Robert Burns
Of Brownyis and of Bogillis full is this buke. Gawin Douglas
When chapmen billies leave the street, street vendors
And drouthy neebors, neebors meet, thirsty
As market-days are wearing late,
An' folk begin to tak the gate;
While we sit bousing at the nappy, ale
And getting fou and unco happy, drunk/extremely
We think na on the lang Scots miles,
The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles, bogs/passes
That lie between us and our hame,
Where sits our sulky sullen dame.
Gathering her brows like gathering storm,
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.
This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter,
As he frae Ayr ae night did canter,
(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses
For honest men and bonie lasses.)
O Tam! had'st thou but been sae wise,
As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice!
She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum, rascal
A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum; babbler
That frae November till October,
Ae market-day thou was nae sober;
That ilka melder, wi' the miller, every meal-grinding
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller;
That every naig was ca'd a shoe on, horse/shod
The smith and thee gat roaring fou on;
That at the L-d’s house, even on Sunday,
Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday.
She prophesied that late or soon,
Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon;
Or catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirk, evil spirits/dark
By Alloway's auld haunted kirk.
Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet, makes me weep
To think how mony counsels sweet,
How mony lengthen'd sage advices,
The husband frae the wife despises!
But to our tale: Ae market-night,
Tam had got planted unco right;
Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely,
Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely frothing ale
And at his elbow, Souter Johnny, shoe-maker
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony;
Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither;
They had been fou for weeks thegither!
The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter;
And ay the ale was growing better:
The landlady and Tam grew gracious,
wi' favours, secret, sweet and precious:
The Souter tauld his queerest stories;
The landlord's laugh was ready chorus:
The storm without might rair and rustle,
Tam did na mind the storm a whistle.
Care, mad to see a man sae happy,
E'en drown'd himsel' amang the nappy!
As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure,
The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure:
Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious.
O'er a' the ills o' life victorious!
But pleasures are like poppies spread,
You sieze the flower, its bloom is shed;
Or like the snow falls in the river,
A moment white—then melts for ever;
Or like the borealis race,
That flit ere you can point their place;
Or like the rainbow's lovely form
Evanishing amid the storm.—
Nae man can tether time or tide;
The hour approaches Tam maun ride; must
That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane,
That dreary hour he mounts his beast in;
And sic a night he taks the road in
As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in.
The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last;
The rattling showers rose on the blast;
The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd
Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bellow'd:
That night, a child might understand,
The Deil had business on his hand.
Weel mounted on his gray mare, Meg,
A better never lifted leg,
Tam skelpit on thro' dub and mire; hurried/puddle
Despisin' wind and rain and fire;
Whiles holding fast his gude blue bonnet; at times
Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet;
Whiles glowring round wi' prudent cares,
Lest bogles catch him unawares: phantoms
Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh,
Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry. — owlets
By this time he was cross the ford,
Whare, in the snaw, the chapman smoor’d; was smothered
And past the birks and meikle stane, birches/big
Whare drunken Charlie brak 's neck-bane;
And thro' the whins, and by the cairn,
Whare hunters fand the murder'd bairn;
And near the thorn, aboon the well,
Whare Mungo's mither hang'd hersel'.--
Before him Doon pours all his floods;
The doubling storm roars thro' the woods;
The lightnings flash from pole to pole;
Near and more near the thunders roll:
When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees,
Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze;
Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing; aperture
And loud resounded mirth and dancing. —
Inspiring bold John Barleycorn!
What dangers thou canst make us scorn!
Wi' tippeny, we fear nae evil; two-penny ale
Wi' usquabae, we'll face the devil!— whiskey
The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle,
Fair play, he car'd na deils a boddle. not a farthing for the devil
But Maggie stood, right sair astonish'd,
Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd,
She ventured forward on the light;
And, vow! Tam saw an unco sight
Warlocks and witches in a dance;
Nae cotillion brent-new frae France, brand
But hornpipes, jigs strathspeys, and reels,
Put life and mettle in their heels.
A winnock-bunker in the east, window-seat
There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast;
A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large, shaggy
To gie them music was his charge:
He scre'd the pipes and gart them skirl,
Till roof and rafters a' did dirl.— vibrate
Coffins stood round, like open presses,
That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses;
And by some develish cantraip slight magic
Each in its cauld hand held a light.--
By which heroic Tam was able
To note upon the haly table,
A murders's banes in gibbet-airns; irons
Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen'd bairns;
A thief, new-cutted frae a rape,
Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape;
Five tomahawks, wi blude red-rusted;
Five scymitars, wi' murder crusted;
A garter, which a babe had strangled;
A knife, a father's throat had mangled,
Whom his ain son o' life bereft,
The gray hairs yet stack to the heft;
Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu',
Which even to name was be unlawfu'.
As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd, and curious,
The mirth and fun grew fast and furious;
The piper loud and louder blew;
The dancers quick and quicker flew;
They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit, joined arms
Till ilka carlin swat and reekit, woman
And coost her duddies to the wark, cast off her clothes
And linket at it in her sark! went quickly/shift
Now Tam, O Tam! had thae been queans,
A' plump and strapping in their teens,
Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen, greasy flannel
Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linnen!
Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair, these
That ance were plush, o' gude blue hair,
I wad hae gi'en them off my hurdies, buttocks
For ae blink o' the bonie burdies! girls
But wither'd beldams, auld and droll,
Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal, wretched/wean
Lowping and flinging on a crummock, crooked staff
I wonder did na turn thy stomach!
But Tam kend what was what fu' brawlie: well
There was ae winsome wench and waulie, comely
That night enlisted in the core, core
(Lang after ken'd on Carrick shore;
For mony a beast to dead she shot,
And perish'd mony a bonie boat,
And shook baith meikle corn and bear, barley
And kept the country-side in fear.)
Her cutty-sark, o' Paisley harn short/coarse cloth
That while a lassie she had worn,
In longitude tho' sorely scanty,
It was her best, and she was vauntie, — haughty
Ah! little ken'd thy reverend grannie,
That sark she coft for he wee Nannie, bought
Wi' twa pund Scots, ('twas a' her riches),
Wad ever grac'd a dance of witches!
But here my Muse her wing maun cour; lower
Sic flights are far beyond her pow'r;
To sing how Nannie lap and flang,
(A souple jade she was, and strang),
And how Tam stood, like ane bewitch'd,
And thought his very een enrich'd;
Even Satan glowr'd, and fidg'd fu' fain, fidgeted
And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main; jerked
Till first ae caper, syne anither,
Tam tint his reason ' thegither, lost
And roars out, "Weel done, Cutty-sark!"
And in an instant all was dark:
And scarcely had he Maggie rallied,
When out the hellish legion sallied.
As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke, fuss
When plundering herds assail their byke; hive
As open pussie's mortal foes, hare’s
When, pop! she starts before their nose;
As eager runs the market-crowd,
When "Catch the thief!" resounds aloud;
So Maggie runs, the witches follow,
Wi' mony an eldritch skriech and hollo. hideous
Ah, Tam! ah, Tam! thou'll get thy fairin’! gift from a fair, i.e. just
In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin’! deserts
In vain thy Kate awaits thy commin'!
Kate soon will be a woefu' woman!
Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg,
And win the key-stane o' the brig;
There at them thou thy tail may toss,
A running stream they dare na cross.
But ere the key-stane she could make,
The fient a tail she had to shake! devil
For Nannie, far before the rest,
Hard upon noble Maggie prest,
And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle; purpose
But little wist she Maggie's mettle —
Ae spring brought off her master hale, whole
But left behind her ain gray tail;
The carlin claught her by the rump,
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.
Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read,
Ilk man and mother's son take heed;
Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd,
Or cutty-sarks run in your mind,
Think, ye may buy joys o'er dear -
Remember Tam o' Shanter's mare.
1790