may adopt three yet, and tell owre his beads;
Ne'er lippen again to sic fause hollow reeds,
But trust the upright Saunders Johnston.
And whine ye a lang Presbyterian grace,
But kick Mr Doublecreed back to his place,
To preach to his rocks o' blue whinstone;—
What! trust to a man wha professes twa creeds,
He may adopt three yet, and tell owre his beads;
Ne'er lippen again to sic fause hollow reeds,
But trust the upright Saunders Johnston.
The Saint he will wheedle, the Saint he will fleech,
And twine you a sly jesuitical speech;
‘The lammies should tremble when auld foxes preach,’
Whase breath smells sae rankly o' brimstone.
But Saunders will tell you a plain, honest crack,
And never betray you by turning his back;
Then, forward, my laddies, and dinna be slack,
In backing your friend, Saunders Johnston.
And twine you a sly jesuitical speech;
‘The lammies should tremble when auld foxes preach,’
Whase breath smells sae rankly o' brimstone.
189
And never betray you by turning his back;
Then, forward, my laddies, and dinna be slack,
In backing your friend, Saunders Johnston.
He ne'er will entrap you by fast-and-loose play,
He ne'er will cajole you to lead you astray,
But still keep consistent and straight on his way,
Nor e'er haud your nose to the grundstone.
Your een he'll ne'er dazzle by Saintly parade,
But do what he can to promote a free trade,—
To bring you cheap bannocks, and beef to your bread,
Then, up wi' your man, Saunders Johnston.
He ne'er will cajole you to lead you astray,
But still keep consistent and straight on his way,
Nor e'er haud your nose to the grundstone.
Your een he'll ne'er dazzle by Saintly parade,
But do what he can to promote a free trade,—
To bring you cheap bannocks, and beef to your bread,
Then, up wi' your man, Saunders Johnston.
| Stray Leaves from the Portfolios of Alisander the Seer, Andrew Whaup, and Humphrey Henkeckle | |