‘Tam O’ Shanter’, Vol.1, pp.278-287.

A TALE

Of Brownyis and of Bogillis full is this Buke.

                                                        GAWIN DOUGLAS.

 

 

WHEN chapman billies leave the street,                   pedlar fellows 

And drouthy neebors neebors 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,                         not 

The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles,                        bogs; pools; breaches; stiles 

That lie between us and our hame,  

Whare 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,                found 

As he frae Ayr ae night did canter:                            one 

(Auld Ayr, wham ne’er a town surpasses, 

For honest men and bonie lasses). 

 

     O Tam, had’st thou but been sae wise, 

As taen thy ain wife Kate’s advice!                            to have taken 

She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum,                   good for nothing 

A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum;              chattering; babbler 

That frae November till October, 

Ae market-day thou was nae sober; 

That ilka melder wi’ the miller,                                   meal-grinding 

Thou sat as lang as thou had siller;                            money 

That ev’ry naig was ca’d a shoe on,                            called 

The smith and thee gat roarig fou o; 

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                          wizards; dark 

By Alloway’s auld, haunted kirk. 

 

     Ah! gentle dames, it gars me greet,                        makes; weep 

To think how monie counsels sweet, 

How monie lengthen’d, sage advices 

The husband frae the wife despises! 

 

     But to our tale:- Ae market-night, 

Tam had got planted unco right,                                uncommonly 

Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, 

Wi’ reaming swats, that drank divinely;                   foaming new ale 

And at his elbow, Souter Johnie,                               Cobbler 

His ancient, trusty, drouthy cronie: 

Tam lo’ed him like a very brither; 

They had been fou for weeks thegither. 

The night drave on wi’ sangs and clatter; 

And ay the ale was growing better: 

The landlady and Tam grew gracious 

Wi’ secret favours, 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, 

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,                            [Notes] 

A moment white – then melts for ever; 

Or like th 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 or tide; 

The hour approaches Tam maun ride:                      must 

That hour, o’ night’s black arch the key-stane, 

That dreary hour Tam 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;                would have 

The rattling showers 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; puddle 

Despising wind, and rain, and fire; 

Whiles holding fast his guid blue bonnet,               Now 

Whiles crooning o’er some auld Scots sonnet,        song 

Whiles glow’ring round wi’ prudent cares,              staring 

Lest bogles catch him unawares:                                bogies 

Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh, 

Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry.                    owls 

 

    By this time he was cross the ford,                        across 

Whare in the snaw the chapman smoor’d;              smothered 

And past the birks and meikle stane,                        birches; big 

Whare drunken Charlie brak ‘s neck-bane; 

And thro’ the whins, and by the cairn,                    furze; pile of stones 

Whare hunters fand the murder’d bairn; 

And near the thorn, aboon the well,                         above 

Whare 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,                   every chink 

And loud resounded mirth and dancing.

 

 

     Inspiring bold John Barleycorn, 

What dangers thou canst make us scorn! 

Wi’ tippenny, we fear nae evil;                                   ale 

Wi’ usquabae, we’ll face the Devil!                            whisky                

The swats sae ream’d in Tammie’s noddle, 

Fair play, he car’d na deils a boddle.                          not; 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!                             wondrous 

 

     Warlocks and witches in a dance; 

Nae cotillion, brent new frae France,                         brand [Notes] 

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 tousie 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,                    cupboards 

That shaw’d the dead in their last dresses; 

And, by some devilish cantraip sleight,                     magic device 

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;                         -irons 

Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen’d bairns; 

A thief new-cutted frae a rape – 

Wi’ his last gasp his gab did gape;                              mouth 

Five tomahawks wi’ bluid 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 grey-hairs yet stuack to the heft; 

Wi’ mair of horrible and awefu’, 

Which even to name wad be unlawfu’. 

 

     As Tammie glowr’d, amaz’d, and curious,            stared 

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,        took hold 

Till ilka carlin swat and reekit,                                    beldam sweated; steamed 

And coost her duddies to the wark,                           rags 

And linket at it in her sark!                                          tripped 

 

     Now Tam. O Tam! had thae been queans,             these 

A’ plump and strapping in their teens! 

Their sarks, instead o’ creeshie flannen,                     greasy 

Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linen! –              [Notes] 

Thir breeks o’ mine, my only pair,                              These 

That ance were plush, o’ guid blue hair, 

I wad hae gi’en them off my hurdies                          buttocks 

For ae blink o’ the bonie burdies!                               maidens 

 

     But wither’d beldams, auld and droll, 

Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal,                              [Notes] wean 

Louping and flinging on a crummock,                       leaping; kicking; cudgel 

I wonder did na turn thy stomach!  

 

     But Tam kend what was what fu’ brawlie:             well 

There was ae winsome wench and wawlie,                 comely; choice 

That night enlisted in the core,                                    company 

Lang after jend on Carrick shore 

(For monie a beast to dead she shot,                           death 

An’ perish’d monie a bonie boat, 

And shook baith meikle corn and bear,                      much; barley 

And kept the country-side in fear). 

Her cutty sark, o’ Paisley harn,                                   short shift; coarse cloth 

That while a lassie she had worn, 

In longitude tho’ sorely scanty, 

It was her best, and she was vauntie…                        proud 

Ah! little kend thy reverend grannie, 

That sark she coft for her wee Nannie,                      bought 

Wi’ twa pund Scots (‘twas a’ her riches), 

Wad ever grac’d a dance of witches!                          Would have 

 

     But here my Muse her wing maun cour,               stoop 

Sic flights are far beyond her power: 

To sing how Nannie lap and flang                               leaped; kicked 

(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,                     fidgeted; fond 

And hotch’d and blew wi’ might and main;                jerked 

Till first aw caper, syne anither,                                  then 

Tam tint his reason a’ thegither,                                   lost 

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,                            fret 

When plundering herds assail their byke;                 [Notes]; hive 

As open pussie’s mortal foes,                                      the 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’ monie an eldritch skriech and hollo.                   unearthly 

 

     Ah, Tam! Ah, Tam! thou’ll get thy fairin!               [Notes] 

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 of the brig;                            [Notes] 

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;                                 devil 

For Nannie, far before the rest, 

Hard upon noble Maggie prest, 

And flew at Tam wi’ furious ettle;                               aim 

But little wist she Maggie’s mettle! 

Ae spring brought off her master hale,                       whole 

But left behind her ain grey tail: 

The carlin claught her by the rump,                            seized 

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 run in your mind, 

Think! ye may buy the joys o’er dear: 

Remember Tam o’ Shanter’s mare.