GUIDMAN O' INGLISMILL.
At Martinmas, whan win's blew snell an' cauld,
An' beasts war' housed within their winter hauld,
An' stacks wi' thack an' rape war' happit ticht,
The taties up, an' a'thing snod an' richt,—
Then, by the wan licht o' the hint hairst moon,
The auld Guidman gaed roun' aboot the toun;
An' as he steppit o'er the stibble lan',—
"The wark," quo he, "is feckly a' byehan'.
Fair fa' oor folk! they've deen their very best;
We've a'thing safe an' soun'—sae Praise be blest!
This hairst, my certy! 's been a kittle lang ane,
Ae day nocht dein', an' the neist a thrang ane.
I sud be thankfu'; Gudeness kens I've rizzon!
A' thro', I haenae min' o' sic a sizzon;
Sic spates o' rain, syne mochy, dreepie weather,
I thocht wud surely waur us a'thegither;
Noo beast an' bodie will be brawly sair'd
An' something o'er, forbye what pays the laird.
It sets folk ill to be o'er crouse an' vaunty;
But, 'deed, I'm thankfu' an' sae unco canty
That, like the bairns, I'd like to get the play,
An' ware upo' mysel' ae idle day.
The morrow's morn' I'll early mak' me boun',
To see what's deein' i' the borrow's toun.
O'er muckle wark, withoot some little ploy,
Mak's auld or young a thowless donnart boy."
Whan Fortune, wi' her eident wheel aye rowin',
Gars a'thing canny tae oor han' come jowin',
Sma' thocht hae we what luck may be afore us,
Still less that ony trouble may come o'er us;
Oor joys, like flow'rs, may bloom at mornin'-tide,
At nicht, ae skinklin frost may lay their pride.
The sun had scarcely sent his first-born ray
herald to the warld the comin' day,
An' scare the starns, afar in heavens blue,
Prinkin' themsel's in ilka drap o' dew,
Ere Inglis, raxin', rakit up his een,—
Quo he, "Guidwife! I had a thocht thestreen:
As at the wark I hae sae steady yarkit,
I'd step into the toun an' see the market;
Nae ech nor och ken I what nowt are feshin',
aits are at, or gin they're worth the threshin'."
"Aweel, Guidman! I'm seer I sanna hinner;
But, losh, ye mith hae tauld a bodie seener.
There's mony things we're needin' unco sair—
What need I speak! the fient ae singit hair
ye for what the hoose, or bairns, or me
Are needin'. We maun just oor wants lat be',
clout the auld the best way that we can.
Wow, sirs! gin ever I saw sic a man!
Had ye but mintit what ye had in view,
I mith hae moyens laid to win wi' you;
But there's the kirn to ca', chessels to fill,
An' steep a maskin' for the New Year's yill—
I canna gang! Wha ever saw the like!
Man, ye're a byous han' for breedin' fyke!—
But see that ye come hame in timeous hours
On your twa feet, an' nae upo' a' fours,
Like ony haulket hummledoddy stirk,
Tynin' yersel' an' wan'rin' i' the mirk.
Lundie an' you—I maist cu'd lay my lugs—
Hae set a tryst to meet at Luckie Mugs'.
Deil tak' her blinkin' een an' soople snout,
For wilin' men to drink waur than a brute.—
Yea, na!—ye're seer o' that? Weel noo, Guidman,
I wadna grudge a drappy noo an' than;
But ilka market thro' the year's the same,
Nae ance dae ye come freely sober hame.
Saul! gin ye dinna o'er a new leaf turn,
The deil may grip ye at the Collieburn;
Or, gin ye win as far's In'rugie Brig,
The kelpie there may beff ye ticht an' trig;
Or oor guid neebours o' the Castlehill
Rin aff wi' you hale buik, some post to fill
In Fairyland; or, aiblins, wi' you pay
That Kain to hell they awe ilk seven years' day.
there, min, to the nowt doun by the foord,
They drink nae till their rizzon's fairly smoored—
roth, they micht a serious lesson gie ye."
"A-h! but there's nane ayont to say, 'Here's tee you.'"
"Aweel, I'm seer I needna waste my breath;
But, tak' ye tent, or else, as seer as death,
Gin you an' Lundie gie nae o'er that drink,
Some nicht ye'll meet a sad an' sair begink.
Sae gang yer wa's; but, oh, my dear Guidman!
Come hame just ae nicht sober—gin ye can."
His breakfast o'er, auld Inglis tak's the road,
Frae tap to tae weel buskit an' fell snod;
His hardin sark as white's the driven snaw—
The lint was fernyear grown beside the shaw;
His coat an' breeks war' o' a lichtly blue,
Weel waukit, an' the pick o' hame-grown woo;
His hose war' rig an' fur, a guid grow grey;
His bonnet blue, an's shoon as black's a slae.
Oot ower the Cruives an' up the Ba'muir park
He linkit at it, like some blythesome spark
Stendin' alang to woo his winsome Jean,
An' beik his love in her bricht glancin' een.
The girss was saft an' springy, ilka blade
Glancin' wi' dew, wi' emerald-green inlaid;
The air was sharp, the lift was blue an' clear,
An' Inglis fussled as he cross'd the muir;
But noo an' than he mantit in his sang
An' thocht: "Saul! the Guidwife was nae far wrang.
Sin' we war' wed I've had nae cause o' grief;
Troth—it's o'er true—I maun turn o'er a leaf.
A couthie wife an' cantie she has been;
I maun gie o'er sic rants, an' that's be seen.
never heckles me but for my guid;
I sall gang sober hame—I will indeed.
Whan we war' wed, withoot ae word o' pride,
She was the bonniest lass on Ugie's side;
In a' the warld—she's bonniest aye to me,
In a' the warld—a better canna be."
Ah, stern resolve! thou art a glorious thing
For Earl or Beggar, Ploughman, Laird, or King;
But, ah! how oft our best resolves are vain;
We fall, resolve, fall and resolve again.
No hearts are adamant, no minds are steel;
Let none condemn poor Inglis who can feel
A woman's love, or tries to drown desires,—
"All tempers yield or soften in those fires."
The safest plan and best—as wise folks think—
Is ne'er to mell with rogues, or love, or drink.
By many a winding road, from far and nigh,
Came sheep and owsen, shelts, and stirks, and kye;
Goodwives and men, and lads and lasses fair,
Cracking their jokes, or courting pair and pair.
Below the Windmill Brae, the gazer's eye
Roams o'er a glorious sight of sea and sky;
The land throws forth its arms as if to press
The smiling ocean in a fond embrace;
Or when the wintry waves, with angry roar,
Dash in wild fury on the rock-bound shore,
That bars all entrance, save to driving foam,—
Guarding from harm or hurt the dear old home.
Thou dear old home! no mountains capped with snow,
No glorious oaks, no forest glades ye show;
No minster hoar, no pile of classic fame,
To lure the pilgrim by a world-wide name.
One boast is thine—that boast beyond compare—
"Men that are true, and maidens fairly fair."
Far have I roamed since first in early life
I left that home to face the world's sore strife,—
From Arctic shores to India's golden strand,
O'er many a country, many a classic land!
How dear the Geddle and the Pinkie Braes,
Where bloomed the buttercup! I knew the ways
Where meadow-queens, perfuming all the air,
Held gentle converse with sea-daisies fair;
Where first the laverock and the blackbird sang;
Where first the earliest, bonniest bluebells sprang;—
And, till the fight of life's last battle's fought,
Of thee I'll dream as I have dreamt and thought.
But to our tale—Whan Inglis reached the fair:
"Ay! Lundie, man, hoo's a'? Na! Mains; you there?
Hoo's a' your folk?" "Oh! fine, man; hoo's your ain?"
"Brawly—meat-hale and hearty; whaur' ye gain?"
"Man, things are deein' gran'—horn, corn, an' woo—
Come roun' to Luckie's, an' we'll weet oor mou'."
"Na, Lundie, man! I think I'll need to try
An' haud by't some the day." Quo Lundie, "Fye!
re grown John Tamson's man—a' in a fizz,
lse your mither's milk is i' your nizz."
el! we's hae ae stoup—nae mair the nicht;
omised to gang hame for once a' richt—
ye your wa's, an' shortly I'll be roun';
I'm gain for tea an' troke doun thro' the toun,
To speak for beef, a Sunday's frock to Mari'n,
An' syne to Jamie Rhind's to buy some fairin'."
His erran's deen, as fast as he cu'd spang,
hastes to Luckie's howf to join the thrang,
An' Luckie smirks her kin'liest welcome ben,
Prinkin' her feathers like a tappit hen.
"Hooray! there's Inglis, sirs; ye see he's true;"
An' doun sits Inglis 'mang the jovial crew.
An' syne the crack gaed on—wha bocht o'er dear;
What "Aikie Brae" gat for his muckle steer;
Hoo auld Tam Gray has buiket young May Mason;
An' "Bogie," wi' his quean maun stan' the Session;
Hoo "Brosie Tam" is heckled by his wife;
An' sic-like news aboot the country rife.
Ilk gies his tale while at the drinkin' thrang,
Till Lundie cries, "Come, Inglis, gie's a sang!
We'll drink your health till ye get into tune,—
Nae moulie draps, noo,—clean-cap-oot a' roun'."
"Hoot, Lundie, man! ye ken I hae the cauld,—
Nae han' at best, an' a' my sangs are auld;
But, gin I maun—an' ye're sae singin'-fain—
I'll try ane on a forbear o' mine ain:—
Air—"Muirland Willie."
"Watt o' the Hill cam' doun the brae,
Trigly buskit frae tap to tae,
Ridin' fu' crouse on his dappled grey—
Wattie wis fidgin' fain;
'An', aye,' quo' he, 'whate'er betide,
Some canty bit lass I'll mak' my bride,
For winter is comin'—my bed's o'er wide—
I'll lie nae mair my lane.'
"Wattie gaed hoddlin' to the mill.
'Here's routh,' quo' he, 'to woo at will,
Jenny an' Meg an' Bess an' Lill,
Tibbie an' Kate an' Jane.
Lasses,—I'm here a wooer to woo,
Will ane o' ye come an' be my doo?
I've siller, an' lan', an' mony a coo—
I'm tired o' lyin' my lane.'
"The lasses skirled a loud 'tee hee!'
But ilka ane cried, 'wull ye tak me?'
Better an' auld man's dawtie be,
Wi' walth o' gear, than nane.
'Wattie,' quo' they, 'just steek yer een,
Grip wha ye like, she'll ne'er compleen;
Better a cuttie than wantin' a speen—
Ye'se lie nae mair yer lane.'"
"Noo, my sang's deen," quo Inglis; "I've the ca'
To keep the pottie boilin'. Come awa,
Lundie, my man, an' gie's your winsome Jean;
Begin at ance—the seener ye'll be deen."
"Inglis, wha yokes wi' you's a gowk, atweel!
'He needs a lang speen that sups wi' the deil!'
But, troth, 'twere wrang to gar ye sup yer kail
A wee thocht hetter than I wud mysel':—
Air—"Laird o' Cockpen."
"In a wee thieket hoosie, far doon i' the glen,
There lived a young lassie, the plague o' the men.
Sae dainty, sae genty, sae canty an' keen,
The wale o' the parish was Tipperty's Jean.
The minister smiled till her braid i' the kirk,
The dominie winkit wi' mony a smirk,
An' douce-lookin' elders, on Saturday's e'en,
Could crack aboot naething but Tipperty's Jean.
"Auld Lowrie the laird, wi' his hat in his han',
Says, 'Will ye tak' me, wi' my siller an' lan';'
y thanks to ye, laird, but it's sinfu' gin ane
Sud marry their grandad,' quo Tipperty's Jean.
The doctor grew dowie, and maist like to dee,
Sae wowf gat the lawyer he bade folks agree,
An' Rob o' the Milltown an' Tam o' the Green
Maist tint their scant wits aboot Tipperty's Jean.
"The lasses gaed wand'ring their lanes i' the loan,
The auld folks were girnin' wi' mony a groan;
'The warld's seerly gyte, sirs, there's never been seen
Sic wark as they haud aboot Tipperty's Jean.'
Nae dellin' was deen, nae thrashin', nae ploughin',
The wark a' gaed wrang, sae thrang war they wooin';
Sic ridin', sic racin' there never was seen,
The chiels were sae daft aboot Tipperty's Jean.
"They happit aboot her like craws on a rig,
A' fechtin', or fleechin', or crackin' fell big;
'Gae 'wa', sirs, to Freuchie, for brawly it's seen
It's siller yer wooin',' quo Tipperty's Jean.
'Sin' auld uncle Davie cam' back owre the sea,
An' left sic a hantle o' siller to me,
I'm deaved wi' yer wooin' frae mornin' till e'en.
The deil tak sic wooers,' quo Tipperty's Jean.
"'Oh, wae on the siller! it's twined me an' Johnnie.
Though scanty o' wealth, yet he's kindly an' bonnie
Gin he wud but seek me this very gude e'en,
He'd no tine his errand,' quo Tipperty's Jean.
Peer Johnnie o'erheard her, his heart like to brak,
He cuist his arms roon' her an' gied her a smack.
'Wull ye be my dawtie?' she blinkit fu' keen;
'Yer welcome to tak' me,' quo Tipperty's Jean.
"An' there was a waddin'! sic vivers an' drinks,
Sic fiddlin' an' pipin', sic dancin' an' jinks;
The haggis e'en hotched to the piper it's lane;
'It's a' weel that ends weel,' quo Tipperty's Jean.
The minister danced i' the barn wi' the bride;
The elders cried 'Fiddlers, play up Delvin Side;'
dominie sang like a mavis at e'en;
'Here's a health to quid lasses,' like Tipperty's Jean."
Thus ance begun, sang followed sang a' roun'—
The Cunnin' Clerk o' Colliston, The Tailor Loon,
Auld Scour Abeen, an' mony mair as fell—
Luckie brings the drucken bite hersel'—
Saut beef an' breid (she was a sleekit bodie)
To moyen ben anither bowl o' toddy;
Anither, an' anither yet, 'til a' war' glorious,
Some greetin'-fow, an' ithers clean uproarious.
To tak' the gate at lang an' last they're fain,
"Sorry to pairt, happy to meet again."
Though Inglis kent a bull's fit frae a B,
He had mair than a wee drap in his ee;
For length o' road he caredna half a bodle,
The breadth o't sairly fash'd his drummel'd nodle.
"It's dreich wark this," quo he; "I kenna, haith,
Gin I'd best gang or rin—I'se try them baith.
I wish I war' weel hame! na, what excuse
Can I mak' oot for haudin' sic a boose?
Weel was I warnised ere I cam' frae hame;
I canna say ae word—it was a shame—
by my troth I sweer, if I get o'er
This dirdum richt, I'll ne'er haud sic a splore."
Alas! alas! what witchery constrains
Man's pleasures thus, to breed such racking pains?
'Tis retribution just: vice is the source
Of dread despair and harrowing remorse;
But, like the star that gems the darkest night,
Returning virtue brings back glorious light.
While Inglis, thus opprest wi' drink an' care,
Pyowtered alang, an' browdenin' unco sair
On's Tibbie dear,—whiles thinkin' upo' witches
That haunt the Collieburn—unholy wretches!—
His puir Guidwife set doun the evenin' meal,
An', by the fire, sat birrin' at her wheel.
The chaumer had a cozy look, an' clean;[D]
For weel she likit it sud aye be seen.
While weary time beat on wi' measured speed,
Fu' mony a glance toward the knock she gied:
"I wunner oor Guidman's nae frae the fair;
He's past his ord'nar time four hoors an' mair.
See, Betty, lass! the nicht is growin' cauld,
Fesh twa-r-three peats to mak' the fire mair bauld;
An' bring me tidin's o' the kin' o' nicht—
Whether it's wet or dry, or mirk or licht."
"A bonnie nicht it is on hill an' howe,
The moon's just glintin' o'er the Castle knowe."
"Weel, lass, I'm glad o' that," her mistress cried;
An' to her task her eident hand applied.
"An' now gae to your bed, there's nocht to hinner—
Ye're sleepy like—aweel, I dinna wunner;
But see ye're up wi' morn's first glint o' grey,
For weel ye ken it is oor kirnin' day."
Inglis, wi' put an' row, still hauds the gait,
Fairies an' witches jumblin' in his pate,
Gain heels o'er head, like bumbees in a byke,
Sae doun he leans, sair dung, upon a dyke;
Wearied wi' travel, sair he tries to think,—
But that's clean o'er him, he's sae dazed wi' drink.
"I wish I war' but at oor plantin' beltie,
Or had atween my legs oor wee bit sheltie!"
Scarce had the words wun o'er his grievin' lips,
Whan, raxin' oot his han's, a shelt he grips.
"Na! sic a chance!" he cries; syne, in a crack,
He warstles up, an' on the creatur's back,
Grips fast the mane, whan, wi' an eldritch squeel,
Forrit it flees as fast as'ts legs could speel.
But nae alane; for, like birds i' the flichtir,
Rade roun' an' roun', wi' muckle mirth an' lauchter,
A fairy band; an', as they rade, they sang,
While siller bells upo' their bridles rang.
On ilka side o' Inglis rade a knicht
In Lincoln-green, wi' armour burnished bricht;
Like stars intil a frosty nicht, the sheen
Blinkit like siller in his dazzlet een.
Onward they rade—the knichts cried, "Forward!" still—
Till bye Ha'moss, syne up the Castlehill
At fire-flaucht speed, till on the very tap
They drew their reins an' aff their horses lap.
But sic a sicht as met puir Inglis een
Was ne'er by mortal in this wide warld seen;
The hillside, openin' oot, exposed to view
Yetts made o' silver, hung on sapphires blue.
Harpers stood roun'; an', as they harped, they sung
Lieds sweetly wild, but in some unco tongue;
An' wee, wee ladies fair beyond compare,
An' wee, wee lords in gorgeous garbs war' there.
One courteous knight, advancing from them all,
Said, "Welcome, Inglis, to our Fairy Hall!
Come let us join the rest and see the sport,
And pay our duty to the Queen at court
Keep close by me until we pass yon den,—
There monsters entrance bar to mortal men,—
And take this ring, 'twill keep thee safe from all
Can hurt or harm within our Fairy Hall.
I but repay a debt I owe to thee
For leaving still unploughed upon the lea
That elfin ring, where oft, in days of yore,
My forebears danced, before they left this shore;
And other kindly things that I and mine
Have got from you and yours in 'auld langsyne.'
While here, ne'er eat nor drink; not for your life!
For, if ye do, ye'll ne'er see your Goodwife."
Forward they passed, and through the entrance hall,
Its roof upborne by pillars magical;
A line of silver columns flashing bright,
And flinging back the toying gleams of light;
No sun, no moon shone in the azure sky,
Yet there was light o'er all, afar and nigh,
Flowing from sources hid far, far beyond,
Like springs outgushing streams of diamond.
And there were gentle hills; and there above,
Crowning their tops, was many a lovely grove
Waving its leaves and branches to and fro,
O'er emerald moss that clustering lay below.
And there were valleys carpeted with flowers;
There sweet retreats and honeysuckled bowers;
And lakes with wavelets playing too and fro,
Waking soft music in their rippling flow.
And on their surface many a tiny sail—
Gently impelled by Zephyr's mildest gale—
Parting the elfin billows with a sheen
Like opals set upon an emerald-green.
And crimson corals lined the peaceful shore,
Disturbed by no wild surge's angry roar;
Close to the brink was many an elfin home—
Bow'rs built of amber—bathed in silver foam.
And there a cataract, in elfin glee,
Danced music, splashing to the elfin sea;
Now gently stealing, now in bursts, along
The tones came warbling low or loud in song.
'Twas sweet to see the waters leaping so,
Like bairns at play, that ne'er knew sin or woe.
Upon a gentle sward that lay beyond,
High on a solid rock of diamond,
Was placed a throne of yellow burnished gold
Of rarest work the elfin art could mould;
Its steps were gemmed with chrysolite and pearl,
Its canopy with topazes and beryl;
And on it sat the Queen, as spotless fair
As new fallen snow, pure as a child of air.
Upon her brow the richly jewelled wreath
Could add no beauty to the hair beneath;
Those queenly tresses were of raven hue,
And sparkled bright with crystal-dropping dew;
While music, like a flood, broke round the throne
Whereon she sat like morning star alone,
Welcoming right royally each coming guest
From far or near, from south, north, east, or west.
To cheer the guests with music and with song,
With harp and pipe, the elfin minstrels throng.
The harpers sat—waiting the royal glance.
That, smiling given, the bardic chiefs advance
ping the chords—the wires responsive rung—
And in harmonious concert thus they sung:—
"Come where the bright star of even is beaming;
Come where the moonlight o'er valley and hill,
O'er castle and cot in golden flakes streaming,
Shimmers on lake and leaf—glints on the rill.
Ever light, ever free,
Gay let our spirits be,
Roaming by burn and lea—roaming at will.
"Come where the mavis sings sweetest at gloamin';
Come where the woods wi' the wee birdies ring;
Come to the hill where the wild bee is roamin';
Come where the bonnie flow'rs bonniest spring;
Come to the trystin' tree,
Ever gay, ever free,
Sing our old songs with glee—cheerily sing.
"Come where the burn splashes down frae the mountain;
Come where the hazel nuts hang on the tree;
Come to the dell wi' its clear shining fountain,
Where lilies are listenin' the pipe o' the bee
There, by the whisp'ring stream,
Where the trouts golden gleam,
Tell that old tale—that brings joy to the ee.
"Come where Spring's bridal chimes blue bells are ringing;
Come where the yellow broom blooms on the brae;
Come where the lintie his love-sang is singing,
And wee birdies courtin' on ilka green spray.
Joyously let us sing,
Love awakes wi' the Spring,
Merrily let us roam—come, come away."
The trumpets sound; an' at the Queen's comman'
Rade forth o' knights an' lords a gallant ban';
Squadron on squadron pressed in close review,
Their presence markin' their allegiance true;
Ilk gallant tried, as gently ridin' bye,
To catch one meltin' glance frae one loved eye.
An' then cam' racin', playin' at the ba',
An' arrow-shootin' at the waponschaw;
Some danced in glee—but nae quadrilles frae France,
But just the guid auld reel an' country dance—
An' mony anither pastime, whilk to tell
Wad weary even Davie Lindsay's sell'.
An' noo the Queen an' ilk attendin' lord
Tak' up their places at the festive board.
Amang the crowd, oor Inglis an' the knicht
Set themsel's doun, yet geylies oot o' sicht;
But a' the marvels that afore he'd seen
War' nocht to what noo met his dazzled een:
Dishes of gold, the drinking cups of gems,
And flowers of brilliant hues on slender stems,
Shedding delicious fragrance over all,
Blending their odours through the banquet hall;
While softest music, as if borne on wings,
Stole round and round in low, sweet whisperings.
Again the trumpets sound; the heralds call,
"The Queen a kindly welcome drinks to all!"
In meet response, the wine-cups soon are seen
Raised to the toast, "Her Majesty the Queen."
Cheer follows cheer through all the elfin ranks;
Right graciously she bows and smiles her thanks.
'Mid sic excitin' scenes, Inglis amaist
Forgat the frien'ly warnin' nae to taste;
An' raxin' oot his han', the wine-cup took,
But just in time was warnised by a look—
An' sic a look! it gealed his very heart,
An' pierced him thro' an' thro' as wi' a dart—
Upon a pedestal was placed upright
A weird-like form,—as if to hide from sight,
O'erstrewn with leaves,—and, draped in gory red,
It seemed the statue of some monster dread;
Around its head were tendrils of the vine;
To bind this chaplet two pale snakes entwine.
Silent and stern, in death-like rest it sate,
Waiting its certain prey from time or fate;
Nor life, nor motion did it show,—until
The call went forth the goblets all to fill,
Then, lifting up its head, it glared around,
As if rejoicing in the welcome sound.
All suddenly it seemed to spring to life,
As if to handle drink betokened strife;
Its eyes flashed vividly, it grimly smiled
To see poor Inglis thus almost beguiled.—
As thus its figure burst upon his view,
Inglis knew well who waited for his due—
saftly settin' doun the cup in fear
He stole a cautious glance to those war' near.
"Why don't you drink the toast?" his neebours cry.
Quo Inglis, "Sirs, I'm nae just byous dry."
"Treason! vile treason!" roars an elfin carl;
"Here's a base mortal from the outer warl'!"
Syne sic a rippet raise! sic yells an' cries!
While rage flashed furious in the elfin eyes,
Some rinnin' here, some there, whiles some pell-mell,
Roared oot wi' glee, "He'll pay our Kain to hell."
"Wae's me!" thocht Inglis, "I'll be en'it noo;
This comes o' gain frae hame an' getting fou."
Wi' that his frien', the knicht, spak' up an cried,
"Silence! the Queen shall this affair decide."
Strauchtway they harle him 'fore the royal chair
An' place him, like a culprit, tremblin' there.
Her Majesty exclaims, "How came you here?"
Inglis, "Gracious Queen, I'm vera seer
It wasna wi' my wull; an', gin ye'll tak'
My honest word for't, I sall ne'er come back;"
An' syne he tauld her a', baith crap an' root,
That drink was just the cause o't, oot an' oot.
"Well! all that may be true," the Queen replies;
"I fear you hear your doom in these wild cries."
"Nae doubt," quo Inglis, "sair eneuch's my case,
Unless I pity get at your sweet face.
It's nae just for mysel' I beg my life,
But for her sake at hame—my dear Guidwife."
syne the knicht spak' oot, "My Gracious Queen,
This culprit and his forebears all have been
Neighbours to us and ours for many a day,
And aye were kindly, and ne'er wrought us wae;
His pardon thus I crave upon my knee."
"Rise, sir; 'tis granted; but thus shall it be:
If e'er again he cheat his leal Goodwife,
And with such cantrips plague her very life;
Or with such spates of drink he daze himsel',
Some day he's sure to pay our Kain to hell."
All instant changed; but how, he never kenn'd.
Whaur was he? Paumerin' at his ain hoose-end.—
Frae that day forth a wiser man, atweel!
An' did his very best to cheat the Deil.