Classic Poem

BARD .

Now soon as e'er the will was torn,
Jouk, wi' twa bonnets, on the morn,
Frae Fairyland fast bang'd away,
The prize at Rosie's feet to lay;
Wha, sleely, when he did appear,
About his success 'gan to speer.

JOUKUM .

Here, bonny lass, your humble slave
Presents you wi' the things you crave,
The riven will and bonnets twa,
Which maks the third worth nought ava:
Our pow'r gi'en up, now I demand
Your promis'd love, and eke your hand.

BARD .

Rose smil'd to see the lad outwitted,
And bonnets to the flames committed.
Immediately an awfu' sound,
As ane wad thought, raise frae the ground;
And syne appear'd a stalwart ghaist,
Whase stern and angry looks amaist
Unhool'd their sauls: — shaking, they saw
Him frae the fire the bonnets draw:
Then came to Jouk, and wi' twa rugs
Increas'd the length o' baith his lugs;
And said —

GHAIST .

Be a' thy days an ass,
An hackney to this cunning lass;
But, for these bonnets, I 'll preserve them
For bairns unborn that will deserve them.

BARD .

Wi' that he vanish'd frae their een,
And left poor Jouk wi' breeks not clean:
He shakes, while Rosie rants and capers,
And ca's the vision nought but vapours;
Rubs o'er his cheeks and gab wi' ream,
Till he believes 't to be a dream:
Syne to her closet leads the way,
To soup him up wi' usquebae.

ROSIE .

Now, bonny lad, ye may be free
To handle ought pertains to me;
And ere the sun, tho' he be dry,
Has driven down the westlin sky,
To drink his wamefu' o' the sea,
There's be but ane o' you and me.
In marriage ye sall ha'e my hand;
But I man ha'e the sole command
In Fairyland to saw and plant,
And to send there for ought I want.

BARD .

Ay, ay, cries Jouk, a' in a fire,
And stiffening into strong desire.

JOUKUM .

Come, haste thee, let us sign and seal;
And let my billies gang to the d — .

BARD .

Here it wad mak' o'er lang a tale,
To tell how meikle cakes and ale,
And beef, and broe, and gryce, and geese,
And pies a' rinning o'er wi' creesh,
Was serv'd upon the wedding-table,
To mak' the lads and lasses able
To do, ye ken, what we think shame
(Tho' ilk ane does 't) to gi'e 't a name.
But true it is they soon were buckled,
And soon she made poor Jouk a cuckold,
And play'd her bawdy sports before him,
Wi' chiels that car'd na tippence for him;
Beside a Rosicrucian trick
She had o' dealing wi' Auld Nick;
And whene'er Jouk began to grumble,
Auld Nick in the niest room wad rumble.
She drank, and fought, and spent her gear
Wi' dice, and selling o' the mear.
Thus living like a Belzie's get,
She ran hersell sae deep in debt,
By borrowing money at a' hands,
That yearly income o' her lands
Scarce paid the interest o' her bands.
Jouk, ay ca'd wise behind the hand,
The daffin o' his doings fand;
O'er late he now began to see
The ruin o' his family:
But past relief lar'd in a midding,
He 's now oblig'd to do her bidding.
Awa wi' strict command he 's sent
To Fairyland to lift the rent,
And wi' him mony a caterpillar,
To rug frae Briss and Bawsy siller;
For her braid table man be serv'd,
Tho' Fairy fowk shou'd a' be starv'd.
Jouk thus surrounded wi' his guards,
Now plunders hay-stacks, barns, and yards;
They drive the nowt frae Bristle's fauld,
While he can nought but ban and scald.

BRISTLE .

Vile slave to a hussy ill-begotten,
By mony dads, wi' claps haf rotten,!
Were 't no for honour o' my mither,
I shou'd na think ye were my brither.

JOUKUM .

Dear brither, why this rude reflection?
Learn to be gratefu' for protection;
The Peterenians, bloody beasts!
That gar fowk lick the dowps o' priests,
Else on a brander, like a haddock,
Be broolied, sprowling like a paddock:
These monsters, lang ere now, had come
Wi' faggots, taz, and tuck o' drum,
And twin'd you o' your wealth and lives,
Syne, without speering, kiss'd your wives,
Had not the Rosicrucians stood
The bulwarks o' your rights and blood;
And yet, forsooth, ye girn and grumble,
And, wi' a gab unthankfu', mumble
Out mony a black unworthy curse,
When Rosie bids ye draw your purse;
When she 's sae gen'rously content
With not aboon thirty per cent.

BRISTLE .

Damn you and her! tho' now I 'm blae,
I 'm hopefu' yet to see the day,
I 'll gar ye baith repent that e'er
Ye reav'd by force awa my gear,
Without or thanks, or making price,
Or ever speering my advice.

JOUKUM .

Peace, gowk! we naithing do at a'
But by the letter o' the law:
Then nae mair wi' your din torment us,
Gowling like ane non compos mentis,
Else Rosie issue may a writ,
To tie you up baith hand and fit,
And dungeon ye but meat or drink,
Till ye be starv'd and die in stink.

BARD .

Thus Jouk and Bristle, when they met,
Wi' sic braw language ither tret.
Just fury glows in Bristle's veins,
And tho' his bonnet he retains,
Yet on his crest he mayna cock it,
But in a coffer closs man lock it.
Bareheaded thus he e'en knocks under,
And lets them drive awa the plunder.
Sae have I seen, beside a tow'r,
The king of brutes oblig'd to cour,
And on his royal paunches thole
A dwarf to prog him wi' a pole;
While he wad shaw his fangs, and rage
Wi' bootless wrangling in his cage. —
Now follows that we tak' a peep
O' Bawsy, looking like a sheep,
By Bristle hated and despised,
By Jouk and Rosie little priz'd.
Soon as the horse had heard his brither
Joukum and Rose were prick'd thegither,
Awa he scours o'er hight and how,
Fu' fidgin fain whate'er he dow,
Counting what things he now did mister,
That wad be gi'en him by his sister.
Like shallow bards, wha think they flee,
Because they live sax stories high,
To some poor lifeless lucubration
Prefixes fleeching dedication,
And blythly dream they 'll be restor'd
To alehouse credit by my Lord.
Thus Bawsy's mind in plenty row'd,
While he thought on his promis'd gowd
And baillyship, which he wi' fines
Wad mak' like the West India mines;
Arrives, wi' future greatness dizzy,
Ca's, where 's Mess Jouk?

BEEF .

Mess Jouk is bisy.

BAWSY .

My Lady Rose, is she at leisure?

BEEF .

No, Sir, my Lady 's at her pleasure.

BAWSY .

I wait for her or him, go shew.

BEEF .

And pray you, master, wha are you?

BAWSY .

Upo' my saul this porter 's saucy!
Sirrah, go tell my name is Bawsy,
Their brither wha made up the marriage.

BEEF .

And sae I thought by your daft carriage.
Between your houghs gae clap your gelding,
Swith hame and feast upon a spelding,
For there 's nae room beneath this roof
To entertain a simple coof,
The like o' you, that nane can trust,
Wha to your ain ha'e been unjust.

BARD .

This said, he dadded to the yate,
And left poor Bawsy in a fret,
Wha loudly gowl'd, and made a din,
That was o'erheard by a' within.
Quoth Rose to Jouk, Come, let 's away,
And see wha's yon mak's a' this fray.
Awa' they went, and saw the creature
Sair runkling ilka silly feature
O' his dull phiz, wi' girns and glooms,
Stamping and biting at his thumbs.
They tented him a little while,
Then came full on him wi' a smile,
Which soon gart him forget the torture
Was rais'd within him by the porter.
Sae will a sucking weanie yell,
But shake a rattle, or a bell,
It hauds its tongue; let that alane,
It to its yamering fa's again;
Lilt up a sang, and straight it 's seen
To laugh wi' tears into its een.
Thus eithly anger'd, eithly pleas'd,
Weak Bawsy lang they tantaliz'd
Wi' promises right wide extended,
They ne'er perform'd, nor e'er intended:
But now and then, when they did need him,
A supper and a pint they gie'd him;
That done, they ha'e nae mair to say,
And scarcely ken him the niest day.
Poor fallow! now this mony a year,
Wi' some faint hope, and rowth o' fear,
He has been wrestling wi' his fate,
A drudge to Joukum and his mate.
While Bristle saves his manly look,
Regardless baith o' Rose and Jouk,
Maintains right quietly 'yond the kairns,
His honour, conscience, wife, and bairns,
Jouk and his rumblegarie wife
Drive on a drunken gaming life,
'Cause, sober, they can get nae rest,
For Nick and Duniwhistle's ghaist,
Wha in the garrets aften tooly,
And shore them wi' a bloody gully.

Thus I ha'e sung, in hamelt rhyme,
A sang that scorns the teeth o' time;
Yet modestly I hide my name,
Admiring virtue mair than fame.
But tent ye wha despise instruction,
And gi'es my wark a wrang construction,
Frae 'hind my curtain, mind I tell ye,
I 'll shoot a satire through your belly:
But wha wi' havins jees his bonnet,
And says, Thanks t' ye for your sonnet,
He shanna want the praises due
To generosity. — Adieu.