| |
| WHAT ails ye now, ye lousie bitch | |
| To thresh my back at sic a pitch? | |
| Losh, man! hae mercy wi’ your natch, | |
| Your bodkin’s bauld; | |
| I didna suffer half sae much | 5 |
| Frae Daddie Auld. | |
| |
| What tho’ at times, when I grow crouse, | |
| I gie their wames a random pouse, | |
| Is that enough for you to souse | |
| Your servant sae? | 10 |
| Gae mind your seam, ye prick-the-louse, | |
| An’ jag-the-flea! | |
| |
| King David, o’ poetic brief, | |
| Wrocht ’mang the lasses sic mischief | |
| As filled his after-life wi’ grief, | 15 |
| An’ bluidy rants, | |
| An’ yet he’s rank’d amang the chief | |
| O’ lang-syne saunts. | |
| |
| And maybe, Tam, for a’ my cants, | |
| My wicked rhymes, an’ drucken rants, | 20 |
| I’ll gie auld cloven’s Clootie’s haunts | |
| An unco slip yet, | |
| An’ snugly sit amang the saunts, | |
| At Davie’s hip yet! | |
| |
| But, fegs! the session says I maun | 25 |
| Gae fa’ upo’ anither plan | |
| Than garrin lasses coup the cran, | |
| Clean heels ower body, | |
| An’ sairly thole their mother’s ban | |
| Afore the howdy. | 30 |
| |
| This leads me on to tell for sport, | |
| How I did wi’ the Session sort; | |
| Auld Clinkum, at the inner port, | |
| Cried three times, “Robin! | |
| Come hither lad, and answer for’t, | 35 |
| Ye’re blam’d for jobbin!” | |
| |
| Wi’ pinch I put a Sunday’s face on, | |
| An’ snoov’d awa before the Session: | |
| I made an open, fair confession— | |
| I scorn’t to lee, | 40 |
| An’ syne Mess John, beyond expression, | |
| Fell foul o’ me. | |
| |
| A fornicator-loun he call’d me, | |
| An’ said my faut frae bliss expell’d me; | |
| I own’d the tale was true he tell’d me, | 45 |
| “But, what the matter? | |
| (Quo’ I) I fear unless ye geld me, | |
| I’ll ne’er be better!” | |
| |
| “Geld you! (quo’ he) an’ what for no? | |
| If that your right hand, leg or toe | 50 |
| Should ever prove your sp’ritual foe, | |
| You should remember | |
| To cut it aff—an’ what for no | |
| Your dearest member?” | |
| |
| “Na, na, (quo’ I,) I’m no for that, | 55 |
| Gelding’s nae better than ’tis ca’t; | |
| I’d rather suffer for my faut | |
| A hearty flewit, | |
| As sair owre hip as ye can draw’t, | |
| Tho’ I should rue it. | 60 |
| |
| “Or, gin ye like to end the bother, | |
| To please us a’—I’ve just ae ither— | |
| When next wi’ yon lass I forgather, | |
| Whate’er betide it, | |
| I’ll frankly gie her ’t a’ thegither, | 65 |
| An’ let her guide it.” | |
| |
| But, sir, this pleas’d them warst of a’, | |
| An’ therefore, Tam, when that I saw, | |
| I said “Gude night,” an’ cam’ awa’, | |
| An’ left the Session; | 70 |
| I saw they were resolvèd a’ | |
| On my oppression. | |
| |
