Auld Towser
Y E'RE turnin' auld, Towser, yer teeth nearly gane;
Ye hae a sair fecht, noo, to hirple yer lane.
Ah, times are sair alter'd wi' baith you and me,
And the days we hae seen we can never mair see.
I'm wearin' doun wi' ye, for time, weel I ken,
Is no a bit partial to dugs or to men.
It canna be lang till we baith get the ca',
And gane and forgotten by ane and by a'.
But ye were aye faithfu', whatever befell;
I whiles wisht that I could say that o' mysel.
And after yer battles ye never kept spite—
Yer bark it was always far waur than yer bite.
And there was baith wisdom and wit in yer face;
Yer stature proclaim'd ye the lord o' yer race;
Baith big, black and gaucy, a great towsy tyke
As e'er chased a beggar, or lapt owre a dyke.
Ye never took up wi' the wild fechtin' dugs;
Yer freens were a' social, wi' lang-hingin' lugs;
And they wad fraise wi' ye, and beek in the sun,
Or start up a squirrel and chase it for fun.
Great was yer contempt for the wee barkin' dugs,
The things that hunt rattons wi' noses like pugs:
When they wad rush oot and bark up in yer face,
Ye seem'd to think shame they belang'd to yer race.
I whiles thocht ye had a bit spite at the pigs—
What fun ye had chasin' them doun the lea rigs!
Yer bark was mair wicked—it was na the same
That ye gied to the beggars or ocht aboot hame.
Ye never were beat whaur the fechtin' was fair
But that time ye tackled the big raucle bear:
Yon wrestlin' and huggin' was oot o' yer line,
But ye left him some tokens I'm thinkin' he'll min'.
And ye were a dour, an angry, big tyke,
That time ye attackit the bees in their byke:
They buzz'd oot upon ye like deils frae the pit,
And ye raged like a creature deprived o' its wit.
And vainly ye barkit, and vainly wad bite,
For still they stuck to ye like venom and spite;
And still they came bummin' like legions o' deils,
So, like a wise dug, then ye took to yer heels.
Ye paid for yer knowledge (as I've often done),
And then had the wisdom sic comp'ny to shun;
But I was not always made wiser by pain,
For I've sinn'd and I've suffer'd again and again.
When folk cam' for siller, and I'd nane to gie,
Ye kent them, auld Towser, as weel juist as me:
Ye show'd them yer tusks; ye were ill, ill to please—
Oh, the limbs o' the law are faur waur than the bees!
How you and wee Charlie wad fondle and play,
And jink roun' the hay-rack the haill simmer day—
He lauchin', ye barkin', at fun o' yer ain,
Till I've wisht that I were a laddie again.
And when that he murmur'd, and sicken'd, and died,
No, naething could tempt ye to leave his bedside;
Ye sat sad and silent, by nicht and by day,
And, oh, how ye moan'd when they bore him away!
Tho' some folk may ca' ye a useless auld brute,
Yet, Towser, as lang's ye can hirple aboot,
I'll share my bite wi' ye, and then when ye dee,
We'll bury ye under the auld apple tree.
And the bairns will greet for ye when they see ye laid,
All silent in death, 'neath its bonnie green shade;
And aft by the ingle they'll ca' ye to min',
And dear thochts shall aye roun' yer memory twine.
Ye hae a sair fecht, noo, to hirple yer lane.
Ah, times are sair alter'd wi' baith you and me,
And the days we hae seen we can never mair see.
I'm wearin' doun wi' ye, for time, weel I ken,
Is no a bit partial to dugs or to men.
It canna be lang till we baith get the ca',
And gane and forgotten by ane and by a'.
But ye were aye faithfu', whatever befell;
I whiles wisht that I could say that o' mysel.
And after yer battles ye never kept spite—
Yer bark it was always far waur than yer bite.
And there was baith wisdom and wit in yer face;
Yer stature proclaim'd ye the lord o' yer race;
Baith big, black and gaucy, a great towsy tyke
As e'er chased a beggar, or lapt owre a dyke.
Ye never took up wi' the wild fechtin' dugs;
Yer freens were a' social, wi' lang-hingin' lugs;
And they wad fraise wi' ye, and beek in the sun,
Or start up a squirrel and chase it for fun.
Great was yer contempt for the wee barkin' dugs,
The things that hunt rattons wi' noses like pugs:
When they wad rush oot and bark up in yer face,
Ye seem'd to think shame they belang'd to yer race.
I whiles thocht ye had a bit spite at the pigs—
What fun ye had chasin' them doun the lea rigs!
Yer bark was mair wicked—it was na the same
That ye gied to the beggars or ocht aboot hame.
Ye never were beat whaur the fechtin' was fair
But that time ye tackled the big raucle bear:
Yon wrestlin' and huggin' was oot o' yer line,
But ye left him some tokens I'm thinkin' he'll min'.
And ye were a dour, an angry, big tyke,
That time ye attackit the bees in their byke:
They buzz'd oot upon ye like deils frae the pit,
And ye raged like a creature deprived o' its wit.
And vainly ye barkit, and vainly wad bite,
For still they stuck to ye like venom and spite;
And still they came bummin' like legions o' deils,
So, like a wise dug, then ye took to yer heels.
Ye paid for yer knowledge (as I've often done),
And then had the wisdom sic comp'ny to shun;
But I was not always made wiser by pain,
For I've sinn'd and I've suffer'd again and again.
When folk cam' for siller, and I'd nane to gie,
Ye kent them, auld Towser, as weel juist as me:
Ye show'd them yer tusks; ye were ill, ill to please—
Oh, the limbs o' the law are faur waur than the bees!
How you and wee Charlie wad fondle and play,
And jink roun' the hay-rack the haill simmer day—
He lauchin', ye barkin', at fun o' yer ain,
Till I've wisht that I were a laddie again.
And when that he murmur'd, and sicken'd, and died,
No, naething could tempt ye to leave his bedside;
Ye sat sad and silent, by nicht and by day,
And, oh, how ye moan'd when they bore him away!
Tho' some folk may ca' ye a useless auld brute,
Yet, Towser, as lang's ye can hirple aboot,
I'll share my bite wi' ye, and then when ye dee,
We'll bury ye under the auld apple tree.
And the bairns will greet for ye when they see ye laid,
All silent in death, 'neath its bonnie green shade;
And aft by the ingle they'll ca' ye to min',
And dear thochts shall aye roun' yer memory twine.
Translation:
Language:
Reviews
No reviews yet.