Hughie’s Bachelor Party, pp.30-33.

[Horace in Homespun Contents]

Da lunæ propere novæ, 

Da noctis mediæ.” – CAR. III., 19. 

AY, here they come, thrang warstlin’ up the brae 

Like sheep in single file, 

No’ ane o’ them wi’ langidge left – they’re sae 

Forfoughen wi’ their toil. 


Tammy, ye’re first – but tailors for a broose! 

Willie, my man, your paw! 

Ye’re pechan’, Pate! Weel, Watty, what’s the noos? 

An’ Lowrie’s last o’ a’! 


What! no a wird? Weel, stand an’ tak’ a breath, 

An’ view the scene awhile; 

I weel believe it, Pate, withoot the aith – 

It was that hin’most mile. 


Ay, lads, ye’re high – ye’re up amang the groose; 

That was the muir-cock’s craw! 

But in! ye’re welcome to the Shepherd’s hoose; 

I’m glad to see ye a’. 


Draw in your chairs – na! no’ untilI see 

Five auld frien’s plantit richt! 

An’ noo, afore I fesh the barley-bree, 

Nae politics the nicht! 


There’s Watty wi’ the budget in his wime – 

Noo, Watty, huad your haund; 

The wise man says that a’ thing has its time, 

But here – ye’re aff your laund. 


Gude-fallowship’s the fashion i’ the hills, 

An’ fechtin’ i’ the toun: 

If either Whig or Tory ventur’d till’s – 

Man, we wad shute them doun! 


Come, come! a bargain be’t. An’ hoo’s your hoast? 

An’ what’s the price o’ woo’? 

Has Bauby gotten owre that bairn she lost? 

But was the deacon fu’? 


That whusky duty! – but we’ll lat it be; 

It mayna get oor length! 

Here’s to ye, Pate! Willie – it’s wat your ee! 

Lad, that’s the stuff for strength! 


Here’s a big bumper for us a’ thegither! 

But wha’s that at the pane? 

The new mune keekin’ in a kind o’ swither! 

‘Faith, we maun gie her ane! 


Ane for the nicht; an’ ane for Jock the cadger 

Wha brocht the tappit hen; 

An’ ane for him, tae, honest man! the gauger 

Wha lost himsel’ i’ glen! 


Nae pressin’ – na! ilk man should ken his score! 

A sober gauge is six! 

There’s watter in a stoup ahint the door 

For them that want to mix. 


Na, but I’m blythe – I’m daft to see ye a’! 

Lowrie, produce your flute, 

We maun hae music; – first we’ll take your blaw, 

An’ syne a sang fra Pate. 


Then in a chorus sang we’ll soop the heather 

Till the waste places ring, 

An’ social conveys sleepin’ soun’ thegither 

Break aff on startled wing. 


An’ let that churlish Nawbal o’ a fermer, 

Oor nippit neebor, hear; 

An’ lovely Abigail, as I may term her, 

That should be – Dauvit’s dear! 


O Tam, ye’re happy in your love for Meg, 

Ye’re blest – ye’re free o’ blame; 

But I maun burn for what I daurna beg, – 

For her I daurna name! 


Note. – The reference in the 9th stanza is to the increased duty on whisky, threatened by Mr Childers’ Budget (1885). 

Leave a Reply