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 |
 |
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
Whi'sonmonday.
|
|
 | Poems, on sacred and other subjects |  |
Whi'sonmonday.
Whan summer's e'e beams o'er the lea,
To cleed the fields wi' green,
And blithesome lambs frisk roun' their dams,
Whilk charms the shepherds' een;
As blithe and thrang as youngsters spang
To a Communion Sunday,
The kintra roun' swear care to drown,
By haudin' Whi'sonmonday,
Fu' brisk and gay.
To cleed the fields wi' green,
And blithesome lambs frisk roun' their dams,
Whilk charms the shepherds' een;
As blithe and thrang as youngsters spang
To a Communion Sunday,
The kintra roun' swear care to drown,
By haudin' Whi'sonmonday,
Fu' brisk and gay.
Scarce had the laverocks tuned their throats,
To hail the risin' sun,
Whan owre the fields, wi' kilted coats,
The lasses had begun
To airt straucht aff to Glasgow-town,
Their trysted joes to see;
Or buy a braw new cap or gown,
Wi' the orras o' their fee,
Aff-hand that day.
To hail the risin' sun,
Whan owre the fields, wi' kilted coats,
The lasses had begun
To airt straucht aff to Glasgow-town,
Their trysted joes to see;
Or buy a braw new cap or gown,
Wi' the orras o' their fee,
Aff-hand that day.
But yonder comes the highlan'-clan!
Careerin' down the hill;
The tough-lung'd piper leads the van,
Wha thrums his chanter shrill;
At “owre the hills and far awa'”
He blaws wi' Gaelic fire,
Whilk raises in their bosoms a'
A hame-sent warm desire,
Wi' zeal that day.
Careerin' down the hill;
The tough-lung'd piper leads the van,
Wha thrums his chanter shrill;
352
He blaws wi' Gaelic fire,
Whilk raises in their bosoms a'
A hame-sent warm desire,
Wi' zeal that day.
Rude cowpers, wi' their livin' stock,
Alang the roads now scour,
While poor, less skeich, but better folk,
Maun toddle through the stour;
Yet thae maun ha'e, to quench their drouth,
Guid rum or sunkots better;
While thir get noucht, to weet their mouth,
But sma' swipes or sheuch water
On sic a day.
Alang the roads now scour,
While poor, less skeich, but better folk,
Maun toddle through the stour;
Yet thae maun ha'e, to quench their drouth,
Guid rum or sunkots better;
While thir get noucht, to weet their mouth,
But sma' swipes or sheuch water
On sic a day.
Forth comes a breinge o' kintra beaux,
Wi' siller graith a' glancin';
Thought erst broucht up 'mang rags and brose,
They're now on race-horse prancin';
Oh waefu' pride! thou's ill to bide;
Thou mak's fools sae uncivil,
They'll cry, “by G---, quick, clear the road,
Or else we'll to the devil
You ride this day.”
Wi' siller graith a' glancin';
Thought erst broucht up 'mang rags and brose,
They're now on race-horse prancin';
Oh waefu' pride! thou's ill to bide;
Thou mak's fools sae uncivil,
They'll cry, “by G---, quick, clear the road,
Or else we'll to the devil
You ride this day.”
Ah, lads! though now ye are right spree,
In fortune's rays a-baskin',
Ye'll, aiblins, yet drink o' the bree
That ye ha'e lang been maskin';
Wi' wine and tea ye are richt bauld,
And toss your heads fu' vogie;
But yet, I fear, wi' puirtith cauld,
Your wonted parritch cogie
Ye'll claw some day.
In fortune's rays a-baskin',
Ye'll, aiblins, yet drink o' the bree
That ye ha'e lang been maskin';
Wi' wine and tea ye are richt bauld,
And toss your heads fu' vogie;
But yet, I fear, wi' puirtith cauld,
Your wonted parritch cogie
Ye'll claw some day.
Now mony a scowry prick-the-loop,
And ragged rowly-powly,
Flock to the fair, a mangled group,
Wi' broken legs and bowly:
Here Lucky Grant tak's up her stan',
The gangrel sweetie seller,
Though glib-tongued sisters, at ilkhan',
Are shorin' now, to bell her
At the trade this day.
And ragged rowly-powly,
Flock to the fair, a mangled group,
Wi' broken legs and bowly:
Here Lucky Grant tak's up her stan',
The gangrel sweetie seller,
Though glib-tongued sisters, at ilkhan',
Are shorin' now, to bell her
At the trade this day.
353
Oh, waes my heart! for Straven John;
Whare now will he appear?
He may sab out, Ochon! ochon!
And drap a briny tear;
For sic outlandish skybalds now
Ha'e ta'en the dicin' trade,
I doubt he's ruin'd, stick and stow—
I fear his fortune's fled
For guid and a'.
Whare now will he appear?
He may sab out, Ochon! ochon!
And drap a briny tear;
For sic outlandish skybalds now
Ha'e ta'en the dicin' trade,
I doubt he's ruin'd, stick and stow—
I fear his fortune's fled
For guid and a'.
But first let's stap to the wynd-head,
To see what's doin' there,
Whare knavery, wi' stainchless greed,
Are nursed wi' special care.
Heich, man! there stan's a bonnie show
O' coosers and o' yawds;
And oaths are rife as Ays and Noes
W' thir rough cowper lads
I' the fair this day.
To see what's doin' there,
Whare knavery, wi' stainchless greed,
Are nursed wi' special care.
Heich, man! there stan's a bonnie show
O' coosers and o' yawds;
And oaths are rife as Ays and Noes
W' thir rough cowper lads
I' the fair this day.
Ane swears—“Before I sell 't for less
I wish I may be d---d:”
His frien', wha weel the price can guess,
Says—“Hoot! ye lang ha'e shamm'd:
Come, here's a maik: let's see your han':
I've gi'en the fairest bodds:”
The graceless wight lang does na' stan'
To cast awa' the odds,
Though pounds, this day.
I wish I may be d---d:”
His frien', wha weel the price can guess,
Says—“Hoot! ye lang ha'e shamm'd:
Come, here's a maik: let's see your han':
I've gi'en the fairest bodds:”
The graceless wight lang does na' stan'
To cast awa' the odds,
Though pounds, this day.
Wi' lyin' here, and swearin' there,
The match o't ne'er was heard;
For siccan cheatin' Truth stan's greetin',
As if frae earth debarr'd:
Their language fell resembles hell,
By ought that we can learn;
Justice and conscience gang for nonsense,
Their sauls are sae forfain
And foul this day.
The match o't ne'er was heard;
For siccan cheatin' Truth stan's greetin',
As if frae earth debarr'd:
Their language fell resembles hell,
By ought that we can learn;
Justice and conscience gang for nonsense,
Their sauls are sae forfain
And foul this day.
The outskirt o' the scene is fill'd
Wi' cattle clean worn out;
Far better had they a' been kill'd,
Than live to join the rout:
Their hides sae holed, they scarce dare face
The tanner's sharp inspection;
Nor will their meagre carcase grace
The kennel's rough dissection,
On ony day.
Wi' cattle clean worn out;
Far better had they a' been kill'd,
Than live to join the rout:
354
The tanner's sharp inspection;
Nor will their meagre carcase grace
The kennel's rough dissection,
On ony day.
The horse-fair bye, straucht aff they hie
To see the raree-shows,
And doun the street they houp to meet
Their dear-lo'e'd trysted joes,
Wha through the toun ha'e ta'en their roun',
To glour at shawls and gowns,
For whilk they 'mang, and inward pang;
Their greenin' naething drowns
I' the shops this day.
To see the raree-shows,
And doun the street they houp to meet
Their dear-lo'e'd trysted joes,
Wha through the toun ha'e ta'en their roun',
To glour at shawls and gowns,
For whilk they 'mang, and inward pang;
Their greenin' naething drowns
I' the shops this day.
Now ilka pair forgather'd are,
And to the auld-brig scour,
For mountebanks, wi' nimble shanks,
Are out, them to allure:
Their tinsy claise, a' glancin' clear,
Enchant the sordid heart;
Chaps stan' na here a crown to tear
Wha'd scarce a tester part
Frae the purse yon day.
And to the auld-brig scour,
For mountebanks, wi' nimble shanks,
Are out, them to allure:
Their tinsy claise, a' glancin' clear,
Enchant the sordid heart;
Chaps stan' na here a crown to tear
Wha'd scarce a tester part
Frae the purse yon day.
“Eh! Rab,” quo' Maggie, “tak' us in
To see the spaewife horse;”
Robin, the revel to begin,
Fu' frankly draws his purse:
But Maggie, hapless lass! ne'er greins
To see a show sinsyne,
For powny tauld what—'mang the beans—
Ae nicht she chanced to tyne,
That luckless day.
To see the spaewife horse;”
Robin, the revel to begin,
Fu' frankly draws his purse:
But Maggie, hapless lass! ne'er greins
To see a show sinsyne,
For powny tauld what—'mang the beans—
Ae nicht she chanced to tyne,
That luckless day.
Here, Master Punch his squeakin' powers
Displays, wi' eldritch face;
There, Tam o' Shanter's devil lours,
Wi' brimstone-burn'd grimace;
Here's lions, doun frae Lon'on tower,
Bears, elephants, and monkeys;
There's wheel-o'-fortune's lucky bags,
That fraught wi' slee begunk is,
At times, this day.
Displays, wi' eldritch face;
There, Tam o' Shanter's devil lours,
Wi' brimstone-burn'd grimace;
Here's lions, doun frae Lon'on tower,
Bears, elephants, and monkeys;
There's wheel-o'-fortune's lucky bags,
That fraught wi' slee begunk is,
At times, this day.
355
Oh sic a soun', a' roun' and roun'!
Drums, trumpets, clar'nets, fiddles,
And cymbals clank, our lugs to drown;
The tambourine it diddles:
The sun's low sinkin' in the wast,
Whilk marks the gloamin' near;
And baxter chiel's, their labour past,
Set a things in a steer,
In a blink, this nicht.
Drums, trumpets, clar'nets, fiddles,
And cymbals clank, our lugs to drown;
The tambourine it diddles:
The sun's low sinkin' in the wast,
Whilk marks the gloamin' near;
And baxter chiel's, their labour past,
Set a things in a steer,
In a blink, this nicht.
Their sport is mischief everywhere;
Nought else them fun affords;
Dead bawdrons flap throughout the fair;
Doun reel the sweetie boords:
A' order's turn'd to riot quick,
And feichten now is rife;
Weel wault is mony a hazle stick,
Enough to tak' a life
Ilk stroke, this nicht.
Nought else them fun affords;
Dead bawdrons flap throughout the fair;
Doun reel the sweetie boords:
A' order's turn'd to riot quick,
And feichten now is rife;
Weel wault is mony a hazle stick,
Enough to tak' a life
Ilk stroke, this nicht.
The kintra stirroks, fley'd o' skaith,
Frae this wanchancie crowd
Slip hameward wi' their lasses, laith
To thole their usage rude:
Ilk' chiel', fu' coshlie, wi' his dear,
Talks o' the day's fell feats;
As skelpin' up the hills they steer,
Their lo'esome heart aft beats,
Fu' thick, that nicht.
Frae this wanchancie crowd
Slip hameward wi' their lasses, laith
To thole their usage rude:
Ilk' chiel', fu' coshlie, wi' his dear,
Talks o' the day's fell feats;
As skelpin' up the hills they steer,
Their lo'esome heart aft beats,
Fu' thick, that nicht.
But nae sic topics can attract
The brawlers left ahin';
But neives aff heads and shoulders crack,
And glaur ilk e'e does blin':
The police lads daur scarce appear
To keep the toun in peace,
Their red-neck'd coats are useless here
To gar the brawlers cease
This roughsome nicht.
The brawlers left ahin';
But neives aff heads and shoulders crack,
And glaur ilk e'e does blin':
The police lads daur scarce appear
To keep the toun in peace,
Their red-neck'd coats are useless here
To gar the brawlers cease
This roughsome nicht.
See, now the grand attack is made
Upon the caravans,
And open on the street are laid
Apes, sloths, and pelicans:
Ye'd think, to see this cage o' brutes,
By thir fell louns disseckit,
Whan, breingin wi' their claws and cloots,
That Noah's ark was wreckit
This luckless nicht.
Upon the caravans,
And open on the street are laid
Apes, sloths, and pelicans:
356
By thir fell louns disseckit,
Whan, breingin wi' their claws and cloots,
That Noah's ark was wreckit
This luckless nicht.
Hech! guidsake, sirs! what jarrin' soun's
Frae ilka nook now come;
The cursin' o' mischievous loons
Maist breaks the lug's thin drum.
But darkness now pervades the lift,
And noucht mair can be seen;
So I, this tuilyie fierce to shift,
Will toddle up the Green,
Straucht hame, this nicht.
Frae ilka nook now come;
The cursin' o' mischievous loons
Maist breaks the lug's thin drum.
But darkness now pervades the lift,
And noucht mair can be seen;
So I, this tuilyie fierce to shift,
Will toddle up the Green,
Straucht hame, this nicht.
| Poems, on sacred and other subjects | |