BOOK IV.

HUMOROUS, SATIRICAL, EPIGRAMMATICAI,

AND MISCELLANEOUS.

TAM O'SHANTER.

A TALE.

Of Brownyis and of Bogilis full is this buke.

GAWIN DOUGLAS.

WHEN chapman billies leave the street,
And drouthy neebors, neebors meet,
As market days are wearing late,
An' folk begin to tak the gate;
While we set bousing at the nappy,
An' gettin' fou and unco happy,
We think na on the lang Scots miles,
The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles,
That lie between us and our hame,
Whare sits our sulky, sullen dame,
Gath'ring her brows, like gath'ring 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! hadst thou but been sae wise,
As taen thy ain wife Kate's advice!
She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum,
A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum;
That frae November till October,

Ae market day thou was na sober;
That ilka melder, wi' the miller,
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller;
That ev'ry naig was ca'd a shoe on,
The smith and thee gat roaring fou on;
That at the L-d's house, ev'n 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,
By Alloway's auld haunted kirk.

Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet, To think how monie counsels sweet, How monie 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, And at his elbow, souter Johnny, His ancient, trusty, drouther 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' favors, 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 himself 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 seize the flow'r, 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!

น

Nae man can tether time or tide; The hour approaches Tam maun ride; 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 show'rs 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,
Despising wind, and rain, and fire;

Whyles holding fast his guid blue bonnet,
Whyles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet,
Whyles glow'ring round wi' prudent cares
Lest bogles catch him unawares;
Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh,
Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry.

By this time he was cross the ford, Whare in the snaw the chapman smoor'd; And past the birks and meikle stane, Whare drunken Charlie brak's neck-bane; An' 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 its floods, The doubling storm roars thro' the woods; The lightnings flash from pole to pole, Near and more near the thunders roll; When, glimm'ring thro' the groaning trees, Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze!

Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing, And loud resounded mirth and dancing!

Inspiring bold John Barleycorn! What dangers thou canst make us scorn! Wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil; Wi' usquebae, we'll face the devil!

The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle, Fair play, he car'd na Deils a boddle.

But Maggie stood right sair astonish'd,
Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd,
She ventur'd forward on the light,
And, vow! Tam saw an unco sight!
Warlocks and witches in a dance,
Nae cotillon brent new frae France,
But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels,
Put life and mettle in their heels,
A winnock-bunker in the east,

There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast;
A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large,
To gie them music was his charge:
He screw'd his pipes, and gart them skirl
Till roof and rafters a' did dirl

Coffins stood round like open presses, That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses And, by some devilish cantrip slight,

Each in its cauld hand held light,

By which, heroic Tam was able
To note, upon the haly table,
A murd'rers banes in gibbet airns,
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' bluid red-rusted,
Five scimitars, 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;
Three lawyers' tongues turn'd inside out,
Wi' lies seam'd like a beggar's clout;
And priests' hearts, rotten, black as muck,
Lay, stinking, vile, in ev'ry neuk.