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Poems, on sacred and other subjects

and songs, humorous and sentimental: By the late William Watt. Third edition of the songs only--with additional songs

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The Tinkler's Wedding.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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262

The Tinkler's Wedding.

“Think not, ye rich, all joy and mirth
Attend the haunts of gentle birth.”

By Cheviot hills, ae morn in May,
Upon the border bent,
The wand'rin' gang o' Habbie Hay
Did pitch their gipsy tent,
To celebrate the nuptial knot
'Tween glaikit Sall M'Kechan
And—her fifth husband—Norman Scott,
A caird frae Ecclefechan:
Nae saunt was he.
The cuddies, frae their toil set free,
Amang the knowes are browsin';
And wives, to grace the social spree,
Their duddie bairns sit lousin':
Some do them deck wi' washen toys
O' clean garbs vauntin' frisky,
While ithers show that a' their joys
Concentre in the whisky,
Alane, this day.
Nae solemn consecrated priest
To tie the bands need they,
But only cash to raise a feast,
And rowth o' usquebae;
For whilk they had, for weeks before,
The tin and horn been whangin',
To put some smeddum in the splore,
And set their gabs a-gangin'
Loquaciously.
Unfash'd wi' only pridfu' thought
O' grandeur, or sic like,
They nestle in an auld sheep bught,
A wathers' spauls to pyke:
There, wet or dry, beneath the sky,
Unscreen'd by thack or kebbres,
They joyous join the wark divine
Wi' bacchanalian labours,
Most fervently.

263

To forage fagots for the fire
The younkers wide are roamin',
And mirth doth ilka breast inspire,
While cans o' drink are foamin':
Mair heart-felt joy they feel, I ween,
In this sequester'd station,
Than gladdens either king or queen,
Even on their coronation
Or grand levee.
Withouten grace or gracefu' air,
Slapdash, they're gormandising
On kail and beef, the wale o' ware,
Till kytes like tuns are rising.
Blin' gangrel Geordie, in the neuk,
His fiddle sets a bummin',
While's duddie guide, wi' airy leuk,
On's tambourine stan's drummin',
Right skeigh, this day.
When wames were fill'd, and wizens wat,
To dance some out did sally,
While ithers, fonder o' the maut,
Did wi' their doxies dally.
Auld Habbie, wha the rights o' age
Aye manfully defended,
First took the green wi' toothless Madge,
While at the rump he vended
Great rowts this day.
Stern Norman, wi' his kittle joe,
Neist claim'd the minstrel's aid;
Fu' richtly he his spauls did show,
And starkly flang and strade;
But he in a cow's cusslock slade,
And on his hurdies grundit,
Whereat sic laughin' through them gaed,
That he was maist affronted
On's marriage day.
Dan drew out Doll, a damsel din,
And dour as ony badger;
Her mither was o' gipsy kin,
Her father was a cadger;

264

He mockin' roost her lily skin,
But soon had cause to rue it,
For he amaist was driven blin',
She gied him sic a fluet
I' the face this day.
Thae twa had raised a fearfu' feud
Wi' blows and altercation,
For Dan did swear, in wrath right rude,
He'd make retaliation;
But Dennis Drew, a bully loun,
To quell this collieshangie,
Cam' owre the green, drew near the soun',
And said, “Wha's this amang ye
Sae loud the day?”
Dan had a tremblin' heart, nae doubt,
At this interrogation,
For sair he fear'd he'd get a clout,
Nae envied dispensation;
For Dennis was a rackle wight,
As some in Scotland knew—
He'd purses ta'en 'neath cloud o' night,
And lives, they said, nae few,
Wha kent his tricks.
The minstrel—fear'd that ill wad fare
His guide, himsel', and fiddle—
Struck up “the merry lads o' Ayr”
As fast as he could driddle:
A' took the hint, sae too they set,
Withouten hesitation,
And danced until their hides they het,
And cursed the wild stagnation
O' their fun this day.
Hodge Haig, the essence o' his clan,
Sat close beside the jorum,
For night and day the liquor can
Was his sanctum-sanctorum.
His wife he did baith bruise and ban
For drinkin' o't before him,
Though on his shanks he scarce could stan':
A hater o' decorum,
Maist fell, was he.

265

But he ca'd Neps a whore and thief,
Whilk she in wrath resented,
And fix'd her talons in his beef,
And gart the blade repent it.
In grips they tumbled on a bairn,
And maist the same had smoor'd,
Whase mither, wi' a sowth'rin' airn,
Their crowns and curpons clour'd
Right sair that day.
The time flew bye wi' siclike pranks,
Till laigh the sun was glidin',
And the lang shadows o' their shanks
Far owre the fields were stridin';
And Geordie was sae daised wi' drink
His lyre he cou'dna tune,
To gar the gossips blithe play jink,
Though he'd been crown'd at Scone
For the deed that day.
To remedy this sad event
Mair close they hug the bicker,
Till noddles to their rest are sent
By the mislushious liquor.
Stout Norman touttit aff his quaff,
To set them an example,
Till he, like ony sack o' draff,
Did lig, a waefu' sample
To the bride that night.
Twa carlines, wha lang envy had
For a deserter billie,
On ithers' faces flew like mad,
And scarted right ill-willy.
The blade, to end the feidfu' strife,
Gat up, the trulls to sever,
For whilk he maist had lost his life,
As thanks for his behaviour
To the sluts that night.
'Twad be a tale o' nae short fud,
Ilk action to narrate;
How cairds and kimmers drank like wud,
And fought wi' furious hate;

266

Or paint the mixty-maxty scene,
While heads and thraws they lay,
Or tell how Sall a maid might been
For Norman, when neist day
She raise fu' sour.