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A Tale
WHEN 1 chapman billies leave the street, | |
| And drouthy neibors, neibors meet; | |
| As market days are wearing late, | |
| And folk begin to tak the gate, | |
| While we sit bousing at the nappy, | 5 |
| An’ getting fou and unco happy, | |
| We think na on the lang Scots miles, | |
| The mosses, waters, slaps and stiles, | |
| That lie between us and our hame, | |
| Where sits our sulky, sullen dame, | 10 |
| Gathering her brows like gathering storm, | |
| Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. | |
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| This truth fand honest Tam o’ Shanter, | |
| As he frae Ayr ae night did canter: | |
| (Auld Ayr, wham ne’er a town surpasses, | 15 |
| For honest men and bonnie lasses). | |
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| O Tam! had’st thou but been sae wise, | |
| As taen thy ain wife Kate’s advice! | |
| She tauld thee weel thou wast a skellum, | |
| A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum; | 20 |
| 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 ev’ry naig was ca’d a shoe on, | 25 |
| The Smith and thee gat roarin fou on; | |
| That at the L—d’s house, ev’n on Sunday, | |
| Thou drank wi’ Kirkton Jean till Monday, | |
| She prophesied that late or soon, | |
| Thou wad be found, deep drown’d in Doon, | 30 |
| 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, | 35 |
| 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; | 40 |
| And at his elbow, Souter Johnie, | |
| 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 an’ clatter; | 45 |
| 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: | 50 |
| 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, | 55 |
| 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; | 60 |
| 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 | 65 |
| 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; | 70 |
| 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 showers rose on the blast; | |
| The speedy gleams the darkness swallow’d; | 75 |
| 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 grey mare Meg, | |
| A better never lifted leg, | 80 |
| 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’rin round wi’ prudent cares, | 85 |
| Lest bogles catch him unawares; | |
| Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh, | |
| Where ghaists and houlets nightly cry. | |
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| By this time he was cross the ford, | |
| Where in the snaw the chapman smoor’d; | 90 |
| 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, | 95 |
| 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, | 100 |
| 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. | |
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| Inspiring bold John Barleycorn! | 105 |
| What dangers thou canst make us scorn! | |
| Wi’ tippenny we fear nae evil; | |
| Wi’ usquabae, we’ll face the devil! | |
| The swats sae ream’d in Tammie’s noddle, | |
| Fair play, he car’d na deils a’ boddle, | 110 |
| But Maggie stood, right sair astonish’d, | |
| Till, by the heel and hand admonish’d, | |
| She ventur’d forward on the light; | |
| And, wow! Tam saw an unco sight! | |
| |
| Warlocks and witches in a dance: | 115 |
| 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; | 120 |
| A towzie 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, | 125 |
| 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, | 130 |
| A murderer’s banes, in gibbet-airns; | |
| Twa span-lang, wee, unchristened bairns; | |
| A thief, new-cutted frae a rape, | |
| Wi’ his last gasp his gab did gape; | |
| Five tomahawks, wi’ blude red-rusted: | 135 |
| Five scimitars, wi’ murder crusted; | |
| A garter which a babe had strangled; | |
| A knife, a father’s throat had mangled, | |
| Whom his ain son of life bereft, | |
| The grey-hairs yet stack to the heft; | 140 |
| Wi’ mair of horrible and awfu’, | |
| Which even to name wad be unlawfu’. | |
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| As Tammie glowr’d, amaz’d, and curious, | |
| The mirth and fun grew fast and furious; | |
| The Piper loud and louder blew, | 145 |
| 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! | 150 |
| |
| Now Tam, O Tam! had they been queans, | |
| A’ plump and strapping in their teens! | |
| Their sarks, instead o’ creeshie flainen, | |
| Been snaw-white seventeen-hunder linen!— | |
| Thir breeks o’ mine, my only pair, | 155 |
| That ance were plush, o’ guid blue hair, | |
| I wad hae gien them off my hurdies, | |
| For ae blink o’ the bonnie burdies! | |
| But wither’d beldams, auld and droll, | |
| Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal, | 160 |
| Louping an’ flinging on a crummock, | |
| I wonder did na turn thy stomach. | |
| |
| But Tam kent what was what fu’ brawlie: | |
| There was ae winsome wench and waulie | |
| That night enlisted in the core, | 165 |
| Lang after ken’d 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); | 170 |
| 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 ken’d thy reverend grannie, | 175 |
| 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 power; | 180 |
| To sing how Nannie lap and flang, | |
| (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, | 185 |
| 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: | 190 |
| 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, | 195 |
| 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 skreich and hollow. | 200 |
| |
| 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, | 205 |
| And win the keystane 2 o’ the brig; | |
| There, at them thou thy tail may toss, | |
| A running stream they dare na cross. | |
| |
| But ere the keystane she could make, | |
| The fient a tail she had to shake! | 210 |
| 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, | 215 |
| But left behind her ain grey tail: | |
| The carlin claught her by the rump, | |
| And left poor Maggie scarce a stump. | |
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| Now, wha this tale o’ truth shall read, | |
| Ilk man, and mother’s son, take heed: | 220 |
| 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. | |
