Chapter V: Part 5

But then, to see how ye’re negleckit,
How huff’d, and cuff’d, and disrespeckit,
Lord, man! our gentry care sae little
For delvers, ditchers and sic cattle;
They gang as saucy by poor folk
As I wad by a stinking brock.
I’ve noticed, on our Laird’s court-day,
An’ mony a time my heart’s been wae,
Poor tenant bodies, scant o’ cash,
How they maun thole a factor’s snash;
He’ll stamp and threaten, curse and swear,
He’ll apprehend them, poind their gear:
While they maun stan’, wi’ aspect humble,
An’ hear it a’, an’ fear an’ tremble!
I see how folk live that hae riches;
But surely poor folk maun be wretches!

LUATH

They’re no’ sae wretched’s ane wad think,
Though constantly on poortith’s brink:
They’re sae accustom’d wi’ the sight,
The view o’t gi’es them little fright.
Then chance and fortune are sae guided,
They’re aye in less or mair provided;
An’ though fatigued wi’ close employment,
A blink o’ rest’s a sweet enjoyment.
The dearest comfort o’ their lives,
Their grushie weans an’ faithfu’ wives;
The prattling things are just their pride,
That sweetens a’ their fireside.
And whyles twalpenny-worth o’ nappy
Can mak the bodies unco happy;
They lay aside their private cares
To mind the Kirk and State affairs:
They’ll talk o’ patronage and priests,
Wi’ kindling fury in their breasts;
Or tell what new taxation’s comin’,
And ferlie at the folk in Lon’on.
As bleak-faced Hallowmas returns
They get the jovial rantin’ kirns,
When rural life o’ every station
Unite in common recreation;
Love blinks, Wit slaps, and social Mirth
Forgets there’s Care upo’ the earth.
That merry day the year begins
They bar the door on frosty win’s;
The nappy reeks wi’ mantling ream,
And sheds a heart-inspiring steam;
The luntin’ pipe and sneeshin’-mill
Are handed round wi’ right gude-will;
The canty auld folk crackin’ crouse,
The young anes ranting through the house—
My heart has been sae fain to see them
That I for joy hae barkit wi’ them.
Still it’s owre true that ye hae said,
Sic game is now owre aften play’d.
There’s mony a creditable stock
O’ decent, honest, fawsont folk,
Are riven out baith root and branch
Some rascal’s pridefu’ greed to quench,
Wha thinks to knit himsel the faster
In favour wi’ some gentle master,
Wha, aiblins, thrang a-parliamentin’,
For Britain’s gude his saul indentin—

CAESAR

Haith, lad, ye little ken about it;
For Britain’s gude!—guid faith! I doubt it!
Say rather, gaun as Premiers lead him,
And saying ay or no’s they bid him!
At operas and plays parading,
Mortgaging, gambling, masquerading.
Or maybe, in a frolic daft,
To Hague or Calais taks a waft,
To make a tour, an’ tak a whirl,
To learn _bon ton_ an’ see the worl’.
There, at Vienna, or Versailles,
He rives his father’s auld entails;
Or by Madrid he takes the rout,
To thrum guitars and fecht wi’ nowt;
Or down Italian vista startles,
Whore-hunting amang groves o’ myrtles;
Then bouses drumly German water,
To make himsel’ look fair and fatter,
And clear the consequential sorrows,
Love-gifts of Carnival signoras.
For Britain’s gude!—for her destruction!
Wi’ dissipation, feud, and faction!

LUATH

Hech man! dear sirs! is that the gate
They waste sae mony a braw estate?
Are we sae foughten and harass’d
For gear to gang that gate at last?
O would they stay aback frae courts,
An’ please themselves wi’ country sports,
It wad for every ane be better,
The laird, the tenant, an’ the cotter!
For thae frank, rantin’, ramblin’ billies,
Fient haet o’ them’s ill-hearted fellows:
Except for breakin’ o’ their timmer,
Or speaking lightly o’ their limmer,
Or shootin’ o’ a hare or moor-cock,
The ne’er-a-bit they’re ill to poor folk.
But will ye tell me, Master Caesar?
Sure great folk’s life’s a life o’ pleasure;
Nae cauld nor hunger e’er can steer them,
The very thought o’t needna fear them.

CAESAR

Lord, man, were ye but whyles where I am,
The gentles ye wad ne’er envy ’em,
It’s true, they needna starve or sweat,
Thro’ winter’s cauld or simmer’s heat;
They’ve nae sair wark to craze their banes,
An’ fill auld age wi’ grips an’ granes:
But human bodies are sic fools,
For a’ their colleges and schools,
That when nae real ills perplex them,
They make enow themselves to vex them,
An’ aye the less they hae to sturt them,
In like proportion less will hurt them.
A country fellow at the pleugh,
His acres till’d, he’s right eneugh;
A country lassie at her wheel,
Her dizzens done, she’s unco weel;
But gentlemen, an’ ladies warst,
Wi’ ev’ndown want o’ wark are curst.
They loiter, lounging, lank, and lazy;
Though de’il haet ails them, yet uneasy;
Their days insipid, dull and tasteless;
Their nights unquiet, lang, and restless.
And e’en their sports, their balls, and races,
Their galloping through public places—
There’s sic parade, sic pomp and art,
The joy can scarcely reach the heart.
The men cast out in party matches,
Then sowther a’ in deep debauches:
Ae night they’re mad wi’ drink and whoring,
Neist day their life is past enduring.
The ladies arm-in-arm, in clusters,
As great and gracious a’ as sisters;
But hear their absent thoughts o’ ither,
They’re a’ run de’ils and jads thegither.
Whyles, owre the wee bit cup and platie,
They sip the scandal-potion pretty;
Or lee-lang nights, wi’ crabbit leuks,
Pore owre the devil’s picture beuks;
Stake on a chance a farmer’s stack-yard,
And cheat like ony unhang’d blackguard.
There’s some exception, man and woman;
But this is gentry’s life in common.

By this the sun was out o’ sight,
And darker gloamin brought the night;
The bum-clock humm’d wi’ lazy drone,
The kye stood rowtin’ i’ the loan;
When up they gat and shook their lugs,
Rejoiced they werena men but dogs;
And each took aff his several way,
Resolved to meet some ither day.

THE COTTER’S SATURDAY NIGHT

November chill blaws loud wi’ angry sough;
The short’ning winter-day is near a close;
The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh;
The black’ning trains o’ craws to their repose:
The toil-worn Cotter frae his labour goes.
This night his weekly moil is at an end,
Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes,
Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend,
And weary, o’er the moor, his course does hameward bend.

At length his lonely cot appears in view,
Beneath the shelter of an agèd tree;
Th’ expectant wee-things, toddlin’, stacher through
To meet their Dad, wi’ flichterin’ noise an’ glee.
His wee bit ingle, blinkin bonnilie,
His clean hearth-stane, his thrifty wifie’s smile,
The lisping infant prattling on his knee,
Does a’ his weary kiaugh and care beguile,
An’ makes him quite forget his labour an’ his toil.

Belyve, the elder bairns come drapping in,
At service out, amang the farmers roun’;
Some ca’ the pleugh, some herd, some tentie rin
A cannie errand to a neibor town:
Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman-grown,
In youthfu’ bloom, love sparkling in her e’e,
Comes hame, perhaps to shew a braw new gown,
Or deposite her sair-won penny-fee,
To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be.

With joy unfeign’d brothers and sisters meet,
An’ each for other’s weelfare kindly spiers:
The social hours, swift-wing’d, unnoticed fleet;
Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears;
The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years;
Anticipation forward points the view.
The mother, wi’ her needle an’ her sheers,
Gars auld claes look amaist as weel’s the new;
The father mixes a’ wi’ admonition due.

Their master’s an’ their mistress’s command,
The younkers a’ are warnèd to obey;
An’ mind their labours wi’ an eydent hand,
An’ ne’er, tho’ out o’ sight, to jauk or play:
‘And O! be sure to fear the Lord alway,
An’ mind your duty, duly, morn an’ night!
Lest in temptation’s path ye gang astray,
Implore His counsel and assisting might:
They never sought in vain that sought the Lord aright!’

But hark! a rap comes gently to the door;
Jenny, wha kens the meaning o’ the same,
Tells how a neibor lad cam o’er the moor,
To do some errands, and convoy her hame.
The wily mother sees the conscious flame
Sparkle in Jenny’s e’e, and flush her cheek;
Wi’ heart-struck anxious care, inquires his name,
While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak;
Weel pleased the mother hears it’s nae wild worthless rake.

Wi’ kindly welcome, Jenny brings him ben;
A strappin’ youth; he takes the mother’s eye;
Blythe Jenny sees the visit’s no ill ta’en;
The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye.
The youngster’s artless heart o’erflows wi’ joy,
But blate and laithfu’, scarce can weel behave;
The mother, wi’ a woman’s wiles, can spy
What makes the youth sae bashfu’ an’ sae grave;
Weel-pleased to think her bairn’s respected like the lave.

O happy love! where love like this is found;
O heart-felt raptures! bliss beyond compare!
I’ve pacèd much this weary mortal round,
And sage experience bids me this declare—
‘If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare,
One cordial in this melancholy vale,
’Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair
In other’s arms breathe out the tender tale,
Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale.’

Is there, in human form, that bears a heart—
A wretch, a villain, lost to love and truth—
That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art,
Betray sweet Jenny’s unsuspecting youth?
Curse on his perjur’d arts, dissembling smooth!
Are honour, virtue, conscience, all exil’d?
Is there no pity, no relenting ruth,
Points to the parents fondling o’er their child?
Then paints the ruin’d maid, and their distraction wild?

But now the supper crowns their simple board,
The halesome parritch, chief of Scotia’s food:
The sowpe their only hawkie does afford,
That ’yont the hallan snugly chows her cood;
The dame brings forth in complimental mood,
To grace the lad, her weel-hain’d kebbuck, fell;
And aft he’s prest, and aft he ca’s it good;
The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell
How ’twas a towmond auld sin’ lint was i’ the bell.

The cheerfu’ supper done, wi’ serious face
They round the ingle form a circle wide;
The sire turns o’er, with patriarchal grace,
The big ha’-bible, ance his father’s pride:
His bonnet rev’rently is laid aside,
His lyart haffets wearing thin an’ bare;
Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide—
He wales a portion with judicious care,
And ‘Let us worship God!’ he says with solemn air.

They chant their artless notes in simple guise;
They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim:
Perhaps Dundee’s wild warbling measures rise,
Or plaintive Martyrs, worthy of the name;
Or noble Elgin beets the heav’nward flame,
The sweetest far of Scotia’s holy lays:
Compared with these, Italian trills are tame;
The tickled ears no heartfelt raptures raise;
Nae unison hae they with our Creator’s praise.

The priest-like father reads the sacred page,
How Abram was the friend of God on high;
Or Moses bade eternal warfare wage
With Amalek’s ungracious progeny;
Or how the royal bard did groaning lie
Beneath the stroke of Heaven’s avenging ire;
Or Job’s pathetic plaint, and wailing cry;
Or rapt Isaiah’s wild seraphic fire;
Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre.

Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme,
How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed;
How He who bore in Heaven the second name
Had not on earth whereon to lay His head;
How His first followers and servants sped;
The precepts sage they wrote to many a land:
How he, was lone in Patmos banishèd,
Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand,
And heard great Bab’lon’s doom pronounced by Heaven’s command.

Then kneeling down to Heaven’s Eternal King
The saint, the father, and the husband prays:
Hope ‘springs exulting on triumphant wing’
That thus they all shall meet in future days:
There ever bask in uncreated rays,
No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear,
Together hymning their Creator’s praise,
In such society, yet still more dear;
While circling Time moves round in an eternal sphere.

Compared with this, how poor Religion’s pride,
In all the pomp of method and of art,
When men display to congregations wide
Devotion’s every grace, except the heart!
The Power, incensed, the pageant will desert,
The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole;
But haply, in some cottage far apart,
May hear, well pleased, the language of the soul;
And in His Book of Life the inmates poor enrol.

Then homeward all take off their several way;
The youngling cottagers retire to rest:
The parent-pair their secret homage pay,
And proffer up to Heav’n the warm request,
That He who stills the raven’s clamorous nest,
And decks the lily fair in flowery pride,
Would, in the way His wisdom sees the best,
For them and for their little ones provide;
But chiefly in their hearts with grace divine preside.

From scenes like these old Scotia’s grandeur springs,
That makes her loved at home, revered abroad:
Princes and lords are but the breath of kings,
‘An honest man’s the noblest work of God’;
And certes, in fair virtue’s heavenly road,
The cottage leaves the palace far behind;
What is a lordling’s pomp? a cumbrous load,
Disguising oft the wretch of human kind,
Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refin’d!

O Scotia! my dear, my native soil;
For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent!
Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil
Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content!
And O may Heaven their simple lives prevent
From luxury’s contagion, weak and vile;
Then, howe’er crowns and coronets be rent,
A virtuous populace may rise the while,
And stand a wall of fire around their much-loved isle.

O Thou! who poured the patriotic tide
That streamed thro’ Wallace’s undaunted heart,
Who dared to nobly stem tyrannic pride,
Or nobly die—the second glorious part,
(The patriot’s God, peculiarly thou art
His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward!)
O never, never, Scotia’s realm desert;
But still the patriot, and the patriot-bard,
In bright succession rise, her ornament and guard!

The toil-worn Cotter frae his labour goes, ....
And weary, o’er the moor, his course does hameward bend.]

THE BRIGS OF AYR

’Twas when the stacks got on their winter-hap,
And thack and rape secure the toil-worn crap;
Potatoe-bings are snuggèd up frae skaith
O’ coming Winter’s biting, frosty breath;
The bees, rejoicing o’er their summer toils,
Unnumber’d buds an’ flowers’ delicious spoils,
Seal’d up with frugal care in massive waxen piles,
Are doom’d by Man, that tyrant o’er the weak,
The death o’ devils, smoor’d wi’ brimstone reek:
The thund’ring guns are heard on ev’ry side,
The wounded coveys, reeling, scatter wide;
The feather’d field-mates, bound by Nature’s tie,
Sires, mothers, children, in one carnage lie:
(What warm, poetic heart, but inly bleeds,
And execrates man’s savage, ruthless deeds!)
Nae mair the flow’r in field or meadow springs;
Nae mair the grove with airy concert rings,
Except perhaps the Robin’s whistling glee,
Proud o’ the height o’ some bit half-lang tree:
The hoary morns precede the sunny days,
Mild, calm, serene, wide spreads the noontide blaze,
While thick the gossamour waves wanton in the rays.

’Twas in that season when a simple Bard,
Unknown and poor, simplicity’s reward,
Ae night, within the ancient brugh of Ayr,
By whim inspir’d, or haply prest wi’ care,
He left his bed, and took his wayward route,
And down by Simpson’s wheel’d the left about:
(Whether impell’d by all-directing Fate,
To witness what I after shall narrate;
Or whether, rapt in meditation high,
He wander’d out he knew not where nor why:)
The drowsy Dungeon-Clock had number’d two,
And Wallace Tower had sworn the fact was true:
The tide-swoln Firth, with sullen-sounding roar,
Through the still night dash’d hoarse along the shore:
All else was hush’d as Nature’s closèd e’e;
The silent moon shone high o’er tow’r and tree:
The chilly frost, beneath the silver beam,
Crept, gently-crusting, owre the glittering stream—
When, lo! on either hand the list’ning Bard,
The clanging sough of whistling wings is heard;
Two dusky forms dart thro’ the midnight air,
Swift as the gos drives on the wheeling hare;
Ane on th’ Auld Brig his airy shape uprears,
The ither flutters o’er the rising piers:
Our warlock Rhymer instantly descried
The Sprites that owre the Brigs of Ayr preside.
(That Bards are second-sighted is nae joke,
And ken the lingo of the sp’ritual folk:
Fays, Spunkies, Kelpies, a’, they can explain them,
And ev’n the very deils they brawly ken them.)
Auld Brig appeared o’ ancient Pictish race,
The very wrinkles Gothic in his face;
He seem’d as he wi’ Time had warstl’d lang,
Yet, teughly doure, he bade an unco bang.
New Brig was buskit in a braw new coat
That he, at Lon’on, frae ane Adams got;
In’s hand five taper staves as smooth’s a bead,
Wi’ virls and whirlygigums at the head.
The Goth was stalking round with anxious search,
Spying the time-worn flaws in ev’ry arch;
It chanc’d his new-come neebor took his ee,
And e’en a vex’d and angry heart had he!
Wi’ thieveless sneer to see his modish mien,
He, down the water, gies him this guid-een:—

AULD BRIG

‘I doubtna, frien’, ye’ll think ye’re nae sheep-shank.
Ance ye were streekit owre frae bank to bank!
But gin ye be a brig as auld as me—
Tho’, faith! that date, I doubt, ye’ll never see—
There’ll be, if that day come, I’ll wad a boddle,
Some fewer whigmaleeries in your noodle.’

NEW BRIG

‘Auld Vandal! ye but show your little mense,
Just much about it wi’ your scanty sense;
Will your poor narrow foot-path of a street,
Where twa wheel-barrows tremble when they meet,
Your ruin’d formless bulk o’ stane and lime,
Compare wi’ bonnie brigs o’ modern time?
There’s men o’ taste wou’d tak the Ducat stream,
Tho’ they should cast the very sark and swim,
Ere they would grate their feelings wi’ the view
O’ sic an ugly Gothic hulk as you.’

AULD BRIG

‘Conceited gowk! puff’d up wi’ windy pride!
This mony a year I’ve stood the flood an’ tide;
And tho’ wi’ crazy eild I’m sair forfairn,
I’ll be a brig, when ye’re a shapeless cairn!
As yet ye little ken about the matter,
But twa-three winters will inform ye better.
When heavy, dark, continued, a’-day rains,
Wi’ deepening deluges o’erflow the plains;
When from the hills where springs the brawling Coil,
Or stately Lugar’s mossy fountains boil,
Or where the Greenock winds his moorland course,
Or haunted Garpal draws his feeble source,
Arous’d by blust’ring winds an’ spotting thowes,
In mony a torrent down the snaw-broo rowes;
While crashing ice, borne on the roaring spate,
Sweeps dams, an’ mills, an’ brigs, a’ to the gate;
And from Glenbuck, down to the Ratton-key,
Auld Ayr is just one lengthen’d, tumbling sea;
Then down ye’ll hurl, deil nor ye never rise!
And dash the gumlie jaups up to the pouring skies!
A lesson sadly teaching, to your cost,
That architecture’s noble art is lost!’

NEW BRIG

‘Fine architecture, trowth, I needs must say’t o’t,
The Lord be thankit that we’ve tint the gate o’t!
Gaunt, ghastly, ghaist-alluring edifices,
Hanging with threat’ning jut, like precipices;
O’er-arching, mouldy, gloom-inspiring coves,
Supporting roofs, fantastic, stony groves;
Windows and doors in nameless sculptures drest,
With order, symmetry, or taste unblest;
Forms like some bedlam Statuary’s dream,
The craz’d creations of misguided whim;
Forms might be worshipp’d on the bended knee,
And still the second dread command be free,
Their likeness is not found on earth, in air, or sea!
Mansions that would disgrace the building taste
Of any mason reptile, bird, or beast;
Fit only for a doited monkish race,
Or frosty maids forsworn the dear embrace,
Or cuifs of later times wha held the notion
That sullen gloom was sterling, true devotion;
Fancies that our guid Brugh denies protection,
And soon may they expire, unblest with resurrection!’

AULD BRIG

‘O ye, my dear-remember’d, ancient yealings,
Were ye but here to share my wounded feelings!
Ye worthy Proveses, an’ mony a Bailie,
Wha in the paths o’ righteousness did toil aye;
Ye dainty Deacons, an’ ye douce Conveeners,
To whom our moderns are but causey-cleaners!
Ye godly Councils wha hae blest this town;
Ye godly Brethren o’ the sacred gown,
Wha meekly gie your hurdies to the smiters;
And (what would now be strange) ye godly Writers:
A’ ye douce folk I’ve borne aboon the broo,
Were ye but here, what would ye say or do!
How would your spirits groan in deep vexation,
To see each melancholy alteration;
And agonizing, curse the time and place
When ye begat the base degen’rate race!
Nae langer rev’rend men, their country’s glory,
In plain braid Scots hold forth a plain braid story;
Nae langer thrifty citizens, an’ douce,
Meet owre a pint, or in the Council-house;
But staumrel, corky-headed, graceless Gentry,
The herryment and ruin of the country;
Men, three-parts made by tailors and by barbers,
Wha waste your weel-hain’d gear on damn’d New Brigs and
harbours!’

NEW BRIG

‘Now haud you there! for faith ye’ve said enough,
And muckle mair than ye can mak to through:
As for your Priesthood, I shall say but little,
Corbies and Clergy are a shot right kittle;
But, under favour o’ your langer beard,
Abuse o’ Magistrates might weel be spar’d;
To liken them to your auld-warld squad,
I must needs say, comparisons are odd.
In Ayr, wag-wits nae mair can have a handle
To mouth “a Citizen,” a term o’ scandal;
Nae mair the Council waddles down the street,
In all the pomp of ignorant conceit;
Men wha grew wise priggin’ owre hops and raisins,
Or gather’d lib’ral views in Bonds and Seisins:
If haply Knowledge, on a random tramp,
Had shor’d them wi’ a glimmer of his lamp,
And would to Common-sense for once betray’d them,
Plain dull Stupidity stept kindly in to aid them.’

What farther clishmaclaver might been said,
What bloody wars, if Sprites had blood to shed,
No man can tell; but, all before their sight,
A fairy train appear’d in order bright;
Adown the glittering stream they featly danc’d;
Bright to the moon their various dresses glanc’d:
They footed o’er the wat’ry glass so neat,
The infant ice scarce bent beneath their feet:
While arts of Minstrelsy among them rung,
And soul-ennobling Bards heroic ditties sung.
O had M’Lauchlan, thairm-inspiring sage,
Been there to hear this heavenly band engage,
When thro’ his dear strathspeys they bore with Highland rage,
Or when they struck old Scotia’s melting airs,
The lover’s raptured joys or bleeding cares,
How would his Highland lug been nobler fir’d,
And ev’n his matchless hand with finer touch inspired!
No guess could tell what instrument appear’d,
But all the soul of Music’s self was heard;
Harmonious concert rung in every part,
While simple melody pour’d moving on the heart.

The Genius of the Stream in front appears,
A venerable Chief, advanced in years;
His hoary head with water-lilies crown’d,
His manly leg with garter-tangle bound.
Next came the loveliest pair in all the ring,
Sweet Female Beauty hand in hand with Spring;
Then, crown’d with flow’ry hay, came Rural Joy,
And Summer, with his fervid-beaming eye;
All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn,
Led yellow Autumn wreath’d with nodding corn;
Then Winter’s time-bleach’d locks did hoary show,
By Hospitality with cloudless brow:
Next followed Courage with his martial stride,
From where the Feal wild-woody coverts hide;
Benevolence, with mild benignant air,
A female form, came from the towers of Stair;
Learning and Worth in equal measures trode
From simple Catrine, their long-loved abode:
Last, white-robed Peace, crown’d with a hazel wreath,
To rustic Agriculture did bequeath
The broken iron instruments of death:
At sight of whom our Sprites forgat their kindling wrath.

TAM O’ SHANTER

When chapman billies leave the street,
And drouthy neibors neibors meet,
As market-days are wearing late,
An’ folk begin to tak the gate;
While we sit bousing at the nappy,
An’ getting fou and unco happy,
We think na on the lang Scots miles,
The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles,
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,
As he frae Ayr ae night did canter—
(Auld Ayr, wham ne’er a town surpasses
For honest men and bonnie lasses).
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,
A bletherin’, blusterin’, drunken blellum;
That frae November till October,
Ae market-day thou was na sober;
That ilka melder wi’ the miller
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller;
That every naig was ca’d a shoe on,
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 mirk
By Alloway’s auld haunted kirk.
Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet
To think how mony 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,
Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely,
Wi’ reaming swats, that drank divinely;
And at his elbow, Souter Johnny,
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony;
Tam lo’ed him like a very brither;
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,
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,
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, it’s 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
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.
Weel mounted on his gray mare, Meg,
A better never lifted leg,
Tam skelpit on thro’ dub and mire,
Despising wind, and rain, and fire;
Whiles holding fast his gude blue bonnet;
Whiles crooning o’er some auld Scots sonnet;
Whiles glow’ring round wi’ prudent cares,
Lest bogles catch him unawares.
Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh,
Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry.
By this time he was cross the ford,
Where in the snaw the chapman smoor’d;
And past the birks and meikle stane,
Where drunken Charlie brak’s neck-bane;
And thro’ the whins, and by the cairn,
Where hunters fand the murder’d bairn;
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;
Thro’ ilka bore the beams were glancing;
And loud resounded mirth and dancing.
Inspiring bold John Barleycorn!
What dangers thou canst make us scorn!
Wi’ tippenny, we fear nae evil;
Wi’ usquebae, we’ll face the devil!
The swats sae ream’d in Tammie’s noddle,
Fair play, he car’d na deils a boddle!
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!
Warlocks and witches in a dance!
Nae cotillon brent new frae France,
But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels,
Put life and mettle in their heels.
A winnock-bunker in the east,
There sat auld Nick, in shape o’ beast—
A touzie tyke, black, grim, and large!
To gie them music was his charge:
He screw’d the pipes and gart them skirl,
Till roof and rafters a’ did dirl.
Coffins stood round like open presses,
That shaw’d the dead in their last dresses;
And by some devilish cantraip sleight
Each in its cauld hand held a light,
By which heroic Tam was able
To note upon the haly table
A murderer’s banes in gibbet-airns;
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,
Till ilka carlin swat and reekit,
And coost her duddies to the wark,
And linkit at it in her sark!
Now Tam, O Tam! had thae been queans,
A’ plump and strapping in their teens;
Their sarks, instead o’ creeshie flannen,
Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linen!
Thir breeks o’ mine, my only pair,
That ance were plush, o’ gude blue hair,
I wad hae gi’en them off my hurdies,
For ae blink o’ the bonnie burdies!
But wither’d beldams, auld and droll,
Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal,
Louping and flinging on a crummock,
I wonder didna turn thy stomach.
But Tam kent what was what fu’ brawlie:
There was ae winsome wench and walie
That night enlisted in the core,
Lang after kent on Carrick shore!
(For mony a beast to dead she shot,
And perish’d mony a bonnie boat,
And shook baith meikle corn and bear,
And kept the country-side in fear.)
Her cutty sark, o’ Paisley harn,
That while a lassie she had worn,
In longitude tho’ sorely scanty,
It was her best, and she was vauntie.
Ah! little kent thy reverend grannie
That sark she coft for her wee Nannie
Wi’ twa pund Scots (’twas a’ her riches)
Wad ever grac’d a dance of witches!
But here my muse her wing maun cour;
Sic flights are far beyond her pow’r—
To sing how Nannie lap and flang,
(A souple jad 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,
And hotch’d and blew wi’ might and main:
Till first ae caper, syne anither,
Tam tint his reason a’ thegither,
And roars out ‘Weel done, Cutty-sark!’
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 fyke
When plundering herds assail their byke,
As open pussie’s mortal foes
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 hollow.
Ah, Tam! ah, Tam! thou’ll get thy fairin’!
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 dare na cross!
But ere the key-stane she could make,
The fient a tail she had to shake:
For Nannie, far before the rest,
Hard upon noble Maggie prest,
And flew at Tam wi’ furious ettle;
But little wist she Maggie’s mettle!
Ae spring brought off her master hale,
But left behind her ain gray tail:
The carlin claught her by the rump,
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.
Now, wha this tale o’ truth shall read,
Each 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 Tom o’ Shanter’s mare.

THE VISION

DUAN FIRST

The sun had closed the winter day,
The curlers quat their roarin’ play,
An’ hunger’d maukin taen her way
To kail-yards green,
While faithless snaws ilk step betray
Where she has been.

The thresher’s weary flingin’-tree
The lee-lang day had tirèd me:
And when the day had clos’d his e’e,
Far i’ the west,
Ben i’ the spence, right pensivelie,
I gaed to rest.

There lanely by the ingle-cheek
I sat and eyed the spewing reek,
That fill’d, wi’ hoast-provoking smeek
The auld clay biggin’;
An’ heard the restless rattons squeak
About the riggin’.

All in this mottie misty clime,
I backward mused on wasted time,
How I had spent my youthfu’ prime,
An’ done nae-thing,
But stringin’ blethers up in rhyme,
For fools to sing.

Had I to guid advice but harkit,
I might, by this, hae led a market,
Or strutted in a bank, and clarkit
My cash-account:
While here, half-mad, half-fed, half-sarkit,
Is a’ th’ amount.

I started, mutt’ring ‘blockhead! coof!’
And heaved on high my waukit loof,
To swear by a’ yon starry roof,
Or some rash aith,
That I, henceforth, would be rhyme-proof
Till my last breath—

When click! the string the snick did draw;
An’ jee! the door gaed to the wa’;
And by my ingle-lowe I saw,
Now bleezin’ bright,
A tight outlandish hizzie, braw,
Come full in sight.

Ye need na doubt I held my whisht;
The infant aith, half-form’d, was crusht;
I glowr’d as eerie’s I’d been dusht
In some wild glen;
When sweet, like modest worth, she blusht,
An’ steppèd ben.

Green, slender, leaf-clad holly-boughs
Were twisted, gracefu’, round her brows;
I took her for some Scottish Muse
By that same token;
And come to stop these reckless vows,
Would soon been broken.

A hare-brain’d, sentimental trace,
Was strongly markèd in her face;
A wildly-witty rustic grace
Shone full upon her;
Her eye, ev’n turn’d on empty space,
Beam’d keen with honour.

Down flow’d her robe, a tartan sheen,
Till half a leg was scrimply seen;
An’ such a leg! my bonnie Jean
Could only peer it;
Sae straught, sae taper, tight, and clean,
Nane else came near it.

Her mantle large, of greenish hue,
My gazing wonder chiefly drew;
Deep lights and shades, bold-mingling, threw
A lustre grand;
And seem’d to my astonish’d view
A well-known land.

Here rivers in the sea were lost;
There mountains to the skies were tost:
Here tumbling billows mark’d the coast
With surging foam;
There, distant shone Art’s lofty boast,
The lordly dome.

Here Doon pour’d down his far-fetch’d floods;
There well-fed Irwine stately thuds;
Auld hermit Ayr staw thro’ his woods,
On to the shore;
And many a lesser torrent scuds,
With seeming roar.

Low in a sandy valley spread,
An ancient borough rear’d her head;
Still, as in Scottish story read,
She boasts a race
To ev’ry nobler virtue bred,
And polish’d grace.

By stately tower or palace fair,
Or ruins pendent in the air,
Bold stems of heroes, here and there,
I could discern;
Some seem’d to muse, some seem’d to dare,
With feature stern.

My heart did glowing transport feel,
To see a race heroic wheel,
And brandish round the deep-dyed steel
In sturdy blows;
While back-recoiling seem’d to reel
Their Suthron foes.

His Country’s Saviour, mark him well!
Bold Richardton’s heroic swell;
The Chief—on Sark who glorious fell,
In high command;
And he whom ruthless fates expel
His native land.

There, where a sceptred Pictish shade
Stalk’d round his ashes lowly laid,
I mark’d a martial race, pourtray’d
In colours strong;
Bold, soldier-featured, undismay’d
They strode along.

DUAN SECOND

With musing-deep astonish’d stare,
I view’d the heavenly-seeming Fair;
A whisp’ring throb did witness bear
Of kindred sweet,
When with an elder Sister’s air
She did me greet.

‘All hail! my own inspired bard!
In me thy native Muse regard!
Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard,
Thus poorly low;
I come to give thee such reward
As we bestow.

‘Know, the great Genius of this land
Has many a light aërial band,
Who, all beneath his high command,
Harmoniously,
As arts or arms they understand,
Their labours ply.

‘They Scotia’s race among them share:
Some fire the soldier on to dare;
Some rouse the patriot up to bare
Corruption’s heart:
Some teach the bard, a darling care,
The tuneful art.

‘Of these am I—Coila my name;
And this district as mine I claim,
Where once the Campbells, chiefs of fame,
Held ruling pow’r:
I mark’d thy embryo-tuneful flame,
Thy natal hour.

‘With future hope I oft would gaze,
Fond, on thy little early ways,
Thy rudely-caroll’d, chiming phrase,
In uncouth rhymes,—
Fired at the simple artless lays
Of other times.

‘I saw thee seek the sounding shore,
Delighted with the dashing roar;
Or when the North his fleecy store
Drove thro’ the sky,
I saw grim Nature’s visage hoar
Struck thy young eye.

‘Or when the deep green-mantled Earth
Warm-cherish’d ev’ry flow’ret’s birth,
And joy and music pouring forth
In ev’ry grove,
I saw thee eye the gen’ral mirth
With boundless love.

‘When ripen’d fields and azure skies
Call’d forth the reapers’ rustling noise,
I saw thee leave their ev’ning joys,
And lonely stalk,
To vent thy bosom’s swelling rise
In pensive walk.

‘When youthful love, warm-blushing strong,
Keen-shivering shot thy nerves along,
Those accents, grateful to thy tongue,
Th’ adorèd Name,
I taught thee how to pour in song,
To soothe thy flame.

‘I saw thy pulse’s maddening play
Wild send thee pleasure’s devious way,
Misled by fancy’s meteor ray,
By passion driven;
But yet the light that led astray
Was light from Heaven.

‘I taught thy manners-painting strains,
The loves, the ways of simple swains,
Till now, o’er all my wide domains
Thy fame extends;
And some, the pride of Coila’s plains,
Become thy friends.

‘Thou canst not learn, nor can I show,
To paint with Thomson’s landscape-glow;
Or wake the bosom-melting throe
With Shenstone’s art;
Or pour with Gray the moving flow
Warm on the heart.

‘Yet all beneath th’ unrivall’d rose
The lowly daisy sweetly blows;
Tho’ large the forest’s monarch throws
His army shade,
Yet green the juicy hawthorn grows
Adown the glade.

‘Then never murmur nor repine;
Strive in thy humble sphere to shine;
And trust me, not Potosi’s mine,
Nor king’s regard,
Can give a bliss o’ermatching thine,
A rustic Bard.

‘To give my counsels all in one,
Thy tuneful flame still careful fan;
Preserve the dignity of Man,
With Soul erect;
And trust the Universal Plan
Will all protect.

‘And wear thou this’: She solemn said,
And bound the holly round my head:
The polish’d leaves and berries red
Did rustling play;
And, like a passing thought, she fled
In light away.

Glossary

=Abeigh=, aloof, at bay.

=Aboon=, above.

=Acquent=, acquainted.

=Ae=, one; only.

=Aff-loof=, offhand.

=A-gley=, askew.

=Aiblins=, perhaps, possibly.

=Airt=, region, direction; to direct.

=Airted=, directed.

=Aizle=, ash (of fuel); a cinder.

=Ajee=, ajar.

=An=, if.

=Asklent=, askance.

=Ava=, at all; of all.

=Awnie=, bearded (barley).

=Ayont=, beyond.

=Babie-clouts=, baby-clothes.

=Bairntime=, a mother’s whole brood or issue.

=Bade=, endured, could stand.

=Bannock=, a soft flat cake.

=Barley-bree=, barley-brew = ale or whisky.

=Baudrons=, the cat.

=Bawsent=, white streaked.

=Beets=, adds fuel to, incites.

=Bell=, flower, blossom;
=sin’ lint was i’ the bell=, since flax was in blossom.

=Belyve=, by and by, presently.

=Ben=, the spence or parlour; in, into, the inner room.

=Beuk=, a book.

=Bicker=, a wooden cup; a draught.

=Bickering=, hurrying.

=Biel=, =bield=, a shelter.

=Bien=, comfortable.

=Big=, to build.

=Biggin=, a building.

=Bill=, a bull.

=Billie=, brother; comrade.

=Bings=, heaps.

=Birk=, a birch (tree).

=Birkie=, chap, fellow (carries a suggestion of strut, conceit
or cockiness).

=Birken-shaw=, a wood of birches.

=Bizz=, to buzz.

=Blate=, bashful, shy.

=Blaud=, a slapping lot.

=Blellum=, a gassy fool.

=Blethers=, nonsense.

=Blink=, to glance brightly; a glance; a moment.

=Blinkers=, spies.

=Bluntie=, stupid, like a fool.

=Bocked=, vomited.

=Boddle=, a small coin, about = ½d.

=Bogle=, a ghost.

=Boortrees=, elder-bushes.

=Bore=, a hole or gap.

=Boot=, more than they bargained for.

=Bouk=, a bulk, body.

=Braing’t=, pulled with a jerk.

=Brak’s=, broke his.

=Branks=, a wooden curb, a bridle.

=Brats=, clothes; aprons.

=Brattle=, a spurt, sprint, scamper.

=Braw=, handsome; gaily dressed.

=Braxies=, sheep that have died of braxy.

=Briestit=, sprang forward.

=Brechan=, a horse-collar.

=Brent=, smooth, upright.

=Brent-new=, brand-new.

=Brock=, a badger.

=Brogue=, a trick.

=Broo=, brew, liquid, water.

=Broozes=, wedding-races home from church.

=Brugh=, a borough.

=Brulzie=, a brawl or brangle.

=Brunstane=, brimstone.

=Bughtin=, gathering sheep into the fold or bught.

=Buirdly=, burly, stalwart.

=Bum=, to hum.

=Bum-clock=, the beetle.

=Burdies= (dim of =burd=), damsels.

=Bure=, did bear.

=Burn=, a stream.

=Burnewin=, the blacksmith.

=Bur-thistle=, the spear-thistle.

=But=, without.

=But an’ ben=, the kitchen and parlour.

=By=, a great deal (“I care na by”).

=Byke=, a hive; a crowd.

=Byre=, a cowshed.

=Ca’=, call; drive (cattle, nails, etc.); push.

=Cadger=, a hawker.

=Caff=, chaff.

=Caird=, a tinker.

=Cairn=, a (memorial) heap of stones.

=Caller=, fresh.

=Cannie=, quiet, gentle, kind (also adv.).

=Cantie=, merry, jolly.

=Cantraip=, =cantrip=, magic, witching.

=Carl=, an old man.

=Carl-hemp=, male-hemp.

=Carlin=, a middle-aged or old woman.

=Cast out=, quarrel.

=Caups=, wooden cups.

=Chanter=, the playing pipe of the bag-pipes.

=Chaup=, a stroke, a blow.

=Chiel=, chap, young fellow (eulogistic term).

=Chimla=, chimney.

=Chitter=, to shiver.

=Claivers=, =clavers=, talk, about anything and nothing.

=Clash=, gossip, tittle-tattle; to talk so.

=Claught=, clutched.

=Claut=, a handful, a quantity.

=Cleed=, to clothe.

=Cleekit=, linked (their arms in dancing).

=Clink=, money.

=Clishmaclaver=, palaver.

=Cloot=, a hoof.

=Clud=, a cloud.

=Coble=, a small boat.

=Coft=, bought.

=Cogs=, various wooden vessels for food and drink are so called.

=Coggie=, dim. of =cog=.

=Coila=, Kyle, a division of Ayrshire.

=Coof=, =cuif=, a dolt, ninny; a mean-spirited fellow.

=Coost=, did cast.

=Cootie=, leg-plumed; a small pail.

=Corbies=, crows.

=Couthie=, kindly, comfortable.

=Cour=, to cower.

=Crack=, a story; a chat.

=Crackin=, conversing.

=Craig= (dim. =craigie=), the throat.

=Craiks=, landrails.

=Crambo-clink=, rhyme.

=Crambo-jingle=, rhyming.

=Cranreuch=, hoar frost.

=Crap=, a crop.

=Creel=, an osier basket.

=Creepie-chair=, stool of repentance.

=Creeshie=, greasy.

=Crood=, to coo.

=Crouse=, confident, bold.

=Crowdie=, oatmeal and water or milk (= uncooked porridge).

=Crummock=, a hooked stick.

=Cushat=, the wood-pigeon.

=Cutty=, short.

=Daffin=, funning, skylarking.

=Daimen-icker=, an ear or two of corn.

=Darg=, work.

=Daw=, to dawn.

=Dawtit=, petted, made much of.

=Dead=, death.

=Deave=, deafen.

=Diddle=, to jog to and fro.

=Dight=, to winnow or sift; to wipe.

=Din=, dun coloured.

=Dink=, dainty, trim.

=Ding=, to overthrow, beat.

=Dirl=, to vibrate, thrill.

=Dizzen=, a dozen.

=Doited=, muddled; bewildered.

=Donsie=, restive; wayward.

=Doo=, a pigeon.

=Dooked=, ducked.

=Dool=, sorrow.

=Douce=, sedate, serious; seemly.

=Dour=, stubborn.

=Dow=, can; =downa=, cannot.

=Dowff=, dull.

=Dowie=, low-spirited, dull, jaded.

=Downa bide=, cannot stand (them).

=Doylt=, stupified.

=Draigl’t=, draggled.

=Dreigh=, tedious, slow, tiresome.

=Droop-rump’lt=, short-rumped.

=Droukit=, soaked.

=Drouthy=, thirsty.

=Drucken=, drunken.

=Drumlie=, muddy.

=Drumossie Moor=, Culloden Field.

=Dub=, a puddle.

=Duds=, =duddies=, clothes.

=Duddie=, ragged.

=Dundee=, a Scotch psalm tune.

=Dunts=, knocks.

=Dusht=, touched.

=Earn=, an eagle.

=Eerie=, apprehensive, frightened, “queer.”

=Eild=, old age, eld.

=Elbuck=, elbow.

=Eldritch=, unearthly, fearsome.

=Elgin=, a Scotch psalm tune.

=Erse=, Gaelic.

=Ettle=, intention.

=Eydent=, diligent.

=Fa’=, to fall; lot; to have (by lot); to claim.

=Faikit=, let off, excused.

=Fain=, fond, glad; =fain o’ ither=, fond of each other.

=Fairin=, a gift from the Fair: ironically = a thrashing.

=Fan’=, =fand=, found.

=Fash=, to mind, trouble oneself.

=Fasten-een=, Fasten-even (evening before Lent).

=Faught=, a fight.

=Fauldin’-slap=, gate of the fold.

=Fawsont=, seemly, well-doing.

=Fecht=, a fight.

=Feckless=, feeble, fit for nothing.

=Fell=, sharp, tasty.

=Fen’=, =fend=, a shift or provision; to provide for, look after.

=Ferlie=, to wonder.

=Fetch’t=, stopped suddenly.

=Fey=, fated to death.

=Fidge=, to fidget.

=Fidgin-fain=, fidgeting with fainness.

=Fiel=, well.

=Fient=, fiend. =The fient a=, devil a....

=Fiere=, comrade.

=Fissle=, to bustle, be all alive.

=Fittie-lan’=, the hindmost near horse in ploughing.

=Fleech’d=, beseeched, wheedled.

=Flee=, a fly.

=Fleg=, a fright.

=Fley’d=, frightened, scared.

=Flichterin’=, fluttering.

=Flingin-tree=, a flail.

=Fliskit=, fretted and capered.

=Foor=, fared, went.

=Forbye=, besides.

=Forfairn=, worn out.

=Forfoughten=, exhausted by the conflict.

=Forjesket=, “jaded with fatigue,” R.B.

=Fou=, full; drunk.

=Foughten=, troubled, wearied.

=Fyke=, fidget.

=Fyle=, to dirty.

=Gae=, gave.

=Gae=, =gaed=, go, went.

=Gairs=, slashes (of a stuffed gown).

=Gar= (pf. =gar’d=, =gart=) make, cause to.

=Gate=, =gait=, the road; the way;
=a’ to the gate=, away, out of the way;
=tak the gate=, start for home.

=Gaucie=, =gawcie=, ample, flowing.

=Gaun=, going.

=Geck=, to toss the head.

=Get=, the begettings, offspring.

=Genty=, trim, elegant.

=Geordie, the yellow lettered=, a guinea.

=Gin=, if; when.

=Girn=, to twist the face, in chagrin or malice.

=Gizz=, a wig.

=Glaikit=, silly, thoughtless.

=Glaum’d=, clutched.

=Gleib=, a portion (of land).

=Glowrin=, staring.

=Glunch=, a scowl.

=Gowan=, the daisy.

=Gowk=, a fool; a guy.

=Graith=, the implements of an occupation.

=Grat=, wept.

=Gree=, a prize; =bure the gree= = won the victory.

=Greet=, to weep.

=Groanin’ maut=, the gossips’ ale at a lying-in.

=Gruntle=, the face, phiz.

=Grunzie=, the phiz (rather, mouth and nose).

=Grushie=, sturdy-growing.

=Guid-father=, father-in-law.

=Guid-willie=, hearty, with good-will.

=Gumlie=, muddy.

=Gusty=, tasty.

=Hae=, have.

=Haet= (= have it), component term in phrases;
=deil-haet=, =fient-haet= = devil a bit, devil a one.

=Haffets=, the temples.

=Hafflins=, half-like, partly.

=Haggis=, “A special Scotch pudding made of sheep’s
entrails, onions, and oatmeal, boiled in a sheep’s stomach.
The _pièce de résistance_ at Burns’ Club Dinners, and an
esteemed antidote to whisky.” Thus Henley and Henderson, with
obvious envy.

=Hain=, to use sparingly; be out of use.

=Hairst=, =har’st=, harvest.

=Haith=, faith!

=Haivers=, nonsense; idle chat.

=Hal’=, =hald=, a holding.

=Hallen=, a partition wall; a porch.

=Halloween=, All Saints’ Eve (Oct. 31).

=Hammers=, blockheads.

=Hangie=, hangman (nickname for Old Nick).

=Hansel=, the first gift or getting, supposed to bring luck to
the receiver or occasion.

=Hap=, any warm wrap or covering.

=Happer=, the hopper of a mill.

=Harn=, coarse cloth.

=Hash=, an oaf, dunderhead.

=Haslock=, the finest of the wool.

=Haud=, to hold.

=Haughs=, low-lying rich lands.

=Hauns=, hands.

=Havins=, manners, conduct.

=Hawkie=, the cow.

=Hech=, dear me! (expression of surprise and grief).

=Heft=, a haft, handle.

=Heigh=, high.

=Hein-shinned=, crooked shinned.

=Herriment=, plundering, devastation.

=Heugh=, a hollow or pit.

=Hilch=, to hobble, halt.

=Hiltie-skiltie=, helter-skelter.

=Hirples=, limps.

=Histie=, bare.

=Hizzie=, a wench, young woman.

=Hoast=, a cough.

=Hog-shouther=, shouldering, jostling.

=Hoolie!= beware!

=Houlet=, an owl.

=Howdie=, midwife.

=Howe=, a hollow.

=Howket=, they dug; dug up, unearthed.

=Hoyte=, “to amble crazily,” R.B.

=Hughoc= = little Hugh.

=Hunkers=, the hams.

=Hurdies=, the buttocks.

=Hushion=, a footless stocking, worn on the arm.

=Icker=, an ear of corn.

=Ilka=, each, every.

=Indentin’=, indenturing, devoting.

=Ingine=, genius.

=I’se=, I will or shall.

=Ither=, other, another, each other.

=Jad=, a jade.

=Jauk=, to trifle, dally.

=Jaups=, splashes.

=Jimp=, small, slender.

=Jimps=, stays.

=Jink=, to dodge, to turn quickly this way and that.

=Jinker=, a spanker; a coquette.

=Jirkinet=, bodice.

=Jirt=, a jerk.

=Jo=, sweetheart.

=Jouk=, to duck down, cower.

=Jundie=, to justle.

=Kain=, farm produce paid as rent.

=Kebars=, rafters.

=Kebbuck=, a cheese.

=Keek=, peep.

=Kelpies=, water-demons.

=Kennin=, a little, a thought (astray, etc.).

=Kep=, to catch (a ball, etc.).

=Ket=, a fleece.

=Kiaugh=, cark, anxiety.

=Kilbaigie=, an esteemed whisky.

=Kimmer=, wench, gossip, lass (married or single).

=Kirn=, a churn.

=Kirns=, harvest-homes.

=Kirsen=, to christen.

=Kist=, a chest.

=Kitchen=, a relish, treat or extra; to impart a relish to.

=Kittle=, risky, difficult.

=Knaggie=, knobbly.

=Knap=, to break (stones for road-metal).

=Knowe=, a knoll.

=Kyles=, skittles.

=Kytes=, bellies.

=Laigh=, low.

=Laik=, lack.

=Lairing=, sinking in moss or mud.

=Laithfu’=, lothe, bashful.

=Lallan=, Lowland.

=Lane=, lone, alone (is used with possessive pronoun: “thou art
no thy lane” = not alone).

=Lap=, leapt.

=Lave=, the remainder; the rest of them.

=Lawin=, the reckoning.

=Lea= (also =lay= and =ley=), untilled or meadow-land.

=Lea-rig=, strip of grass-land.

=Lear=, lore, learning.

=Lee-lang=, livelong.

=Leeze me on=, a blessing on.

=Licket=, licked, thrashed.

=Lift=, the sky; a load, share.

=Limmer=, a jade.

=Lin= (also =Linn=), a waterfall.

=Link=, to go dancingly, trippingly on.

=Linkit at it=, went at it.

=Linties= (or =Lintwhites=), linnets.

=Loan=, a lane.

=Loof=, palm of the hand; the hand.

=Loot=, let (past tense).

=Lough=, a loch, lake.

=Loup= (also =lowp=), to leap.

=Lowe=, a flame.

=Lug=, ear.

=Lugget=, eared; =lugget caup=, the two-eared cup.

=Luggie=, a =cog= with an upright handle.

=Luntin=, smoking.

=Lyart=, faded, blanched.

=Mae=, more.

=Mailin=, a farm.

=Mark=, an old Scots coin (1s. 1½d. stg.).

=Martyrs=, a Scotch psalm tune.

=Maukin=, a hare.

=Maun=, must.

=Maut=, malt.

=Mavis=, the thrush.

=Melder=, a milling, or quantity of corn sent to be ground.

=Mell=, to meddle.

=Mense=, good manners, discretion.

=Messan=, a mongrel.

=Midden=, a dungheap.

=Midden-creels=, dungheap baskets.

=Mind=, to remind; to remember.

=Minnie=, mother.

=Mirk=, dark.

=Moop=, to nibble; to herd with.

=Mottie=, dusty.

=Mou’=, the mouth.

=Moudiewort=, a mole.

=Muslin-kail=, meatless broth.

=Mutchkin=, a liquid measure = 1 pint English.

=Naigie=, dim. of =naig=, a nag.

=Nappy=, ale, liquor.

=Near-hand=, nearly.

=Neuk=, corner.

=New-ca’d=, newly driven.

=Nieve=, fist.

=Niffer=, exchange.

=Nit=, a nut.

=Nowte=, cattle.

=Ourie=, shivering, drooping.

=Out-owre=, out-over, away across.

=Owsen=, oxen.

=Pack and thick=, confidental.

=Paidle=, to wade.

=Painch=, the paunch.

=Paitrick=, a partridge.

=Parishen=, the people of a parish.

=Pat=, did put.

=Pattle=, a plough-spade.

=Paughty=, pompous, haughty.

=Paukie= (or =pawkie=), sly.

=Pechan=, the stomach.

=Pechin’=, cramming.

=Pint= (Scots), two English quarts.

=Plack=, a small coin, about ⅓d.

=Plaiden=, of coarse woollen cloth.

=Poind=, distrain.

=Poortith=, poverty.

=Poussie=, the hare.

=Pow=, the poll, head.

=Pownie=, a pony.

=Prief=, proof.

=Priggin’=, haggling.

=Proveses=, provosts.

=Pyke=, to pick.

=Pyles=, grains, particles.

=Quat=, quitted.

=Quean=, a young woman, lass.

=Ragweed=, the ragwort.

=Rair=, to roar.

=Raize=, to excite, to anger.

=Ramfeezl’d=, fagged out.

=Ram-stam=, headlong, reckless.

=Rant=, to rollick, royster.

=Rants=, jollifications; rows.

=Rape=, a rope.

=Raploch=, coarse cloth.

=Rash=, a rush.

=Rash-buss=, a clump of rushes.

=Ratton=, a rat.

=Raw=, a row (of pins).

=Rax=, to stretch; to reach;
=Rax thy leather=, stretch or exercise thyself.

=Reave=, to rob.

=Red-wat-shod=, red-wet-shod.

=Reek=, smoke; to smoke.

=Reekit=, smoked, smoky.

=Remead=, remedy.

=Rig=, a ridge.

=Riggin=, the roof, roof-tree.

=Reestit=, scorched; rested = refused to go.

=Rigwoodie hags=, gallows hags (rigging for the =woodie=).

=Rip=, (or =ripp=,) a handful of corn from the sheaf.

=Rive=, to strain, rend, tear.

=Rock=, a distaff.

=Rockin=, a social meeting for song and chat and story, to which
the women brought their =rock= or distaff.

=Roose=, to praise, flatter.

=Rowe=, to roll.

=Rowte=, to low, bellow.

=Rowth=, abundance.

=Rung=, a cudgel.

=Sair=, sore; to serve.

=Sarkit=, shirted.

=Saugh=, the willow;
=saugh woodies=, willow-wands.

=Sawmont=, salmon.

=Scaith=, hurt.

=Scar= (or =Scaur=), a jutting cliff, or bank of earth.

=Scaur=, to scare; (adj.) readily scared.

=Scaud=, scald.

=Scho=, she.

=Sconner=, to loathe.

=Screed=, a rent, tear.

=Scrievin’=, careering; tearing along.

=Seizins=, freehold properties.

=Sets you=, becomes you.

=Seventeen-hunder linen=, fine linen, woven in a reed of 1700
divisions.

=Shachl’t=, large and shapeless.

=Shavie=, a trick.

=Shaw=, a wood.

=Sheuch=, a ditch, watercourse.

=Shiel=, a shed or hut.

=Shill=, shrill, shrilly.

=Sic=, such.

=Siller=, silver; money; wealth.

=Sinsyne=, since then.

=Skeigh=, skittish, coy.

=Skellum=, a scullion, a worthless fellow.

=Skelp=, to spank (in all the Eng. senses).

=Skinkin’=, watery.

=Skirl=, to shrill out, to scream.

=Sklent=, to slant, look aside; to cheat.

=Skriegh=, a scream.

=Shyrin’=, flaring.

=Skyte=, a glancing quick stroke.

=Slap=, a gap in a fence or wall, a gate.

=Sleeest=, slyest.

=Slypet=, slipped down.

=Smoor’d=, smothered.

=Smytrie=, a smattering, a clump.

=Snapper=, to stumble along.

=Snash=, abuse, insolence.

=Snaw-broo=, melted snow.

=Sned=, to crop, lop, prune;
=Sned besoms=, make birch-brooms.

=Snell=, bitter, biting.

=Sneeshin-mill=, the snuff-box.

=Snick= (or =sneck=), the door latchet.

=Snool=, to snub; to bear snubbing, cringe.

=Snoove=, to go slowly and steadily on.

=Snowkit=, pried with the nose.

=Sonsie=, plump and pleasant.

=Sough=, a sighing sound.

=Soupe= (or =Sowpe=), a “sup” of anything.

=Souter=, a cobbler.

=Sowth=, the low humming or whistling of one trying over a tune.
Cp. “soothe.”

=Sowther=, solder.

=Spairge=, sprinkle.

=Spate=, the flooding of a river or stream.

=Spavie=, the spavin.

=Spean=, to wean.

=Speel=, to climb.

=Speer=, =spier=, to inquire.

=Splore=, a jollification.

=Spotting=, ? making =spates=.

=Sprattle=, to scramble.

=Spring=, a quick dancing air on the pipes.

=Spritty=, full of roots of sprits, or rushes.

=Spunkies=, Will-o’-the-wisps.

=Stacher=, to stagger.

=Stang=, to sting.

=Stank=, a pool.

=Starns=, stars.

=Staumrel=, doltish, half-witted.

=Staw=, stole.

=Staw=, to disgust, turn the stomach.

=Stechin=, cramming.

=Steek=, to close, fasten.

=Steeks=, stitches, links (of a purse).

=Steer=, to stir, molest.

=Steeve=, firm, compact.

=Sten=, a leap, bound.

=Stents=, assessments, dues.

=Stey=, steep.

=Stilt=, to limp, halt.

=Stimpart=, a dry measure = about ½ peck.

=Stirk=, a young bullock or heifer (over a year old).

=Stocks=, heads (of cabbage, etc.)

=Stoiter=, to stagger.

=Stookit raw=, row of =stooks=, or shocks of corn.

=Stoor=, harsh, deep-sounding.

=Stoure=, dust (of toil, etc.)

=Stown=, (could) have stolen.

=Stowlins=, by stealth.

=Streekit=, stretched.

=Stroan’d=, spouted.

=Studdie=, an anvil.

=Sturt=, trouble.

=Sucker=, sugar.

=Swank=, limber, agile.

=Swarf=, to swoon.

=Swat=, sweated.

=Swats=, new ale.

=Swither=, hesitation.

=Syne=, then; since.

=Tapetless=, headless = silly.

=Tapsalteerie=, topsyturvy.

=Tassie=, a cup.