Claud Peky was nae very blate,
He stood nae lang a-dreigh;
For by the gown he gripped Kate,
And gar'd her gi'e a skreigh:
"Haud aff," quoth she, "ye filthy slate,
Ye stink o' leeks, O figh!
Let gae my hands, I say, be quait !"
And wow gin she was skeigh
And mim that day.
Now settl'd gossies sat, and keen
Did for fresh bickers birle,
While the young swankies on the green
Took round a merry tirle :
Meg Wallet, wi' her pinky een,
Gart Lawrie's heart-strings dirle;
And fouk wad threep, that she did green
For what wad gar her skirle
And skreigh some day.
The manly miller, half and half, *
Came out to shaw guid will,
Flang by his mittans and his staff,
Cried, "Gi'e me Paty's Mill;"
He lap bawk-hight, and cried, "Haud aff!"
They roos'd him that had skill;
He wad do't better, quoth a cawff,
Had he anither gill
Furth started neist a pensy blade,
And out a maiden took,
They said that he was Falkland bred, †
And danced by the book;
A souple taylor to his trade,
And whan their hands he shook,
Ga'e them what he got frae his dad,
Videlicit, the yuke,
+ Being a journeyman to the king's tailor, and had seen court dancing.
Whan a' cried out he did sae weel,
He Meg and Bess did call up;
The lassies babb'd about the reel,
Gar'd a' their cleading wallop,
And swat like pownies whan they speel
Up braes, or whan they gallop;
But a thrawn knublock hit his heel,
And wives had him to haul up,
Half fell'd that day.
But mony a pauky look and tale
Gaed round, whan glowming hous'd them;
The hostler wife brought ben guid ale,
And bade the lassies rouse them:
"Up wi' them, lads, and I'se be bail
They'll loe ye, an ye touse them."
Quoth Gawssie, "This will never fail
Wi' them that this gate wooes them,
On sic a day."
Syne stools and furms were drawn aside,
And up raise Willy Dadle,
A short hought man, but fou o' pride-
He said the fiddler play'd ill;
"Let's hae the pipes," quoth he, "beside;"
Quoth a', "That is nae said ill;"
He fits the floor, syne wi' the bride
To Cuttyman and Treeladle,
Thick, thick, that day.
Auld Steen led out Maggy Forsyth-
He was her ain guid-brither;
And ilka ane was unco blythe,
To see auld fouk sae clever.
Quoth Jock, wi' laughing like to rive,
"What think ye o' my mither?
Were my dad dead, let me ne'er thrive
But she wad get anither
Guidman this day."
Tam Lutter had a muckle dish,
And betwisht ilka tune,
* A tune that goes very quick.
He laid his lugs in't like a fish,
And suck't till it was dune:
His bags were liquor'd to his wish;
His face was like a moon:
And were the well a whisky dish
He'd prize't like heaven aboon
By night and day.
The letter-gae o' haly rhyme, †
Sat up at the boord-head,
And a' he said was thought a crime
To contradict indeed:
For in clerk lear he was right prime,
And could baith write and read,
And drank sae firm, till ne'er a styme
He could keek on a bead §
Whan he was strute, twa sturdy chiels,
Be's oxter and be's collar,
Held up frae cowping o' the creels ||
The liquid logic scholar.
Whan he cam hame, his wife did reel
And rampage in her choler;
Wi' that he brak the spinning-wheel,
That cost a guid rix-dollar
And mair, some say.
Near bed-time now, ilk weary wight
Was gaunting for his rest;
For some were like to tyne their sight,
Wi' sleep and drinking strest.
But ithers that were stomach-tight,
Cry'd out, "It was nae best
* Round, full, and shining. When one is staring full of drink, he's said to have a face like a full moon.
The reader or church precentor, who lets go, that is, gives out the tune to be sung by the rest of the congregation.
§ Pray after the Roman Catholic manner, which was the religion then in fashion.
From turning topsy-turvy.
To leave a supper that was dight,
To brownies, or a ghaist,
To eat or day."
On whumelt tubs lay twa lang dails,
On them stuid mony a goan,
Some fill'd wi' brochan, some wi' kail,
And milk het frae the loan.
O' dainties they had routh and wale,
O' which they were right fon';
But naething wad gae down but ale
Wi' drunken Donald Don,
The smith, that day.
Twa times aught bannocks in a heap,
And twa guid junts o' beef,
Wi' hind and fore spaul o' a sheep,
Drew whittles frae ilk sheath:
Wi' graivie a' their beards did dreep,
They kempit wi' their teeth;
A kebbuck syne that maist cou'd creep
Its lane, put on the sheaft
In stous that day.
The bride was now laid in her bed,
Her left leg ho was flung;
And Geordie Gib was fidgin' glad,
Because it hit Jean Gun.
She was his jo, and aft had said,
"Fy, Geordie! haud your tongue,
Ye's ne'er get me to be your bride :"
But chang'd her mind, whan bung,
That very day.
* Many whimsical stories are handed down to us by old women, of these brownies; they tell us, they were a kind of good drudg. ing spirits, who appeared in shape of rough men, would have lain familiarly by the fire all night, threshed in the barn, brought a midwife at a time, and done many such kind offices; but none of them have been seen in Scotland since the Reformation, as saith the wise John Brown.
† A cheese full of crawling mites crowned the feast.
The practice of throwing the bridegroom or the bride's stocking, when they are going to bed, is well known; the person on whom it lights is to be the next married of the company.
"Tehee!" quoth Towsie, whan she saw The cathel coming ben;
It pyping het gaed round them a',
The bride she made a fen',
To sit in wylicoat sae bra,
Upon her nether en';
Her lad like ony cock did craw,
That meets a clockin' hen,
And blythe were they.
The souter, miller, smith, and Dick,
Lawrie, and Hutchon bauld,
Carles that keep nae very strict
Be hours, tho' they were auld:
Nor cou'd they e'er leave off that trick;
But whar guid ale was sald,
They drank a' night, e'en tho' Auld Nick
Shou'd tempt their wives to scald
Them for't niest day.
Was ne'er in Scotland heard or seen,
Sic banqueting and drinkin',
Sic ravelling and battles keen,
Sic dancing, and sic jinkin'.
And sic a courting on did gae,
When lads, now bauld wi' liquor,
Made vows that on some future day,
Mass John wad soon mak sicker,
For little pay.
Now frae east nook o' Fife the dawn
Speel'd westlines up the lift;
Carles wha heard the cock had crawn,
Begoud to rax and rift:
And greedy wives wi' girning thrawn,
Cry'd lasses up to thrift;
Dogs barked, and the lads frae hand
Bang'd to their breeks like drift,
Be break o' day.
|