O MOSSIE was a cunning man,
A little mare did buy ;
For winking and for jinking

There were few could her come nigh;
She was as cunning as a fox,
As soople as a hare;

And I will tell you by and by
How Mossie catched his mare.

Sing, da di ump the da dee,
Sing, da di ump the dey,
Sing, rum, tum, tum, tum,
Da di ump the dey.

Mossie on a morning

Gaed oot his mare to seek,
And round about the frosty knowes
Upon his knees did creep.
At length he found her in a ditch,
And glad he got her there,
He flang the halter o'er her neck,
And Mossie catched his mare.

Now a' ye gilpy lasses,

When e'er you courting go,
Ye may kiss and ye may cuddle,
But beware when doing so,
For a dip into the honey-mug
May lead you in a snare,

And the deil will catch ye mumpin',
As Mossie catch'd his mare.

And a' ye crafty ale wives,
Wha use the false measure,
By cheating and dissembling
To heapen up your treasure;

MOSSIE AND HIS MARE

41

Your cheating and dissembling

Will lead you in a snare,

And the deil may catch ye mumpin',
As Mossie catch'd his mare.

And a' ye lousy tailors,

Wha cabbage aye the cloth,
Ye tak' a quarter frae the yard,
I'm free to gie my oath;
But, if ye dinna mend your ways,
Ye'll fa' into the snare,

And the deil will catch ye mumpin',
As Mossie catch'd his mare.

And a' ye pettyfoggers,

Wha plead your neighbour's cause,
The puir ye often do oppress,
Though aye within the laws.
But when ye least expect it,
Ye'll hirsle to your share,
For the deil will catch ye mumpin',
As Mossie catch'd his mare.

Last, a' ye Whigs about the land,
Wha deny our lawfu' King,

May ye be gruppit ere ye wit,

And hung upon a string.

Lang be your corns and short your shoon,

And justice get her share,

And the deevil get ye by the neck,

As Mossie catch'd his mare.

This curious, pithy, and diverting ballad was wont to be sung by an old man in the parish of Cargill, Perthshire, more than forty years ago; and, sung as it was to a common Strathspey tune, and delivered in a manner peculiarly the singer's own, it was in regular demand at every Handsel Monday, Fasternse'en, and Hallowe'en meeting that John Steenson could be prevailed upon to attend. was esteemed an old song then; and, indeed, from the Jacobitish dirl that occurs in the concluding stanza, we may safely infer it belongs

It

to, or was rejuvenated in the first half of the eighteenth century. The frequent allusions which occur in it to the common enemy"Auld Hornie, Sawton, Nick, or Clootie "-when considered in relation to the context and the time, need not, I think, shock unduly even the most sensitive nature. Yea, verily, the main purpose of the ballad is wise and good.

DUNCAN M'CALLIPIN

43

It was at a wedding near Tranent,
When scores an' scores on fun were bent,
An' to ride the broose wi' full intent,
Was either nine or ten, jo!

An' aff they a' set gallopin', gallopin',
Legs an' arms a-wallopin', wallopin',
"Shame tak' the hindmost," quo' Duncan M'Callipin,
Laird o' Jelly Ben, jo.

The souter he was fidgin' fain,

An' stuck like roset till the mane,
Till smash, like auld boots in a drain,
He nearly reach'd his end, jo!
Yet still they a' gaed, etc.

The miller's mare flew o'er the souter,
An' syne began to glower aboot her;
Cries Hab," I'll gie ye double muter,
Gin ye'll ding Jelly Ben, jo!"
Then still they a' gaed, etc.

Now Will the weaver rode sae kittle,
Ye'd thocht he was a flyin' shuttle,
His doup it daddit like a bittle,
But wafted till the end, jo!
Yet still they a' gaed, etc.

The taylour had an awkward beast,
It funkit first, and syne did reist,
Then threw poor snipe five ell at least,
Like auld breeks ower the mane, jo!
Yet a' the rest gaed, etc.

The blacksmith's beast was last of a',
Its sides like bellowses did blaw,

Till him au' it got sic a' fa',

An' bruises nine or ten, jo!

An' still the lave gaed, etc.

Now, Duncan's mare she flew like drift,
An' aye sae fast her feet did lift,
"Tween ilka sten' she gae a rift.
Out frae her hinder end, jo.

Yet aye they a' gaed, etc.

Yet Duncan's mare did bang them a',
To rin wi' him they maunna fa',
When up his grey mare he did draw,
The broose it was his ain, jo.

Nae mair wi' him they'll gallop, they'll gallop,
Nae mair wi' him they'll wallop, they'll wallop,
Or they will chance to get some jallup,
Frae the laird o' Jelly Ben, jo !

It is only country-bred people who can thoroughly understand and enjoy this song, bearing, as it does, exclusively on an old popular country custom. It was written by Peter Forbes, a gardener, who, from the contents of a volume of his collected poems, printed at Edinburgh "for the author" in 1812, appears to have lived and sung chiefly in or about the neighbourhood of Dalkeith. It is from a rambling rhyme in his book, entitled Lang Syne," that we gather any biographical particulars regarding him; and from this we glean only that he had first learned shoemaking, and afterwards took to the more poetical occupation of gardening, and worked among 'mony braw plants wi' queer kittle names in various parts of Scotland and England. His rhymed ware is mostly of the doggerel order, not more than two or three of the forty-eight pieces which make up the sum-total of the contents rising to the level of respectable verse. "Soda Water," long a favourite at temperance penny readings, is one of the best. It opens thus :

66

"Poor Scotland's skaitu is whisky rife,

The very king o' curses,

Breeds ilka ill, care, trouble, strife,
Ruins health, and empties purses;

It fills a peacefu' land wi' strife,
The alehouse fills wi' roarin';
It fills wi' boils domestic life,
And fills the kirk wi' snorin"."

"Duncan M'Callipin," sometimes called "Tranent Wedding," is decidedly his best effort; and this is really a happy one. Its subject is the riding of the broose at a country wedding-a custom now entirely obsolete. The broose took the form of a race on foot, or on horseback, according to the distance or social standing of the bride and bridegroom, from the house of the groom to the habitation of