Ye high, exalted, virtuous dames,
Tied up in godly laces,
Before you gie poor Frailty names,
Suppose a change o' cases:
A dear loved lad, convenience snug, 45
A treacherous inclination-
But, let me whisper i' your lug, 18
Ye're aiblins 19 nae temptation.
Then gently scan your brother man, Still gentler sister woman;
Tho' they may gang a kennin20 wrang,
To step aside is human:
One point must still be greatly dark,
The moving Why they do it;
And just as lamely can ye mark,
How far perhaps they rue it.
Who made the heart, 'tis He alone
Decidedly can try us,
He knows each chord, its various tone,
Each spring, its various bias:
Then at the balance, let's be mute,
We never can adjust it;
What's done we partly can compute,
But know not what's resisted.
O Tam! had'st thou but been sae wise
As taen thy ain wife Kate's advice!
She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum,1
A bletherin, blusterin, drunken blellum;2 20
That frae November till October,
Ae market-day thou was nae sober;
That ilka1 melder" wi' the miller,
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller;
That ev'ry naig was ca'd' a shoe on,7 25
The smith and thee gat roaring fou on;
That at the Lord's house, even on Sunday,
Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday.
She prophesied, that, late or soon,
Thou would be found deep drowned in
Doon:
Or catched wi' warlocks in the mirk,
By Alloway's auld haunted kirk.
Ah, gentle dames! it gars10 me greet,11 To think how monie counsels sweet, How monie lengthened 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, 12 bleezing finely, Wi' reaming swats13 that drank divinely; And at his elbow, Souter Johnie, His ancient, trusty, drouthy cronie: Tam lo'ed him like a very brither;14 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' secret favors, sweet and precious: The souter15 tauld his queerest stories; The landlord's laugh was ready chorus: 50 The storm without might rair and rustle, Tam did na mind the storm a whistle.
By this time he was cross the ford, Whare in the snaw the chapman smoored;20 And past the birks21 and meikle22 stane, 91 Whare drunken Charlie brak's neck-bane;2 And thro' the whins,24 and by the cairn,2 Whare hunters fand the murdered bairn;2 And near the thorn, aboon27 the well, Whare Mungo's mither hanged 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; 100 When, glimmering thro' the groaning
Kirk-Alloway seemed in a bleeze:28 Thro' ilka bore 29 the beams were glancing, And loud resounded mirth and dancing. 16 hurried. 17 mud. 18 bogies. 19 owls. 20 smothered. 24 gorse. 25 rock-pile. 23 blaze. 29 opening.
Inspiring bold John Barleycorn!
What dangers thou canst make us scorn! Wi' tippenny1 we fear nae evil;
Wi' usquebae2 we'll face the devil!
They reeled, they set, they crossed, they
cleekit, is
Till ilka carlin19 swat20 and reekit,21
And coost 22 her duddies23 to the wark24
The swats sae reamed1 in Tammie's nod- And linket25 at it in her sark!26
And by some devilish cantraip14 sleight
Each in its cauld hand held a light,
By which heroic Tam was able
To note upon the haly table
A murderer's banes in gibbet airns;15
Twa span-lang, wee, unchristened bairns;
A thief, new-cutted frae a rape16_
Wi' his last gasp his gab17 did gape;
Five tomahawks, wi' bluid red-rusted; 135
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 grey hairs yet stack to the heft;
Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu',
Which even to name wad be unlawfu'.
There was ae winsome wench and wawlie,3
That night enlisted in the core34
165
Lang after kend on Carrick shore
(For monie a beast to dead she shot,
An' perished monie a bonie boat,
And shook baith meikle corn and bear,35
And kept the country-side in fear).
Her cutty sark36 o' Paisley harn,37
That while a lassie she had worn,
In longitude tho' sorely scanty,
It was her best, and she was vauntie.38
Ah! little kend thy reverend grannie, 175
That sark she coft39 for her wee Nannie,
Wi' twa pund Scots ('twas a' her riches),
Wad ever graced a dance o' witches!
But here my Muse her wing maun cour,
Sic flights are far beyond her power; 180
To sing how Nannie lap and flang,
(A souple jad40 she was and strang,)
And how Tam stood like ane bewitched,
And thought his very een11 enriched; 184
Even Satan glowered and fidged42 fu' fain,
And hotched and blew wi' might and
main:
Till first ae caper, syne44 anither,
Tam tint his reason a' thegither,
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.
18 clutched.
22 threw.
26 shirt.
30 these. 34 company. 38 proud.
42 fidgeted.
In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin!
In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin!
Kate soon will be a woefu' woman!
Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg,
And win the key-stane of the brig:6
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!
For Nannie, far before the rest,
Hard upon noble Maggie prest,
And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle;8
But little wist she Maggie's mettle-
Ae spring brought aff her master hale, 215
But left behind her ain grey 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, 220
Whene'er to drink you are inclined,
Or cutty-sarks run in your mind,
Think, ye may buy the joys o'er dear,
Remember Tam o' Shanter's Mare.
Wha for Scotland's king and law
Freedom's sword will strongly draw,
Freeman stand or freeman fa',
Let him follow me!
By oppression's woes and pains!
By your sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be free!
Lay the proud usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty's in every blow!-
Let us do or die!
Yestreen when to the trembling string
The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha', 10
To thee my fancy took its wing,
I sat, but neither heard nor saw:
Tho' this was fair, and that was braw,1
And yon the toast of a' the town,
I sighed, and said among them a',
"Ye are na Mary Morison."
O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace,
Wha for thy sake wad gladly die?
Or canst thou break that heart of his,
Whase only faut is loving thee?
If love for love thou wilt na gie
At least be pity to me shown:
A thought ungentle canna be
The thought o' Mary Morison.
CHORUS.-Green grow the rashes, O;
Green grow the rashes, O;
The sweetest hours that e'er I
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