 | Poems and Songs, Humorous and Satirical |  |
248
THE WAEFU' LAMENTATION
OF THE PROVOST AND BAILIES OF THE ROYAL BURGH OF BLYTHSWOOD.
Occasioned by the passing of the Reform Bill.
3. And when the people heard these things, they shouted aloud with a great shout, for their joy was very great.
4. But the chief ruler and the elders which sat in the gate gnashed their teeth and rent their garments; yea, they lifted up their voices and wept bitterly, making a sore lamentation.
5. And the chief ruler cried grievously, saying, Alas! alas! for this great evil which hath now come upon us; truly may we be called “Ichabod,” for the glory is departed from us and from our house for ever. —Book of Jasher, Chap. IX.
Wow, Sirs! what's this come owre us a'?
Wae worth that vile Reforming Law,
That's torn the vested rights awa'
Frae ilka borough,
An' left us Bailies nocht ava'
But dool an' sorrow.
Wae worth that vile Reforming Law,
That's torn the vested rights awa'
Frae ilka borough,
An' left us Bailies nocht ava'
But dool an' sorrow.
249
Alas! that I should live to see't,
The thocht o't 's like to gar me greet,
An' gnash my teeth, an' stamp my feet,
Wi' grief an' anger,
To think how many pickings sweet
We'll pree nae langer.
The thocht o't 's like to gar me greet,
An' gnash my teeth, an' stamp my feet,
Wi' grief an' anger,
To think how many pickings sweet
We'll pree nae langer.
Gane are our bits o' canny jobs,
By whilk we used to line our fobs,
And creesh our loofs, and gust our gobs,
An' dink us braw;
That curst Reform! it comes an' robs
Us o' them a'.
By whilk we used to line our fobs,
And creesh our loofs, and gust our gobs,
An' dink us braw;
That curst Reform! it comes an' robs
Us o' them a'.
Nae close electioneerings now—
Thae times are a' gane by, I trow,
When ye chose me, an' I chose you;
An' here sit we,
As cowed as ony hummilt cow
That treads the lee.
Thae times are a' gane by, I trow,
When ye chose me, an' I chose you;
An' here sit we,
As cowed as ony hummilt cow
That treads the lee.
250
Hech! but we've got a fearfu' fa',
We, wha were wont to gang sae braw,
Whase word or nod was ay a law
To a' about us;
The rabble now will owre us craw,
An' rudely flout us.
We, wha were wont to gang sae braw,
Whase word or nod was ay a law
To a' about us;
The rabble now will owre us craw,
An' rudely flout us.
Whare now are a' our gowden dreams?
Our hole-an'-corner plots an' schemes?—
Gane, like the sun's departed beams,
Ayont the hill—
While ilka future prospect seems
To lour wi' ill.
Our hole-an'-corner plots an' schemes?—
Gane, like the sun's departed beams,
Ayont the hill—
While ilka future prospect seems
To lour wi' ill.
Nae mair we'll dine now wi' his Grace,
Nor to my Lord haud up our face,
To bargain for some snug bit place
For Jock the laddie;
Nor get our wife bedeckt wi' lace
An' silks fu' gaudy.
Nor to my Lord haud up our face,
To bargain for some snug bit place
For Jock the laddie;
Nor get our wife bedeckt wi' lace
An' silks fu' gaudy.
251
An' there's your auld bit house an' mine,
We thocht to get replaced short syne
Wi' ashler wa's o' freestane fine,
An' sclated riggins;
That's past—an' here we still maun pine
In auld thack biggins.
We thocht to get replaced short syne
Wi' ashler wa's o' freestane fine,
An' sclated riggins;
That's past—an' here we still maun pine
In auld thack biggins.
An' mair than that, I thocht to get
A grand piano for our Kate,
Whare, leddy-like, she'd sit in state
An' thrum her tune;—
The pirn-wheel now maun be her fate
To birr an' croon.
A grand piano for our Kate,
Whare, leddy-like, she'd sit in state
An' thrum her tune;—
The pirn-wheel now maun be her fate
To birr an' croon.
An' as for Jock, wi' a' his lear,
He needna think on pu'pits mair,
For notwithstanding a' my care,
Expense an' pains,
I fear he jimply has a share
O' common brains.
He needna think on pu'pits mair,
For notwithstanding a' my care,
Expense an' pains,
I fear he jimply has a share
O' common brains.
252
But yet, for a' that, his bit lack
Wad ne'er hae been a great drawback
Unto his wearing o' the black,
Provided still
Things hadna a' been knocked to wrack
By this curst Bill.
Wad ne'er hae been a great drawback
Unto his wearing o' the black,
Provided still
Things hadna a' been knocked to wrack
By this curst Bill.
For had we still possessed our vote,
We might hae made that muckle o't,
As, through some Patron, to hae got
Our Jock a kirk;—
That's gane—now he maun cast his coat,
Poor chiel! an' work.
We might hae made that muckle o't,
As, through some Patron, to hae got
Our Jock a kirk;—
That's gane—now he maun cast his coat,
Poor chiel! an' work.
An' waes me! since he wants the brains
To handle chisels, files, and planes,
There's naething for him now remains
In this world wide,
That I can see, but knapping stanes
By some dyke side.
To handle chisels, files, and planes,
There's naething for him now remains
In this world wide,
That I can see, but knapping stanes
By some dyke side.
253
Nae mair will Blythswood meet us here,
An' dine wi' us four times a year;
We'll be for nae mair use, I fear,
To him, och hon!
An' therefore he will never speer
The road we're on.
An' dine wi' us four times a year;
We'll be for nae mair use, I fear,
To him, och hon!
An' therefore he will never speer
The road we're on.
Nor yet will Finlay Kirkland ca',
An' treat us in our ain Town Ha',
Nor kiss our wives an' dochters a',
An' slip fu' sleek
A bonnie yellow George or twa
Into their cheek.
An' treat us in our ain Town Ha',
Nor kiss our wives an' dochters a',
An' slip fu' sleek
A bonnie yellow George or twa
Into their cheek.
O had we but ta'en care langsyne,
An' made hay while the sun did shine!
But na—we boost to dash sae fine
Aboon our level;
An' wi' our dinners an' our wine,
Feast, rant, an' revel.
An' made hay while the sun did shine!
But na—we boost to dash sae fine
Aboon our level;
An' wi' our dinners an' our wine,
Feast, rant, an' revel.
254
Short-sighted mortals! ne'er to ween
But things wad be as they had been:
We little dreamt a blast sae keen
For us was brewin',
Whase breath wad bring our branches green
To wrack and ruin.
But things wad be as they had been:
We little dreamt a blast sae keen
For us was brewin',
Whase breath wad bring our branches green
To wrack and ruin.
Aye, aye!—the crowd may bawl “Reform!”—
What wondrous gude it will perform!
To us it proves a ruthless storm—
A devastation—
A plague—a pest—a canker-worm—
Annihilation!
What wondrous gude it will perform!
To us it proves a ruthless storm—
A devastation—
A plague—a pest—a canker-worm—
Annihilation!
May muckle trouble, dool, an' wae,
Alight on Russell, Brou'am, and Grey,
They've ta'en frae us our prop, our stay,
Our chief support;
But bide a wee,—they yet will hae
To answer for't.
Alight on Russell, Brou'am, and Grey,
They've ta'en frae us our prop, our stay,
Our chief support;
But bide a wee,—they yet will hae
To answer for't.
255
Aye, that they will—an' wi' a vengeance!—
For soon as comes a happy change ance,
We'll mak' them chaunt, in Royal dungeons,
“Sweet Libertie!”
Or try if Robespierrean engines
Can set them free.
For soon as comes a happy change ance,
We'll mak' them chaunt, in Royal dungeons,
“Sweet Libertie!”
Or try if Robespierrean engines
Can set them free.
An' a' the rest wha wi' them fought,
An' their unhallowed labours wrought,
We'll hae them served, too, as they ought,
Vile, graceless fallows!
To justice they shall a' be brought—
An' that's the gallows.
An' their unhallowed labours wrought,
We'll hae them served, too, as they ought,
Vile, graceless fallows!
To justice they shall a' be brought—
An' that's the gallows.
May ruin seize that wicked Press—
The movin' cause o' our distress;
It has exposed ilk wee finesse,
An' loopy job,
An' shown us, in our nakedness,
To a' the mob.
The movin' cause o' our distress;
It has exposed ilk wee finesse,
An' loopy job,
An' shown us, in our nakedness,
To a' the mob.
256
An' O, confound the Unions a'!—
Sae bauld an' crousely now they craw,
They'd rule the King—they'd rule the law,—
Ilk thing they'd rule:
I fear they'll try to chase awa
Our King, ere Yule.
Sae bauld an' crousely now they craw,
They'd rule the King—they'd rule the law,—
Ilk thing they'd rule:
I fear they'll try to chase awa
Our King, ere Yule.
But Gude preserve him, honest man!
Frae that infernal, graceless clan;
I hope he'll yet do what he can
In our behalf,
An' try to mend, by ilka plan,
Our broken staff.
Frae that infernal, graceless clan;
I hope he'll yet do what he can
In our behalf,
An' try to mend, by ilka plan,
Our broken staff.
An' Heaven shield our spotless Queen
Frae ilka scoundrel Jacobin—
For she has kept her garments clean,
'Mid a' this stour,
Nor filed her fingers wi't, I ween,
Up to this hour.
Frae ilka scoundrel Jacobin—
For she has kept her garments clean,
'Mid a' this stour,
Nor filed her fingers wi't, I ween,
Up to this hour.
257
May ilka blessin' light upon
The glorious Duke o' Wellin'ton,
An' may he do as he has done;
Gude bless his Grace!
He was our leading-star—our sun,
When he kept place.
The glorious Duke o' Wellin'ton,
An' may he do as he has done;
Gude bless his Grace!
He was our leading-star—our sun,
When he kept place.
May Heaven uphold Sir Robert Peel,
An' Weatherall, that witty chiel—
An' Croaker, too, wha fought sae weel,
In our ain cause,
An' a' the rest wha, true as steel,
Maintained our laws.
An' Weatherall, that witty chiel—
An' Croaker, too, wha fought sae weel,
In our ain cause,
An' a' the rest wha, true as steel,
Maintained our laws.
Gude save auld Airland's weeping Church,
Now hurklin' low without the porch;
They've torn her mantle, an' her curch
They've set on lowe,
While wicked corbies crousely perch
On her bare pow.
Now hurklin' low without the porch;
They've torn her mantle, an' her curch
They've set on lowe,
While wicked corbies crousely perch
On her bare pow.
258
An' gin they're no scaured aff, I doubt,
They'll pick her bare, clout after clout,
Nor leave her ought to wrap about
Her naked skin;
Na, waur,—they threaten to pick out
Her vera een!
They'll pick her bare, clout after clout,
Nor leave her ought to wrap about
Her naked skin;
Na, waur,—they threaten to pick out
Her vera een!
An' her gude Bishops still preserve,
Wha daily in the temples serve,—
Through want o' tithes may they ne'er starve,
But aye hae plenty,—
For muckle, muckle they deserve,
They are sae tenty.
Wha daily in the temples serve,—
Through want o' tithes may they ne'er starve,
But aye hae plenty,—
For muckle, muckle they deserve,
They are sae tenty.
They never stain their snaw-white bands
By breaking ane o' the Commands,
Nor e'er defile their haly hands
Wi' dirt o' Mammon;
Then, O! may those wha'd seize their lands
Be strung like Haman!
By breaking ane o' the Commands,
Nor e'er defile their haly hands
Wi' dirt o' Mammon;
Then, O! may those wha'd seize their lands
Be strung like Haman!
259
An' may red wrath an' indignation
Be poured out on this graceless nation!
May ruin an' black desolation
Sweep owre the land!
While, safe entrenched in domination,
We snugly stand!
Be poured out on this graceless nation!
May ruin an' black desolation
Sweep owre the land!
While, safe entrenched in domination,
We snugly stand!
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