The songs and poems of Robert Tannahill :: :: University of Virginia Library

Plunkin kens a queer auld cock they ca' Rab,
Wha has hoarded his hugger in coppers;
Hauf his house is filled up wi' his wab,
While the ither hauf looks like a broker's.
Auld Rab had seen bonnie Ann Auchencloss
Washin' claes at the Marshall's Lane dippin',
Sae, he reckoned the profit an' loss
If his house to a wife he should lippin.

Syne he trysted a blue coat at the Cross,—
It was Symington's best, wi' brass buttons;
Wi' Wright's wig, that his gran'faither Rab Ross
Had bequeathed, wi' shoe buckles an' stockin's.
Rab took up the want, dressed, in the mirk,
Creeping near Ann's backdoor in a hover,—
“Look,” quoth the faither, “What ails that daft stirk?”
Quo' the mither, “Come in for a bother.”

But she guessed by the sheen o' his e'e,
An' the queer way Rab aye glintet at her;
So, “Gudeman, wheesht, lea' this wooin' wi' me,
An' I 'll fix 't in a five minute's clatter,”—
For she weel kent Rabbie's gear wasna sma'.
Puir Ann gloomed; says her mam, “What's the matter?”
“Mither, in this warl' I 'll ne'er wed ava,
If my choice is confined to that creature.”

But Rabbie wheetlit her out in the dark,
Wi' his beard he was ne'er owre particular,
Ettlin', if Ann gaed him a squeeze or a smirk,
The jags o' his bristles would tickle her.

164

They brocht hame braws for the bride, quite a load;
Puir Ann wrocht, an' her mither sae wrocht her,
That, before Martinmas morn, Abbey Boog
Had united auld Rab to her dochter.

They sent for yill in abundance frae Mair,
An' a dram frae Lochheid's roun' the corner,
Widow Rule's winnock gleamit like a fair
Wi' pies, puddin's, and haggis extraord'nar'.
They had drank Rab and Ann's health in ae glass,
Sung, danced, feasted, and fuddled till mornin';
When Annie's haun' (out o' sicht) got a press,
An' a whisper—“It 's time for adjournin'.”

Then she reeled out o' the door in a jig,
Wi' auld Rabbie hip-steppin' behint her;
But the daunert bodie's gran'faither's wig
Was pu'd aff on the door by a splinter.
Rab reached hame saft and sair out o' breath,
Through a hole at the foot o' his steadin',
Crying—“Annie, fix the latch,—I fear scaith;
I 've been bothert for days 'bout our beddin'.”

Annie creeped into her bed like a lamb,
An' was saftly asleep in a twinklin';
Tremblin', Rab ahint the door took his stan',
Lest the rascals should burst up the fast'nin'.
Wi' peep o' day, Ann flew up like a lark,
Fried twa eggs wi' the ham she had skirlin'.
“Is a breakfast to be first o' your wark,
Ye young, wasterfu' jade?” Rab cried, snarlin'.

“Hear ye,” says Ann, “I 'll tak' nane o' your snash”;
“Deed,” quoth Rab, “I 'll ha'e nane o' yours either.”
“Daft coof,—as sure's I 'm a maid an' a lass,
I 'll gae scamperin' hame to my faither.

165

Ye silly gouk, I think mair o' mysel'
Than be deeved the day long wi' your havers,
For your bald head 's aye covered wi' kell,
An' your birsie beard 's dreepin' wi' slavers.”

But noo, the racket frae less gaed to mair;
Auld Rab lifted his hauns for correction,
When young Ann whamelt him owre on the flair,
An' flew hame for her faither's protection.
Noo, the haill toun resounds wi' the clish-clash,
Talk that 's bad baith for Rabbie and Annie;
Tongue ne'er tell't, if, instead o' the young lass,
Rab had cocket his wig for her grannie.

A local place-name.