RecitativoWhen lyart leaves bestrow the yird,withered, earthOr, wavering like the baukie bird,batBedim cauld Boreas' blast;When hailstanes drive wi' bitter skyte,glancing strokeAnd infant frosts begin to bite,In hoary cranreuch drest;hoar-frostAe night at e'en a merry coreone, gangO' randie, gangrel bodiesrowdy, vagrantIn Poosie Nansie's held the splore,carousalTo drink their orra duddies.spare ragsWi' quaffing and laughing,They ranted an' they sang;Wi' jumping an' thumpingThe very girdle rang.cake-panFirst, niest the fire, in auld red rags,nextAne sat, weel brac'd wi' mealy bags,An' knapsack a' in order;His doxy lay within his arm;mistressWi' usquebae an blankets warmwhiskyShe blinket on her sodger;leeredAn' aye he gies the tozie drabflushed with drinkThe tither skelpin' kiss,smackingWhile she held up her greedy gab,mouthJust like an aumous dish;almsIlk smack still did crack stillJust like a cadger's whip;hawker'sThen, swaggering an' staggering,He roar'd this ditty up—AirTune:Soldier's JoyI am a son of Mars, who have been in many wars,And show my cuts and scars wherever I come:This here was for a wench, and that other in a trench,When welcoming the French at the sound of the drum,Lal de daudle, &c.My 'prenticeship I past where my leader breath'd his last,When the bloody die was cast on the heights of Abrám;And I serv'd out my trade when the gallant game was play'd,And the Moro low was laid at the sound of the drum.I lastly was with Curtis, among the floating batt'ries,And there I left for witness an arm and a limb:Yet let my country need me, with Elliot to head me,I'd clatter on my stamps at the sound of a drum.And now, tho' I must beg, with a wooden arm and leg,And many a tattered rag hanging over my bum,I'm as happy with my wallet, my bottle, and my callet,trullAs when I used in scarlet to follow a drum.What tho' with hoary locks I must stand the winter shocks,Beneath the woods and rocks oftentimes for a home?When the t'other bag I sell, and the t'other bottle tell,I could meet a troop of hell at the sound of the drum.RecitativoHe ended; and the kebars sheukrafters shookAboon the chorus roar;AboveWhile frighted rattons backward leuk,rats, lookAn' seek the benmost bore.inmost holeA fairy fiddler frae the neuk,nookHe skirled outEncore!shriekedBut up arose the martial chuck,darlingAnd laid the loud uproar.AirTune:Sodger LaddieI once was a maid, tho' I cannot tell when,And still my delight is in proper young men;Some one of a troop of dragoons was my daddie,No wonder I'm fond of a sodger laddie.Sing, Lal de dal, &c.The first of my loves was a swaggering blade,To rattle the thundering drum was his trade;His leg was so tight, and his cheek was so ruddy,Transported I was with my sodger laddie.soldierBut the godly old chaplain left him in a lurch;The sword I forsook for the sake of the church;He risked the soul, and I ventur'd the body,—then I prov'd false to my sodger laddie.Full soon I grew sick of my sanctified sot,The regiment at large for a husband I got;From the gilded spontoon to the fife I was ready,I asked no more but a sodger laddie.But the peace it reduced me to beg in despair,Till I met my old boy at a Cunningham fair;His rags regimental they flutter'd so gaudy,My heart it rejoiced at a sodger laddie.And now I have liv'd—I know not how long,And still I can join in a cup or a song;But whilst with both hands I can hold the glass steady,Here's to thee, my hero, my sodger laddie!RecitativoPoor Merry Andrew in the neukcornerSat guzzling wi' a tinkler hizzie;tinker wenchThey mind't na wha the chorus teuk,tookBetween themselves they were sae busy,At length, wi' drink and courting dizzy,He stoitered up an' made a face;staggeredThen turn'd, an' laid a smack on Grizzy,Syne tun'd his pipes wi' grave grimace.ThenAirTune:Auld Sir SymonSir Wisdom's a fool when he's fou,drunkSir Knave is a fool in a session;courtHe's there but a 'prentice I trow,But I am a fool by profession.My grannie she bought me a beuk,bookAnd I held awa to the school;went offI fear I my talent misteuk,But what will ye hae of a fool?haveFor drink I would venture my neck;A hizzie's the half o' my craft;wenchBut what could ye other expect,Of ane that's avowedly daft?crazyI ance was tied up like a stirk,bullockFor civilly swearing and quaffing;I ance was abused i' the kirk,rebukedFor touzling a lass i' my daffin.rumpling, funPoor Andrew that tumbles for sport,Let naebody name wi' a jeer;There's even, I'm tauld, i' the Court,A tumbler ca'd the Premier.Observ'd ye yon reverend ladMaks faces to tickle the mob?He rails at our mountebank squad—It's rivalship just i' the job!And now my conclusion I'll tell,For faith! I'm confoundedly dry;The chiel that's a fool for himsel',fellowGude Lord! he's far dafter than I.RecitativoThen niest outspak a raucle carlin,next, rough beldamWha kent fu' weel to cleek the sterling.steal, cashFor mony a pursie she had hookit,An' had in mony a well been dookit;duckedHer love had been a Highland laddie,But weary fa' the waefu' Woodie!woe betide, gallowsWi' sighs and sobs, she thus beganTo wail her braw John Highlandman:—AirTune:O An' Ye Were Dead, GuidmanA Highland lad my love was born,The Lalland laws he held in scorn;LowlandBut he still was faithfu' to his clan,My gallant braw John Highlandman.chorusSing hey, my braw John Highlandman!Sing ho, my braw John Highlandman!There's no a lad in a' the lan'Was match for my John Highlandman.With his philibeg an' tartan plaid,kiltAnd gude claymore down by his side,two-handed swordThe ladies' hearts he did trepan,My gallant braw John Highlandman.We ranged a' from Tweed to Spey,And lived like lords and ladies gay;For a Lalland face he feared none,My gallant braw John Highlandman.They banish'd him beyond the sea;But ere the bud was on the tree,Adown my cheeks the pearls ran,Embracing my John Highlandman.But och! they catch'd him at the last,And bound him in a dungeon fast;My curse upon them every one!They've hang'd my braw John Highlandman.And now a widow I must mournThe pleasures that will ne'er return;No comfort but a hearty can,When I think on John Highlandman.RecitativoA pigmy scraper wi' his fiddle,Wha used to trysts an' fairs to driddle,markets, toddleHer strappin' limb an' gawsie middlebuxom(He reach'd nae higher)Had holed his heartie like a riddle,And blawn't on fire.blown itWi' hand on hainch, and upward e'e,hipHe crooned his gamut, one, two, three,Then, in anArio'skey,The wee ApolloSet aff, wi'allegrettoglee,Hisgigsolo.AirTune:Whistle Owre the Lave O'tLet me tyke up to dight that tear,reach, wipeAnd go wi' me an' be my dear,And then your every care an' fearMay whistle owre the lave o't.restchorusI am a fiddler to my trade,An' a' the tunes that e'er I play'd,The sweetest still to wife or maid,WasWhistle Owre the Lave o't.At kirns and weddings we'se be there,harvest-homes, we shallAnd oh! sae nicely's we will fare;We'll house about, till Daddie CareSingWhistle Owre the Lave o't.Sae merrily the banes we'll pyke,pickAn' sun oursels about the dyke,wallAn' at our leisure, when ye like,We'll—whistle owre the lave o't.But bless me wi' your heav'n o' charms,An' while I kittle hair on thairms,tickle, catgutHunger, cauld, and a' sic harms,suchMay whistle owre the lave o't.RecitativoHer charms had struck a sturdy caird,tinkerAs well as poor gut-scraper;He taks the fiddler by the beard,An' draws a roosty rapier—rustyHe swoor, by a' was swearing worth,To spit him like a pliver,ploverUnless he would from that time forthRelinquish her for ever.Wi' ghastly e'e, poor tweedle-deeUpon his hunkers bended,hamsAn' pray'd for grace wi' ruefu' face,An' sae the quarrel ended.But tho' his little heart did grieveWhen round the tinkler prest her,He feign'd to snirtle in his sleeve,sniggerWhen thus the caird address'd her:—AirTune:Clout the CauldronMy bonnie lass, I work in brass,A tinkler is my station;I've travell'd round all Christian groundIn this my occupation;I've ta'en the gold, I've been enroll'dIn many a noble squadron;But vain they search'd when off I march'dTo go an' clout the cauldron.patchDespise that shrimp, that wither'd imp,Wi' a' his noise an' caperin';An' tak a share wi' those that bearThe budget and the apron;tool-bagAnd, by that stoup, my faith an' houp!hopeAnd by that dear Kilbaigie,a kind of whiskyIf e'er ye want, or meet wi' scant,dearthMay I ne'er weet my craigie.wet, throatRecitativoThe caird prevail'd—th' unblushing fairIn his embraces sunk,Partly wi' love o'ercome sae sair,so sorelyAn' partly she was drunk.Sir Violino, with an airThat show'd a man o' spunk,spiritWish'd unison between the pair,An' made the bottle clunkTo their health that night.But hurchin Cupid shot a shafturchinThat play'd a dame a shavie;trickThe fiddler rak'd her fore and aft,Behint the chicken cavie.hencoopHer lord, a wight of Homer's craft,Tho' limpin' wi' the spavie,spavinHe hirpl'd up, an' lap like daft,hobbled, leaptAnd shor'd themDainty Davieyielded them as loversO' boot that night.gratisHe was a care-defying bladeAs ever Bacchus listed;enlistedTho' Fortune sair upon him laid,His heart she ever miss'd it.He had nae wish, but—to be glad,Nor want but—when he thirsted;He hated nought but—to be sad,And thus the Muse suggestedHis sang that night.AirTune:For A' That, An' A' ThatI am a bard of no regardWi' gentlefolks, and a' that;But Homer-like, the glowrin' byke,staring crowdFrae town to town I draw that.chorusFor a' that, an' a' that,And twice as muckle's a' that;muchI've lost but ane, I've twa behin',I've wife eneugh for a' that.I never drank the Muses' stank,pondCastalia's burn, an' a' that;But there it streams, an' richly reams!foamsMy Helicon I ca' that.Great love I bear to a' the fair,Their humble slave, an' a' that;But lordly will, I hold it stillA mortal sin to thraw that.thwartIn raptures sweet this hour we meetWi' mutual love, an' a' that;But for how lang the flee may stang,fly, stingLet inclination law that.regulateTheir tricks and craft hae put me daft,crazyThey've ta'en me in, an' a' that;But clear your decks, an'Here's the sex!I like the jads for a' that.jadesFor a' that, and a' that,And twice as muckle's a' that,My dearest bluid, to do them guid,They're welcome till't, for a' that.to itRecitativoSo sung the bard—and Nansie's wa'swallsShook with a thunder of applause,Re-echo'd from each mouth;They toom'd their pocks, an' pawn'd their duds.emptied, pokes, ragsThey scarcely left to co'er their fads,cover, tailsTo quench their lowin' drouth.flamingThen owre again the jovial thrangover, crowdThe poet did requestTo lowse his pack, an' wale a sang,untie, chooseA ballad o' the best;He rising, rejoicing,Between his twa Deborahs,Looks round him, an' found themImpatient for the chorus.AirTune:Jolly Mortals, Fill Your GlassesSee the smoking bowl before us,Mark our jovial ragged ring;Round and round take up the chorus,And in raptures let us sing:chorusA fig for those by law protected!Liberty's a glorious feast!Courts for cowards were erected,Churches built to please the priest.What is title? what is treasure?What is reputation's care?If we lead a life of pleasure,'Tis no matter how or where!With the ready trick and fable,Round we wander all the day;And at night, in barn or stable,Hug our doxies on the hay.mistressesDoes the train-attended carriageThro' the country lighter rove?Does the sober bed of marriageWitness brighter scenes of love?Life is all a variorum,We regard not how it goes;Let them cant about decorumWho have characters to lose.Here's to budgets, bags, and wallets!Here's to all the wandering train!Here's our ragged brats and callets!wenchesOne and all cry outAmen!
Recitativo
Recitativo
When lyart leaves bestrow the yird,withered, earthOr, wavering like the baukie bird,batBedim cauld Boreas' blast;When hailstanes drive wi' bitter skyte,glancing strokeAnd infant frosts begin to bite,In hoary cranreuch drest;hoar-frostAe night at e'en a merry coreone, gangO' randie, gangrel bodiesrowdy, vagrantIn Poosie Nansie's held the splore,carousalTo drink their orra duddies.spare ragsWi' quaffing and laughing,They ranted an' they sang;Wi' jumping an' thumpingThe very girdle rang.cake-pan
When lyart leaves bestrow the yird,withered, earth
Or, wavering like the baukie bird,bat
Bedim cauld Boreas' blast;
When hailstanes drive wi' bitter skyte,glancing stroke
And infant frosts begin to bite,
In hoary cranreuch drest;hoar-frost
Ae night at e'en a merry coreone, gang
O' randie, gangrel bodiesrowdy, vagrant
In Poosie Nansie's held the splore,carousal
To drink their orra duddies.spare rags
Wi' quaffing and laughing,
They ranted an' they sang;
Wi' jumping an' thumping
The very girdle rang.cake-pan
First, niest the fire, in auld red rags,nextAne sat, weel brac'd wi' mealy bags,An' knapsack a' in order;His doxy lay within his arm;mistressWi' usquebae an blankets warmwhiskyShe blinket on her sodger;leeredAn' aye he gies the tozie drabflushed with drinkThe tither skelpin' kiss,smackingWhile she held up her greedy gab,mouthJust like an aumous dish;almsIlk smack still did crack stillJust like a cadger's whip;hawker'sThen, swaggering an' staggering,He roar'd this ditty up—
First, niest the fire, in auld red rags,next
Ane sat, weel brac'd wi' mealy bags,
An' knapsack a' in order;
His doxy lay within his arm;mistress
Wi' usquebae an blankets warmwhisky
She blinket on her sodger;leered
An' aye he gies the tozie drabflushed with drink
The tither skelpin' kiss,smacking
While she held up her greedy gab,mouth
Just like an aumous dish;alms
Ilk smack still did crack still
Just like a cadger's whip;hawker's
Then, swaggering an' staggering,
He roar'd this ditty up—
AirTune:Soldier's Joy
Air
Tune:Soldier's Joy
I am a son of Mars, who have been in many wars,And show my cuts and scars wherever I come:This here was for a wench, and that other in a trench,When welcoming the French at the sound of the drum,Lal de daudle, &c.
I am a son of Mars, who have been in many wars,
And show my cuts and scars wherever I come:
This here was for a wench, and that other in a trench,
When welcoming the French at the sound of the drum,
Lal de daudle, &c.
My 'prenticeship I past where my leader breath'd his last,When the bloody die was cast on the heights of Abrám;And I serv'd out my trade when the gallant game was play'd,And the Moro low was laid at the sound of the drum.
My 'prenticeship I past where my leader breath'd his last,
When the bloody die was cast on the heights of Abrám;
And I serv'd out my trade when the gallant game was play'd,
And the Moro low was laid at the sound of the drum.
I lastly was with Curtis, among the floating batt'ries,And there I left for witness an arm and a limb:Yet let my country need me, with Elliot to head me,I'd clatter on my stamps at the sound of a drum.
I lastly was with Curtis, among the floating batt'ries,
And there I left for witness an arm and a limb:
Yet let my country need me, with Elliot to head me,
I'd clatter on my stamps at the sound of a drum.
And now, tho' I must beg, with a wooden arm and leg,And many a tattered rag hanging over my bum,I'm as happy with my wallet, my bottle, and my callet,trullAs when I used in scarlet to follow a drum.
And now, tho' I must beg, with a wooden arm and leg,
And many a tattered rag hanging over my bum,
I'm as happy with my wallet, my bottle, and my callet,trull
As when I used in scarlet to follow a drum.
What tho' with hoary locks I must stand the winter shocks,Beneath the woods and rocks oftentimes for a home?When the t'other bag I sell, and the t'other bottle tell,I could meet a troop of hell at the sound of the drum.
What tho' with hoary locks I must stand the winter shocks,
Beneath the woods and rocks oftentimes for a home?
When the t'other bag I sell, and the t'other bottle tell,
I could meet a troop of hell at the sound of the drum.
Recitativo
Recitativo
He ended; and the kebars sheukrafters shookAboon the chorus roar;AboveWhile frighted rattons backward leuk,rats, lookAn' seek the benmost bore.inmost holeA fairy fiddler frae the neuk,nookHe skirled outEncore!shriekedBut up arose the martial chuck,darlingAnd laid the loud uproar.
He ended; and the kebars sheukrafters shook
Aboon the chorus roar;Above
While frighted rattons backward leuk,rats, look
An' seek the benmost bore.inmost hole
A fairy fiddler frae the neuk,nook
He skirled outEncore!shrieked
But up arose the martial chuck,darling
And laid the loud uproar.
AirTune:Sodger Laddie
Air
Tune:Sodger Laddie
I once was a maid, tho' I cannot tell when,And still my delight is in proper young men;Some one of a troop of dragoons was my daddie,No wonder I'm fond of a sodger laddie.Sing, Lal de dal, &c.
I once was a maid, tho' I cannot tell when,
And still my delight is in proper young men;
Some one of a troop of dragoons was my daddie,
No wonder I'm fond of a sodger laddie.
Sing, Lal de dal, &c.
The first of my loves was a swaggering blade,To rattle the thundering drum was his trade;His leg was so tight, and his cheek was so ruddy,Transported I was with my sodger laddie.soldier
The first of my loves was a swaggering blade,
To rattle the thundering drum was his trade;
His leg was so tight, and his cheek was so ruddy,
Transported I was with my sodger laddie.soldier
But the godly old chaplain left him in a lurch;The sword I forsook for the sake of the church;He risked the soul, and I ventur'd the body,—then I prov'd false to my sodger laddie.
But the godly old chaplain left him in a lurch;
The sword I forsook for the sake of the church;
He risked the soul, and I ventur'd the body,—
then I prov'd false to my sodger laddie.
Full soon I grew sick of my sanctified sot,The regiment at large for a husband I got;From the gilded spontoon to the fife I was ready,I asked no more but a sodger laddie.
Full soon I grew sick of my sanctified sot,
The regiment at large for a husband I got;
From the gilded spontoon to the fife I was ready,
I asked no more but a sodger laddie.
But the peace it reduced me to beg in despair,Till I met my old boy at a Cunningham fair;His rags regimental they flutter'd so gaudy,My heart it rejoiced at a sodger laddie.
But the peace it reduced me to beg in despair,
Till I met my old boy at a Cunningham fair;
His rags regimental they flutter'd so gaudy,
My heart it rejoiced at a sodger laddie.
And now I have liv'd—I know not how long,And still I can join in a cup or a song;But whilst with both hands I can hold the glass steady,Here's to thee, my hero, my sodger laddie!
And now I have liv'd—I know not how long,
And still I can join in a cup or a song;
But whilst with both hands I can hold the glass steady,
Here's to thee, my hero, my sodger laddie!
Recitativo
Recitativo
Poor Merry Andrew in the neukcornerSat guzzling wi' a tinkler hizzie;tinker wenchThey mind't na wha the chorus teuk,tookBetween themselves they were sae busy,At length, wi' drink and courting dizzy,He stoitered up an' made a face;staggeredThen turn'd, an' laid a smack on Grizzy,Syne tun'd his pipes wi' grave grimace.Then
Poor Merry Andrew in the neukcorner
Sat guzzling wi' a tinkler hizzie;tinker wench
They mind't na wha the chorus teuk,took
Between themselves they were sae busy,
At length, wi' drink and courting dizzy,
He stoitered up an' made a face;staggered
Then turn'd, an' laid a smack on Grizzy,
Syne tun'd his pipes wi' grave grimace.Then
AirTune:Auld Sir Symon
Air
Tune:Auld Sir Symon
Sir Wisdom's a fool when he's fou,drunkSir Knave is a fool in a session;courtHe's there but a 'prentice I trow,But I am a fool by profession.
Sir Wisdom's a fool when he's fou,drunk
Sir Knave is a fool in a session;court
He's there but a 'prentice I trow,
But I am a fool by profession.
My grannie she bought me a beuk,bookAnd I held awa to the school;went offI fear I my talent misteuk,But what will ye hae of a fool?have
My grannie she bought me a beuk,book
And I held awa to the school;went off
I fear I my talent misteuk,
But what will ye hae of a fool?have
For drink I would venture my neck;A hizzie's the half o' my craft;wenchBut what could ye other expect,Of ane that's avowedly daft?crazy
For drink I would venture my neck;
A hizzie's the half o' my craft;wench
But what could ye other expect,
Of ane that's avowedly daft?crazy
I ance was tied up like a stirk,bullockFor civilly swearing and quaffing;I ance was abused i' the kirk,rebukedFor touzling a lass i' my daffin.rumpling, fun
I ance was tied up like a stirk,bullock
For civilly swearing and quaffing;
I ance was abused i' the kirk,rebuked
For touzling a lass i' my daffin.rumpling, fun
Poor Andrew that tumbles for sport,Let naebody name wi' a jeer;There's even, I'm tauld, i' the Court,A tumbler ca'd the Premier.
Poor Andrew that tumbles for sport,
Let naebody name wi' a jeer;
There's even, I'm tauld, i' the Court,
A tumbler ca'd the Premier.
Observ'd ye yon reverend ladMaks faces to tickle the mob?He rails at our mountebank squad—It's rivalship just i' the job!
Observ'd ye yon reverend lad
Maks faces to tickle the mob?
He rails at our mountebank squad—
It's rivalship just i' the job!
And now my conclusion I'll tell,For faith! I'm confoundedly dry;The chiel that's a fool for himsel',fellowGude Lord! he's far dafter than I.
And now my conclusion I'll tell,
For faith! I'm confoundedly dry;
The chiel that's a fool for himsel',fellow
Gude Lord! he's far dafter than I.
Recitativo
Recitativo
Then niest outspak a raucle carlin,next, rough beldamWha kent fu' weel to cleek the sterling.steal, cashFor mony a pursie she had hookit,An' had in mony a well been dookit;duckedHer love had been a Highland laddie,But weary fa' the waefu' Woodie!woe betide, gallowsWi' sighs and sobs, she thus beganTo wail her braw John Highlandman:—
Then niest outspak a raucle carlin,next, rough beldam
Wha kent fu' weel to cleek the sterling.steal, cash
For mony a pursie she had hookit,
An' had in mony a well been dookit;ducked
Her love had been a Highland laddie,
But weary fa' the waefu' Woodie!woe betide, gallows
Wi' sighs and sobs, she thus began
To wail her braw John Highlandman:—
AirTune:O An' Ye Were Dead, Guidman
Air
Tune:O An' Ye Were Dead, Guidman
A Highland lad my love was born,The Lalland laws he held in scorn;LowlandBut he still was faithfu' to his clan,My gallant braw John Highlandman.
A Highland lad my love was born,
The Lalland laws he held in scorn;Lowland
But he still was faithfu' to his clan,
My gallant braw John Highlandman.
chorus
chorus
Sing hey, my braw John Highlandman!Sing ho, my braw John Highlandman!There's no a lad in a' the lan'Was match for my John Highlandman.
Sing hey, my braw John Highlandman!
Sing ho, my braw John Highlandman!
There's no a lad in a' the lan'
Was match for my John Highlandman.
With his philibeg an' tartan plaid,kiltAnd gude claymore down by his side,two-handed swordThe ladies' hearts he did trepan,My gallant braw John Highlandman.
With his philibeg an' tartan plaid,kilt
And gude claymore down by his side,two-handed sword
The ladies' hearts he did trepan,
My gallant braw John Highlandman.
We ranged a' from Tweed to Spey,And lived like lords and ladies gay;For a Lalland face he feared none,My gallant braw John Highlandman.
We ranged a' from Tweed to Spey,
And lived like lords and ladies gay;
For a Lalland face he feared none,
My gallant braw John Highlandman.
They banish'd him beyond the sea;But ere the bud was on the tree,Adown my cheeks the pearls ran,Embracing my John Highlandman.
They banish'd him beyond the sea;
But ere the bud was on the tree,
Adown my cheeks the pearls ran,
Embracing my John Highlandman.
But och! they catch'd him at the last,And bound him in a dungeon fast;My curse upon them every one!They've hang'd my braw John Highlandman.
But och! they catch'd him at the last,
And bound him in a dungeon fast;
My curse upon them every one!
They've hang'd my braw John Highlandman.
And now a widow I must mournThe pleasures that will ne'er return;No comfort but a hearty can,When I think on John Highlandman.
And now a widow I must mourn
The pleasures that will ne'er return;
No comfort but a hearty can,
When I think on John Highlandman.
Recitativo
Recitativo
A pigmy scraper wi' his fiddle,Wha used to trysts an' fairs to driddle,markets, toddleHer strappin' limb an' gawsie middlebuxom(He reach'd nae higher)Had holed his heartie like a riddle,And blawn't on fire.blown it
A pigmy scraper wi' his fiddle,
Wha used to trysts an' fairs to driddle,markets, toddle
Her strappin' limb an' gawsie middlebuxom
(He reach'd nae higher)
Had holed his heartie like a riddle,
And blawn't on fire.blown it
Wi' hand on hainch, and upward e'e,hipHe crooned his gamut, one, two, three,Then, in anArio'skey,The wee ApolloSet aff, wi'allegrettoglee,Hisgigsolo.
Wi' hand on hainch, and upward e'e,hip
He crooned his gamut, one, two, three,
Then, in anArio'skey,
The wee Apollo
Set aff, wi'allegrettoglee,
Hisgigsolo.
AirTune:Whistle Owre the Lave O't
Air
Tune:Whistle Owre the Lave O't
Let me tyke up to dight that tear,reach, wipeAnd go wi' me an' be my dear,And then your every care an' fearMay whistle owre the lave o't.rest
Let me tyke up to dight that tear,reach, wipe
And go wi' me an' be my dear,
And then your every care an' fear
May whistle owre the lave o't.rest
chorus
chorus
I am a fiddler to my trade,An' a' the tunes that e'er I play'd,The sweetest still to wife or maid,WasWhistle Owre the Lave o't.
I am a fiddler to my trade,
An' a' the tunes that e'er I play'd,
The sweetest still to wife or maid,
WasWhistle Owre the Lave o't.
At kirns and weddings we'se be there,harvest-homes, we shallAnd oh! sae nicely's we will fare;We'll house about, till Daddie CareSingWhistle Owre the Lave o't.
At kirns and weddings we'se be there,harvest-homes, we shall
And oh! sae nicely's we will fare;
We'll house about, till Daddie Care
SingWhistle Owre the Lave o't.
Sae merrily the banes we'll pyke,pickAn' sun oursels about the dyke,wallAn' at our leisure, when ye like,We'll—whistle owre the lave o't.
Sae merrily the banes we'll pyke,pick
An' sun oursels about the dyke,wall
An' at our leisure, when ye like,
We'll—whistle owre the lave o't.
But bless me wi' your heav'n o' charms,An' while I kittle hair on thairms,tickle, catgutHunger, cauld, and a' sic harms,suchMay whistle owre the lave o't.
But bless me wi' your heav'n o' charms,
An' while I kittle hair on thairms,tickle, catgut
Hunger, cauld, and a' sic harms,such
May whistle owre the lave o't.
Recitativo
Recitativo
Her charms had struck a sturdy caird,tinkerAs well as poor gut-scraper;He taks the fiddler by the beard,An' draws a roosty rapier—rustyHe swoor, by a' was swearing worth,To spit him like a pliver,ploverUnless he would from that time forthRelinquish her for ever.
Her charms had struck a sturdy caird,tinker
As well as poor gut-scraper;
He taks the fiddler by the beard,
An' draws a roosty rapier—rusty
He swoor, by a' was swearing worth,
To spit him like a pliver,plover
Unless he would from that time forth
Relinquish her for ever.
Wi' ghastly e'e, poor tweedle-deeUpon his hunkers bended,hamsAn' pray'd for grace wi' ruefu' face,An' sae the quarrel ended.But tho' his little heart did grieveWhen round the tinkler prest her,He feign'd to snirtle in his sleeve,sniggerWhen thus the caird address'd her:—
Wi' ghastly e'e, poor tweedle-dee
Upon his hunkers bended,hams
An' pray'd for grace wi' ruefu' face,
An' sae the quarrel ended.
But tho' his little heart did grieve
When round the tinkler prest her,
He feign'd to snirtle in his sleeve,snigger
When thus the caird address'd her:—
AirTune:Clout the Cauldron
Air
Tune:Clout the Cauldron
My bonnie lass, I work in brass,A tinkler is my station;I've travell'd round all Christian groundIn this my occupation;I've ta'en the gold, I've been enroll'dIn many a noble squadron;But vain they search'd when off I march'dTo go an' clout the cauldron.patch
My bonnie lass, I work in brass,
A tinkler is my station;
I've travell'd round all Christian ground
In this my occupation;
I've ta'en the gold, I've been enroll'd
In many a noble squadron;
But vain they search'd when off I march'd
To go an' clout the cauldron.patch
Despise that shrimp, that wither'd imp,Wi' a' his noise an' caperin';An' tak a share wi' those that bearThe budget and the apron;tool-bagAnd, by that stoup, my faith an' houp!hopeAnd by that dear Kilbaigie,a kind of whiskyIf e'er ye want, or meet wi' scant,dearthMay I ne'er weet my craigie.wet, throat
Despise that shrimp, that wither'd imp,
Wi' a' his noise an' caperin';
An' tak a share wi' those that bear
The budget and the apron;tool-bag
And, by that stoup, my faith an' houp!hope
And by that dear Kilbaigie,a kind of whisky
If e'er ye want, or meet wi' scant,dearth
May I ne'er weet my craigie.wet, throat
Recitativo
Recitativo
The caird prevail'd—th' unblushing fairIn his embraces sunk,Partly wi' love o'ercome sae sair,so sorelyAn' partly she was drunk.Sir Violino, with an airThat show'd a man o' spunk,spiritWish'd unison between the pair,An' made the bottle clunkTo their health that night.
The caird prevail'd—th' unblushing fair
In his embraces sunk,
Partly wi' love o'ercome sae sair,so sorely
An' partly she was drunk.
Sir Violino, with an air
That show'd a man o' spunk,spirit
Wish'd unison between the pair,
An' made the bottle clunk
To their health that night.
But hurchin Cupid shot a shafturchinThat play'd a dame a shavie;trickThe fiddler rak'd her fore and aft,Behint the chicken cavie.hencoopHer lord, a wight of Homer's craft,Tho' limpin' wi' the spavie,spavinHe hirpl'd up, an' lap like daft,hobbled, leaptAnd shor'd themDainty Davieyielded them as loversO' boot that night.gratis
But hurchin Cupid shot a shafturchin
That play'd a dame a shavie;trick
The fiddler rak'd her fore and aft,
Behint the chicken cavie.hencoop
Her lord, a wight of Homer's craft,
Tho' limpin' wi' the spavie,spavin
He hirpl'd up, an' lap like daft,hobbled, leapt
And shor'd themDainty Davieyielded them as lovers
O' boot that night.gratis
He was a care-defying bladeAs ever Bacchus listed;enlistedTho' Fortune sair upon him laid,His heart she ever miss'd it.He had nae wish, but—to be glad,Nor want but—when he thirsted;He hated nought but—to be sad,And thus the Muse suggestedHis sang that night.
He was a care-defying blade
As ever Bacchus listed;enlisted
Tho' Fortune sair upon him laid,
His heart she ever miss'd it.
He had nae wish, but—to be glad,
Nor want but—when he thirsted;
He hated nought but—to be sad,
And thus the Muse suggested
His sang that night.
AirTune:For A' That, An' A' That
Air
Tune:For A' That, An' A' That
I am a bard of no regardWi' gentlefolks, and a' that;But Homer-like, the glowrin' byke,staring crowdFrae town to town I draw that.
I am a bard of no regard
Wi' gentlefolks, and a' that;
But Homer-like, the glowrin' byke,staring crowd
Frae town to town I draw that.
chorus
chorus
For a' that, an' a' that,And twice as muckle's a' that;muchI've lost but ane, I've twa behin',I've wife eneugh for a' that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
And twice as muckle's a' that;much
I've lost but ane, I've twa behin',
I've wife eneugh for a' that.
I never drank the Muses' stank,pondCastalia's burn, an' a' that;But there it streams, an' richly reams!foamsMy Helicon I ca' that.
I never drank the Muses' stank,pond
Castalia's burn, an' a' that;
But there it streams, an' richly reams!foams
My Helicon I ca' that.
Great love I bear to a' the fair,Their humble slave, an' a' that;But lordly will, I hold it stillA mortal sin to thraw that.thwart
Great love I bear to a' the fair,
Their humble slave, an' a' that;
But lordly will, I hold it still
A mortal sin to thraw that.thwart
In raptures sweet this hour we meetWi' mutual love, an' a' that;But for how lang the flee may stang,fly, stingLet inclination law that.regulate
In raptures sweet this hour we meet
Wi' mutual love, an' a' that;
But for how lang the flee may stang,fly, sting
Let inclination law that.regulate
Their tricks and craft hae put me daft,crazyThey've ta'en me in, an' a' that;But clear your decks, an'Here's the sex!I like the jads for a' that.jades
Their tricks and craft hae put me daft,crazy
They've ta'en me in, an' a' that;
But clear your decks, an'Here's the sex!
I like the jads for a' that.jades
For a' that, and a' that,And twice as muckle's a' that,My dearest bluid, to do them guid,They're welcome till't, for a' that.to it
For a' that, and a' that,
And twice as muckle's a' that,
My dearest bluid, to do them guid,
They're welcome till't, for a' that.to it
Recitativo
Recitativo
So sung the bard—and Nansie's wa'swallsShook with a thunder of applause,Re-echo'd from each mouth;They toom'd their pocks, an' pawn'd their duds.emptied, pokes, ragsThey scarcely left to co'er their fads,cover, tailsTo quench their lowin' drouth.flamingThen owre again the jovial thrangover, crowdThe poet did requestTo lowse his pack, an' wale a sang,untie, chooseA ballad o' the best;He rising, rejoicing,Between his twa Deborahs,Looks round him, an' found themImpatient for the chorus.
So sung the bard—and Nansie's wa'swalls
Shook with a thunder of applause,
Re-echo'd from each mouth;
They toom'd their pocks, an' pawn'd their duds.emptied, pokes, rags
They scarcely left to co'er their fads,cover, tails
To quench their lowin' drouth.flaming
Then owre again the jovial thrangover, crowd
The poet did request
To lowse his pack, an' wale a sang,untie, choose
A ballad o' the best;
He rising, rejoicing,
Between his twa Deborahs,
Looks round him, an' found them
Impatient for the chorus.
AirTune:Jolly Mortals, Fill Your Glasses
Air
Tune:Jolly Mortals, Fill Your Glasses
See the smoking bowl before us,Mark our jovial ragged ring;Round and round take up the chorus,And in raptures let us sing:
See the smoking bowl before us,
Mark our jovial ragged ring;
Round and round take up the chorus,
And in raptures let us sing:
chorus
chorus
A fig for those by law protected!Liberty's a glorious feast!Courts for cowards were erected,Churches built to please the priest.
A fig for those by law protected!
Liberty's a glorious feast!
Courts for cowards were erected,
Churches built to please the priest.
What is title? what is treasure?What is reputation's care?If we lead a life of pleasure,'Tis no matter how or where!
What is title? what is treasure?
What is reputation's care?
If we lead a life of pleasure,
'Tis no matter how or where!
With the ready trick and fable,Round we wander all the day;And at night, in barn or stable,Hug our doxies on the hay.mistresses
With the ready trick and fable,
Round we wander all the day;
And at night, in barn or stable,
Hug our doxies on the hay.mistresses
Does the train-attended carriageThro' the country lighter rove?Does the sober bed of marriageWitness brighter scenes of love?
Does the train-attended carriage
Thro' the country lighter rove?
Does the sober bed of marriage
Witness brighter scenes of love?
Life is all a variorum,We regard not how it goes;Let them cant about decorumWho have characters to lose.
Life is all a variorum,
We regard not how it goes;
Let them cant about decorum
Who have characters to lose.
Here's to budgets, bags, and wallets!Here's to all the wandering train!Here's our ragged brats and callets!wenchesOne and all cry outAmen!
Here's to budgets, bags, and wallets!
Here's to all the wandering train!
Here's our ragged brats and callets!wenches
One and all cry outAmen!
The materials for rebuilding Burns's world are not confined to his explicitly descriptive poems. Much can be gathered from the songs and satires, and there are important contributions in his too scanty essays in narrative. Of these last by far the most valuable isTam o' Shanter. The poem originated accidentally in the request of a certain Captain Grose for local legends to enrich a descriptive work which he was compiling. In Burns's correspondence will be found a prose account of the tradition on which the poem is founded, and he is supposed to have derived hints for the relations of Tam and his spouse from a couple he knew at Kirkoswald.
It was a happy inspiration that led him to turn the story into verse, for it revealed a capacity which otherwise we could hardly have guessed him to possess. The vigor and rapidity of the action, the vivid sketching of the background, the pregnant characterization, the drollery of the humor give this piece a high place among stories in verse, and lead us to conjecture that, had he followed this vein instead of devoting his later years to the service of Johnson and Thomson, he might have won a place beside the author of theCanterbury Tales. He lacked, to be sure, Chaucer's breadth of experience and richness of culture: being far less a man of the world he would never have attained the air of breeding that distinguishes the English poet: but with most of the essential qualities that charm us in Chaucer's stories he was well equipped. He had the observant eye, the power of selection, command of the telling phrase and happy epithet, the sense of the comic and the pathetic. Beyond Chaucer he hadpassion and the power of rendering it, so that he might have reached greater tragic depth, as he surpassed him in lyric intensity.
As it is, however, Chaucer stands alone as a story-teller, forTam o' Shanteris with Burns an isolated achievement. There are three distinct elements in the work—narrative, descriptive, and reflective. The first can hardly be overpraised. We are made to feel the reluctance of the hero to abandon the genial inn fireside, with its warmth and uncritical companionship, for the bitter ride with a sulky sullen dame at the end of it; the rage of the thunderstorm, as with lowered head and fast-held bonnet the horseman plunges through it; the growing sense of terror as, past scene after scene of ancient horror, he approaches the ill-famed ruin. Then suddenly the mood changes. Emboldened by his potations, Tam faces the astounding infernal revelry with unabashed curiosity, which rises and rises till, in a pitch of enthusiastic admiration for Cutty-Sark, he loses all discretion and brings the “hellish legion” after him pell-mell. We reach the serio-comic catastrophe breathless but exhilarated.
The descriptive background of this gallopingadventure is skilfully indicated. Each scene—the ale-house, the storm, the lighted church, the witches' dance—is sketched in a dozen lines, every stroke distinct and telling. Even the three lines indicating what waits the hero at home is an adequate picture. Though incidental, these vignettes add substantially to what the descriptive poems have told us of the environment, real and imaginative, in which the poet had been reared.
The value of the reflective element is more mixed. The most quoted passage, that beginning
“But pleasures are like poppies spread,”
“But pleasures are like poppies spread,”
“But pleasures are like poppies spread,”
can only be regretted. With its literacy similes, its English, its artificial diction, it is a patch of cheap silk upon honest homespun. But the other pieces of interspersed comment are all admirable. The ironic apostrophes—to Tam for neglecting his wife's warnings; to shrewish wives, consoling them for their husband's deafness to advice; to John Barleycorn, on the transient courage he inspires; to Tam again, when tragedy seems imminent—are all in perfect tone, and do much to add the element of drollery that mixes so delightfully with the weirdness of the scene. And like the other elements in the poem they are commendably short, for Burns nearly always fulfills Bagehot's requirement that poetry should be “memorable and emphatic, intense, andsoon over.”
Of Brownyis and of Bogillis full is this Buke.Garvin Douglas.
Of Brownyis and of Bogillis full is this Buke.
Garvin Douglas.
When chapman billies leave the street,pedlar fellowsAnd drouthy neibors neibors meet,thirstyAs market-days are wearing late,An' folk begin to tak the gate;roadWhile we sit bousing at the nappy,aleAn' getting fou and unco happy,full, mightyWe think na on the lang Scots miles,The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles,bogs, gapsThat lie between us and our hame,Where sits our sulky sullen dame,Gathering her brows like gathering storm,Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter,foundAs he frae Ayr ae night did canter—one(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpassesFor honest men and bonnie lasses).O Tam! hadst thou but been sae wiseAs ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice!She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum,told, good-for-nothingA bletherin', blusterin', drunken blellum;chattering, babblerThat frae November till October,Ae market-day thou was na sober;OneThat ilka melder wi' the millerevery meal-grindingThou sat as lang as thou had siller;moneyThat every naig was ca'd a shoe on,nagThe smith and thee gat roarin' fou on;That at the Lord's house, even on Sunday,Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday.She prophesied that, late or soon,Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon;Or catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirkwizards, darkBy Alloway's auld haunted kirk.Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greetmakes, weepTo think how many counsels sweet,How mony lengthen'd sage advices,The husband frae the wife despises!But to our tale: Ae market night,Tam had got planted unco right,uncommonlyFast by an ingle, bleezing finely,fireside, blazingWi' reaming swats, that drank divinely;foaming aleAnd at his elbow, Souter Johnny,CobblerHis ancient, trusty, drouthy crony;Tam lo'ed him like a very brither;lovedThey had been fou for weeks thegither.The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter,And aye the ale was growing better;The landlady and Tam grew gracious,Wi' favours secret, sweet, and precious;The souter tauld his queerest stories;The landlord's laugh was ready chorus;The storm without might rair and rustle,roarTam did na mind the storm a whistle.Care, mad to see a man sae happy,E'en drown'd himsel amang the nappy.As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure,loadsThe minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure;Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious,O'er a' the ills o' life victorious!But pleasures are like poppies spread—You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed;Or like the snow falls in the river—A moment white, then melts for ever;Or like the borealis race,That flit ere you can point their place;Or like the rainbow's lovely formEvanishing amid the storm.Nae man can tether time nor tide;The hour approaches Tam maun ride;That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane,That dreary hour, he mounts his beast in;And sic a night he taks the road in;suchAs ne'er poor sinner was abroad in.The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last;The rattling show'rs rose on the blast;The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd;Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bellow'd:That night, a child might understand,The Deil had business on his hand.Weel mounted on his gray mare, Meg,A better never lifted leg,Tam skelpit on thro' dub and mire,spanked, puddleDespising wind, and rain, and fire;Whiles holding fast his gude blue bonnet;Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet;songWhiles glow'ring round wi' prudent cares,staringLest bogles catch him unawares,goblinsKirk-Alloway was drawing nigh,Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry.ghosts, owlsBy this time he was cross the ford,Where in the snaw the chapman smoor'd;smotheredAnd past the birks and meikle stane,birches, bigWhere drunken Charlie brak's neck-bane;And thro' the whins, and by the cairn,gorse, pile of stonesWhere hunters fand the murder'd bairn;foundAnd near the thorn, aboon the well,Where Mungo's mither hang'd hersel,Before him Doon pours all his floods;The doubling storm roars thro' the woods;The lightnings flash from pole to pole;Near and more near the thunders roll;When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees,Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze;blazeThro' ilka bore the beams were glancing;chinkAnd loud resounded mirth and dancing.Inspiring bold John Barleycorn!What dangers thou canst make us scorn?Wi tippenny, we fear nae evil;aleWi' usquebae, we'll face the devil!whiskyThe swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle,aleFair play, he car'd na deils a boddle!farthingBut Maggie stood right sair astonish'd,Till by the heel and hand admonish'd,She ventur'd forward on the light;And, vow! Tam saw an unco sight!strangeWarlocks and witches in a dance!Nae cotillon brent new frae France,brandBut hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels,Put life and mettle in their heels.A winnock-bunker in the east,window-seatThere sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast—A touzie tyke, black, grim, and large!shaggy dogTo gie them music was his charge:He screw'd the pipes and gart them skirl.squealTill roof and rafters a' did dirl.ringCoffins stood round like open presses,That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses;And by some devilish cantraip sleightmagic trickEach in its cauld hand held a light,By which heroic Tam was ableTo note upon the haly tableholyA murderer's banes in gibbet-airns;-ironsTwa span-lang, wee, unchristen'd bairns;A thief new-cutted frae the rape—Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape;Five tomahawks, wi' blude red rusted;Five scymitars, wi' murder crusted;A garter, which a babe had strangled;A knife, a father's throat had mangled,Whom his ain son o' life bereft—The gray hairs yet stack to the heft;Wi' mair of horrible and awfu',Which even to name wad be unlawfu'.As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd, and curious,The mirth and fun grew fast and furious;The piper loud and louder blew;The dancers quick and quicker flew;They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit,linkedTill ilka, carlin swat and reekit,beldam, steamedAnd coost her duddies to the wark,cast, rags, workAnd linkit at it in her sark!tripped deftly, chemiseNow Tam, O Tam! had thae been queans,those, girlsA' plump and strapping in their teens;Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen,greasy flannelBeen snaw-white seventeen hunder linen![21]Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair,These trousersThat ance were plush, o' gude blue hair,I wad hae gi'en them off my hurdies,buttocksFor ae blink o' the bonnie burdies!maidensBut wither'd beldams, auld and droll,Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal,Withered (?), weanLouping and flinging on a crummock,Leaping, cudgelI wonder didna turn thy stomach.But Tam kent what was what fu' brawlie:full wellThere was ae winsome wench and waliechoiceThat night enlisted in the core,Lang after kent on Carrick shore!(For mony a beast to dead she shot,deathAnd perish'd mony a bonnie boat,And shook baith meikle corn and bear,barleyAnd kept the country-side in fear.)Her cutty sark, o' Paisley harn,short-shift, coarse linenThat while a lassie she had worn,In longitude tho' sorely scanty,It was her best, and she was vauntie.proudAh! little kent thy reverend grannieThat sark she coft for her wee NannieboughtWi' twa pund Scots ('twas a' her riches)poundsWad ever grac'd a dance of witches!But here my muse her wing maun cour;stoopSic flights are far beyond her pow'r—To sing how Nannie lap and flang,leapt, kicked(A souple jade she was, and strang);And how Tam stood, like ane bewitch'd,And thought his very een enrich'd;Even Satan glowr'd, and fidg'd fu' fain,fidgeted with fondnessAnd hotch'd and blew wi' might and main:jerkedTill first ae caper, syne anither,thenTam tint his reason a' thegither,lostAnd roars out ‘Weel done, Cutty-sark!’Short-shiftAnd in an instant all was dark!And scarcely had he Maggie rallied,When out the hellish legion sallied.As bees bizz out wi' angry fykefretWhen plundering herds assail their byke,herd-boys, nestAs open pussie's mortal foesthe hare'sWhen pop! she starts before their nose,As eager runs the market-crowd,When ‘Catch the thief!’ resounds aloud;So Maggie runs; the witches follow,Wi' mony an eldritch skriech and hollo.weird screechAh, Tam! ah, Tam! thou'll get thy fairin'![22]In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin'!In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin'!Kate soon will be a woefu' woman!Now do thy speedy utmost, Meg,And win the key-stane o' the brig;There at them thou thy tail may toss,A running stream they darena cross.But ere the key-stane she could make,The fient a tail she had to shake!devilFor Nannie, far before the rest,Hard upon noble Maggie prest,And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle;endeavorBut little wist she Maggie's mettle!Ae spring brought off her master hale,wholeBut left behind her ain gray tail:The carlin caught her by the rump,clutchedAnd left poor Maggie scarce a stump.Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read,Ilk man and mother's son, take heed;Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd,Or cutty-sarks rin in your mind,Think! ye may buy the joys o'er dear;Remember Tam o' Shanter's mare.
When chapman billies leave the street,pedlar fellowsAnd drouthy neibors neibors meet,thirstyAs market-days are wearing late,An' folk begin to tak the gate;roadWhile we sit bousing at the nappy,aleAn' getting fou and unco happy,full, mightyWe think na on the lang Scots miles,The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles,bogs, gapsThat lie between us and our hame,Where sits our sulky sullen dame,Gathering her brows like gathering storm,Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.
When chapman billies leave the street,pedlar fellows
And drouthy neibors neibors meet,thirsty
As market-days are wearing late,
An' folk begin to tak the gate;road
While we sit bousing at the nappy,ale
An' getting fou and unco happy,full, mighty
We think na on the lang Scots miles,
The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles,bogs, gaps
That lie between us and our hame,
Where sits our sulky sullen dame,
Gathering her brows like gathering storm,
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.
This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter,foundAs he frae Ayr ae night did canter—one(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpassesFor honest men and bonnie lasses).
This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter,found
As he frae Ayr ae night did canter—one
(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses
For honest men and bonnie lasses).
O Tam! hadst thou but been sae wiseAs ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice!She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum,told, good-for-nothingA bletherin', blusterin', drunken blellum;chattering, babblerThat frae November till October,Ae market-day thou was na sober;OneThat ilka melder wi' the millerevery meal-grindingThou sat as lang as thou had siller;moneyThat every naig was ca'd a shoe on,nagThe smith and thee gat roarin' fou on;That at the Lord's house, even on Sunday,Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday.She prophesied that, late or soon,Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon;Or catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirkwizards, darkBy Alloway's auld haunted kirk.
O Tam! hadst thou but been sae wise
As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice!
She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum,told, good-for-nothing
A bletherin', blusterin', drunken blellum;chattering, babbler
That frae November till October,
Ae market-day thou was na sober;One
That ilka melder wi' the millerevery meal-grinding
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller;money
That every naig was ca'd a shoe on,nag
The smith and thee gat roarin' fou on;
That at the Lord's house, even on Sunday,
Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday.
She prophesied that, late or soon,
Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon;
Or catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirkwizards, dark
By Alloway's auld haunted kirk.
Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greetmakes, weepTo think how many counsels sweet,How mony lengthen'd sage advices,The husband frae the wife despises!
Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greetmakes, weep
To think how many counsels sweet,
How mony lengthen'd sage advices,
The husband frae the wife despises!
But to our tale: Ae market night,Tam had got planted unco right,uncommonlyFast by an ingle, bleezing finely,fireside, blazingWi' reaming swats, that drank divinely;foaming aleAnd at his elbow, Souter Johnny,CobblerHis ancient, trusty, drouthy crony;Tam lo'ed him like a very brither;lovedThey had been fou for weeks thegither.The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter,And aye the ale was growing better;The landlady and Tam grew gracious,Wi' favours secret, sweet, and precious;The souter tauld his queerest stories;The landlord's laugh was ready chorus;The storm without might rair and rustle,roarTam did na mind the storm a whistle.
But to our tale: Ae market night,
Tam had got planted unco right,uncommonly
Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely,fireside, blazing
Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely;foaming ale
And at his elbow, Souter Johnny,Cobbler
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony;
Tam lo'ed him like a very brither;loved
They had been fou for weeks thegither.
The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter,
And aye the ale was growing better;
The landlady and Tam grew gracious,
Wi' favours secret, sweet, and precious;
The souter tauld his queerest stories;
The landlord's laugh was ready chorus;
The storm without might rair and rustle,roar
Tam did na mind the storm a whistle.
Care, mad to see a man sae happy,E'en drown'd himsel amang the nappy.As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure,loadsThe minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure;Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious,O'er a' the ills o' life victorious!
Care, mad to see a man sae happy,
E'en drown'd himsel amang the nappy.
As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure,loads
The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure;
Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious,
O'er a' the ills o' life victorious!
But pleasures are like poppies spread—You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed;Or like the snow falls in the river—A moment white, then melts for ever;Or like the borealis race,That flit ere you can point their place;Or like the rainbow's lovely formEvanishing amid the storm.Nae man can tether time nor tide;The hour approaches Tam maun ride;That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane,That dreary hour, he mounts his beast in;And sic a night he taks the road in;suchAs ne'er poor sinner was abroad in.
But pleasures are like poppies spread—
You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed;
Or like the snow falls in the river—
A moment white, then melts for ever;
Or like the borealis race,
That flit ere you can point their place;
Or like the rainbow's lovely form
Evanishing amid the storm.
Nae man can tether time nor tide;
The hour approaches Tam maun ride;
That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane,
That dreary hour, he mounts his beast in;
And sic a night he taks the road in;such
As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in.
The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last;The rattling show'rs rose on the blast;The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd;Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bellow'd:That night, a child might understand,The Deil had business on his hand.
The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last;
The rattling show'rs rose on the blast;
The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd;
Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bellow'd:
That night, a child might understand,
The Deil had business on his hand.
Weel mounted on his gray mare, Meg,A better never lifted leg,Tam skelpit on thro' dub and mire,spanked, puddleDespising wind, and rain, and fire;Whiles holding fast his gude blue bonnet;Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet;songWhiles glow'ring round wi' prudent cares,staringLest bogles catch him unawares,goblinsKirk-Alloway was drawing nigh,Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry.ghosts, owls
Weel mounted on his gray mare, Meg,
A better never lifted leg,
Tam skelpit on thro' dub and mire,spanked, puddle
Despising wind, and rain, and fire;
Whiles holding fast his gude blue bonnet;
Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet;song
Whiles glow'ring round wi' prudent cares,staring
Lest bogles catch him unawares,goblins
Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh,
Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry.ghosts, owls
By this time he was cross the ford,Where in the snaw the chapman smoor'd;smotheredAnd past the birks and meikle stane,birches, bigWhere drunken Charlie brak's neck-bane;And thro' the whins, and by the cairn,gorse, pile of stonesWhere hunters fand the murder'd bairn;foundAnd near the thorn, aboon the well,Where Mungo's mither hang'd hersel,Before him Doon pours all his floods;The doubling storm roars thro' the woods;The lightnings flash from pole to pole;Near and more near the thunders roll;When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees,Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze;blazeThro' ilka bore the beams were glancing;chinkAnd loud resounded mirth and dancing.
By this time he was cross the ford,
Where in the snaw the chapman smoor'd;smothered
And past the birks and meikle stane,birches, big
Where drunken Charlie brak's neck-bane;
And thro' the whins, and by the cairn,gorse, pile of stones
Where hunters fand the murder'd bairn;found
And near the thorn, aboon the well,
Where Mungo's mither hang'd hersel,
Before him Doon pours all his floods;
The doubling storm roars thro' the woods;
The lightnings flash from pole to pole;
Near and more near the thunders roll;
When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees,
Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze;blaze
Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing;chink
And loud resounded mirth and dancing.
Inspiring bold John Barleycorn!What dangers thou canst make us scorn?Wi tippenny, we fear nae evil;aleWi' usquebae, we'll face the devil!whiskyThe swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle,aleFair play, he car'd na deils a boddle!farthingBut Maggie stood right sair astonish'd,Till by the heel and hand admonish'd,She ventur'd forward on the light;And, vow! Tam saw an unco sight!strangeWarlocks and witches in a dance!Nae cotillon brent new frae France,brandBut hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels,Put life and mettle in their heels.A winnock-bunker in the east,window-seatThere sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast—A touzie tyke, black, grim, and large!shaggy dogTo gie them music was his charge:He screw'd the pipes and gart them skirl.squealTill roof and rafters a' did dirl.ringCoffins stood round like open presses,That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses;And by some devilish cantraip sleightmagic trickEach in its cauld hand held a light,By which heroic Tam was ableTo note upon the haly tableholyA murderer's banes in gibbet-airns;-ironsTwa span-lang, wee, unchristen'd bairns;A thief new-cutted frae the rape—Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape;Five tomahawks, wi' blude red rusted;Five scymitars, wi' murder crusted;A garter, which a babe had strangled;A knife, a father's throat had mangled,Whom his ain son o' life bereft—The gray hairs yet stack to the heft;Wi' mair of horrible and awfu',Which even to name wad be unlawfu'.
Inspiring bold John Barleycorn!
What dangers thou canst make us scorn?
Wi tippenny, we fear nae evil;ale
Wi' usquebae, we'll face the devil!whisky
The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle,ale
Fair play, he car'd na deils a boddle!farthing
But Maggie stood right sair astonish'd,
Till by the heel and hand admonish'd,
She ventur'd forward on the light;
And, vow! Tam saw an unco sight!strange
Warlocks and witches in a dance!
Nae cotillon brent new frae France,brand
But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels,
Put life and mettle in their heels.
A winnock-bunker in the east,window-seat
There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast—
A touzie tyke, black, grim, and large!shaggy dog
To gie them music was his charge:
He screw'd the pipes and gart them skirl.squeal
Till roof and rafters a' did dirl.ring
Coffins stood round like open presses,
That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses;
And by some devilish cantraip sleightmagic trick
Each in its cauld hand held a light,
By which heroic Tam was able
To note upon the haly tableholy
A murderer's banes in gibbet-airns;-irons
Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen'd bairns;
A thief new-cutted frae the rape—
Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape;
Five tomahawks, wi' blude red rusted;
Five scymitars, wi' murder crusted;
A garter, which a babe had strangled;
A knife, a father's throat had mangled,
Whom his ain son o' life bereft—
The gray hairs yet stack to the heft;
Wi' mair of horrible and awfu',
Which even to name wad be unlawfu'.
As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd, and curious,The mirth and fun grew fast and furious;The piper loud and louder blew;The dancers quick and quicker flew;They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit,linkedTill ilka, carlin swat and reekit,beldam, steamedAnd coost her duddies to the wark,cast, rags, workAnd linkit at it in her sark!tripped deftly, chemise
As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd, and curious,
The mirth and fun grew fast and furious;
The piper loud and louder blew;
The dancers quick and quicker flew;
They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit,linked
Till ilka, carlin swat and reekit,beldam, steamed
And coost her duddies to the wark,cast, rags, work
And linkit at it in her sark!tripped deftly, chemise
Now Tam, O Tam! had thae been queans,those, girlsA' plump and strapping in their teens;Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen,greasy flannelBeen snaw-white seventeen hunder linen![21]Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair,These trousersThat ance were plush, o' gude blue hair,I wad hae gi'en them off my hurdies,buttocksFor ae blink o' the bonnie burdies!maidens
Now Tam, O Tam! had thae been queans,those, girls
A' plump and strapping in their teens;
Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen,greasy flannel
Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linen![21]
Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair,These trousers
That ance were plush, o' gude blue hair,
I wad hae gi'en them off my hurdies,buttocks
For ae blink o' the bonnie burdies!maidens
But wither'd beldams, auld and droll,Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal,Withered (?), weanLouping and flinging on a crummock,Leaping, cudgelI wonder didna turn thy stomach.
But wither'd beldams, auld and droll,
Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal,Withered (?), wean
Louping and flinging on a crummock,Leaping, cudgel
I wonder didna turn thy stomach.
But Tam kent what was what fu' brawlie:full wellThere was ae winsome wench and waliechoiceThat night enlisted in the core,Lang after kent on Carrick shore!(For mony a beast to dead she shot,deathAnd perish'd mony a bonnie boat,And shook baith meikle corn and bear,barleyAnd kept the country-side in fear.)Her cutty sark, o' Paisley harn,short-shift, coarse linenThat while a lassie she had worn,In longitude tho' sorely scanty,It was her best, and she was vauntie.proudAh! little kent thy reverend grannieThat sark she coft for her wee NannieboughtWi' twa pund Scots ('twas a' her riches)poundsWad ever grac'd a dance of witches!
But Tam kent what was what fu' brawlie:full well
There was ae winsome wench and waliechoice
That night enlisted in the core,
Lang after kent on Carrick shore!
(For mony a beast to dead she shot,death
And perish'd mony a bonnie boat,
And shook baith meikle corn and bear,barley
And kept the country-side in fear.)
Her cutty sark, o' Paisley harn,short-shift, coarse linen
That while a lassie she had worn,
In longitude tho' sorely scanty,
It was her best, and she was vauntie.proud
Ah! little kent thy reverend grannie
That sark she coft for her wee Nanniebought
Wi' twa pund Scots ('twas a' her riches)pounds
Wad ever grac'd a dance of witches!
But here my muse her wing maun cour;stoopSic flights are far beyond her pow'r—To sing how Nannie lap and flang,leapt, kicked(A souple jade she was, and strang);And how Tam stood, like ane bewitch'd,And thought his very een enrich'd;Even Satan glowr'd, and fidg'd fu' fain,fidgeted with fondnessAnd hotch'd and blew wi' might and main:jerkedTill first ae caper, syne anither,thenTam tint his reason a' thegither,lostAnd roars out ‘Weel done, Cutty-sark!’Short-shiftAnd in an instant all was dark!And scarcely had he Maggie rallied,When out the hellish legion sallied.
But here my muse her wing maun cour;stoop
Sic flights are far beyond her pow'r—
To sing how Nannie lap and flang,leapt, kicked
(A souple jade she was, and strang);
And how Tam stood, like ane bewitch'd,
And thought his very een enrich'd;
Even Satan glowr'd, and fidg'd fu' fain,fidgeted with fondness
And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main:jerked
Till first ae caper, syne anither,then
Tam tint his reason a' thegither,lost
And roars out ‘Weel done, Cutty-sark!’Short-shift
And in an instant all was dark!
And scarcely had he Maggie rallied,
When out the hellish legion sallied.
As bees bizz out wi' angry fykefretWhen plundering herds assail their byke,herd-boys, nestAs open pussie's mortal foesthe hare'sWhen pop! she starts before their nose,As eager runs the market-crowd,When ‘Catch the thief!’ resounds aloud;So Maggie runs; the witches follow,Wi' mony an eldritch skriech and hollo.weird screech
As bees bizz out wi' angry fykefret
When plundering herds assail their byke,herd-boys, nest
As open pussie's mortal foesthe hare's
When pop! she starts before their nose,
As eager runs the market-crowd,
When ‘Catch the thief!’ resounds aloud;
So Maggie runs; the witches follow,
Wi' mony an eldritch skriech and hollo.weird screech
Ah, Tam! ah, Tam! thou'll get thy fairin'![22]In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin'!In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin'!Kate soon will be a woefu' woman!Now do thy speedy utmost, Meg,And win the key-stane o' the brig;There at them thou thy tail may toss,A running stream they darena cross.But ere the key-stane she could make,The fient a tail she had to shake!devilFor Nannie, far before the rest,Hard upon noble Maggie prest,And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle;endeavorBut little wist she Maggie's mettle!Ae spring brought off her master hale,wholeBut left behind her ain gray tail:The carlin caught her by the rump,clutchedAnd left poor Maggie scarce a stump.
Ah, Tam! ah, Tam! thou'll get thy fairin'![22]
In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin'!
In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin'!
Kate soon will be a woefu' woman!
Now do thy speedy utmost, Meg,
And win the key-stane o' the brig;
There at them thou thy tail may toss,
A running stream they darena cross.
But ere the key-stane she could make,
The fient a tail she had to shake!devil
For Nannie, far before the rest,
Hard upon noble Maggie prest,
And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle;endeavor
But little wist she Maggie's mettle!
Ae spring brought off her master hale,whole
But left behind her ain gray tail:
The carlin caught her by the rump,clutched
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.
Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read,Ilk man and mother's son, take heed;Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd,Or cutty-sarks rin in your mind,Think! ye may buy the joys o'er dear;Remember Tam o' Shanter's mare.
Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read,
Ilk man and mother's son, take heed;
Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd,
Or cutty-sarks rin in your mind,
Think! ye may buy the joys o'er dear;
Remember Tam o' Shanter's mare.
[21]Woven in a reed of 1,700 divisions.
[21]Woven in a reed of 1,700 divisions.
[22]Lit., a present from a fair; deserts and something more.
[22]Lit., a present from a fair; deserts and something more.
Description in Burns is not confined to man and society: he has much to say of nature, animate and inanimate.
Though within a few miles of the ocean, the scenery among which the poet grew up was inland scenery. He lived more than once by the sea for short periods, yet it appears but little in his verse, and then usually as the great severing element.
And seas between us braid hae roar'dSin auld lang syne
And seas between us braid hae roar'dSin auld lang syne
And seas between us braid hae roar'd
Sin auld lang syne
is the characteristic line. Scottish poetry had no tradition of the sea. To England the sea had been the great boundary and defense against the continental powers, and her naval achievements had long produced a patriotic sentiment with regard to it which is reflected in her literature. But Scotland's frontier had been the line of the Cheviots and the Tweed, and save for a brief space under James IV she had never been a sea-power. Thus the cruelty and danger of the sea are almost the only phases prominent in her poetry, and Burns here once more follows tradition.
Again, the scenery of Ayrshire was Lowland scenery, with pastoral hills and valleys. On his Highland tours Burns saw and admired mountains, but they too appear little in his verse. Though not an unimportant figure in the development of natural description in literature, he had not reached the modern deliberateness in the seeking out of nature's beauties for worship or imitation, so that the phases of natural beauty which we find in his poetry are merely those which had unconsciously become fixed in a memory naturally retentive of visual images.
Not only do his natural descriptions deal with the aspects familiar to him in his ordinary surroundings, but they are for the most part treated in relation to life. The thunderstorm inTam o' Shanteris a characteristic example. It is detailed and vivid and is for the moment the center of interest; but it is introduced solely on Tam's account. Oftener the wilder moods of the weather are used as settings for lyric emotion. InWinter, a Dirge, the harmony of the poet's spirit with the tempest is the whole theme, and inMy Nannie's Awathe same idea is treated with more mature art: