O happy is that man an' blest (Nae wonder that it pride him!) Wha's ain dear lass, that he likes best, Comes clinkin down beside him! Which, by degrees, slips round her neck, Unkend that day. Now a' the congregation o'er Is silent expectation; For Moodie speels the holy door Wi' tidings o' damnation. Should Hornie, as in ancient days, 'Mang sons o' God present him, The vera sight o' Moodie's face To's ain het hame had sent him Wi' fright that day. 100 105 His lengthened chin, his turned-up snout, His eldritch squeel an' gestures, O how they fire the heart devout 115 Like cantharidian plaisters, On sic a day! But hark! the tent has changed its voice; For a' the real judges rise, They canna sit for anger: Smith opens out his cauld harangues An' aff the godly pour in thrangs, 120 To gie the jars an' barrels 125 A lift that day. What signifies his barren shine Or some auld pagan heathen, That's right that day. In guid time comes an antidote An' meek an' mim has viewed it, 130 135 140 Now butt an' ben the change-house fills Wi' yill-caup commentators; 155 Here's crying out for bakes an' gills, An' there the pint-stowp clatters; While thick an' thrang, an' loud an' lang, Wi' logic an' wi' Scripture, They raise a din that in the end 160 Is like to breed a rupture O' wrath that day. 'T wad be owre lang a tale to tell How monie stories passed, An' how they crouded to the yill, When they were a' dismist; How drink gaed round in cogs an' caups, Amang the furms an' benches, 200 An' cheese an' bread, frae women's laps, 205 Was dealt about in lunches An' dawds that day. In comes a gausie, gash guidwife, An' sits down by the fire, Syne draws her kebbuck an' her knife; The lasses they are shyer; The auld guidmen about the grace Frae side to side they bother, Till some ane by his bonnet lays Waesucks for him that gets nae lass, Or melvie his braw claithing! O wives, be mindfu', ance yoursel An' dinna for a kebbuck-heel Let lasses be affronted 210 215 220 Now Clinkumbell, wi' rattlin tow, Begins to jow an' croon; Some swagger hame the best they dow, Some wait the afternoon. At slaps the billies halt a blink, Till lasses strip their shoon; 'Wi' faith an' hope, an' love an' drink, They're a' in famous tune For crack that day. 230 1785. How monie hearts this day converts O' sinners and o' lasses! Their hearts o' stane, gin night, are gane As saft as onie flesh is. There's some are fou o' love divine, There's some are fou o' brandy; An' monie jobs that day begin, May end in houghmagandie Some ither day. 1786. 235 240 THE TWA DOGS 'T was in that place o' Scotland's isle When wearing thro' the afternoon, The first I'll name, they ca'd him Cæsar, Was keepit for “his Honour's” pleasure; A rhyming, ranting, raving billie, Was made lang syne-Lord knows how lang. |