The wind blew as ’twad blown its last;
The rattling showers rose on the blast;
The speedy gleams the darkness swallowed;
Loud, deep, and lang the thunder bellowed:
That night, a child might understand
The deil had business on his hand.
Weel mounted on his grey mare, Meg,
A better never lifted leg,
Tam skelpit [149a] on through dub and mire,
Despising wind, and rain, and fire;
Whiles holding fast his guid blue bonnet,
Whiles crooning o’er some auld Scots sonnet;
Whiles glowering 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 foord,
Whare in the snow the chapman smoored, [149b]
And past the birks and meikle stane
Whare drunken Charlie brak’s neck-bane:
And through the whins, and by the cairn
Whare hunters fand the murdered bairn;
And near the thorn, aboon the well,
Where Mungo’s mither hanged hersel’.
Before him Doon pours a’ his floods;
The doubling storm roars through the woods;
The lightnings flash frae pole to pole;
Near and more near the thunders roll;
When glimmering through the groaning trees,
Kirk-Alloway seemed in a bleeze;
Through ilka [150h] bore the beams were glancing,
And loud resounded mirth and dancing.
Inspiring bold John Barleycorn!
What dangers thou canst mak us scorn!
Wi’ tippenny, we fear nae evil:
Wi’ usquebae, we’ll face the devil!—
The swats sae reamed in Tammie’s noddle,
Fair play, he cared na deils a boddle. [150a]
But Maggie stood right sair astonished,
Till, by the heel and hand admonished,
She ventured forward on the light;
And, wow! 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 i’ their heels:
At winnock-bunker, [150b] i’ the east,
There sat auld Nick, in shape o’ beast,
A towzie tyke, [150c] black, grim, and large,
To gie them music was his charge;
He screwed the pipes, and gart them skirl, [150d]
Till roof and rafters a’ did dirl. [150e]
Coffins stood round, like open presses,
That shaw’d the dead in their last dresses;
And by some devilish cantrip slight [150f]
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;
Twa span-lang, wee, unchristened bairns;
A thief, new-cutted frae a rape,
Wi’ his last gasp his gab [150g] 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 grey hairs yet stack to the heft:
Wi’ mair o’ horrible and awfu’,
Which even to name wad be unlawfu’.
As Tammie glowered, amazed and curious,
The mirth and fun grew fast and furious:
The piper loud and louder blew,
The dancers quick and quicker flew;
They reeled, they set, they crossed, they cleekit,
Till ilka carlin swat and reekit,
And coost her duddies [151a] to the wark,
And linket [151h] at it in her sark. [151b]
Now Tam! O Tam! had they been queans,
A’ plump and strappin’ in their teens,
Their sarks, instead o’ creeshie flannen, [151c]
Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linnen!
Thir breeks o’ mine, my only pair,
That ance were plush, o’ guid blue hair,
I wad hae gien them aff my hurdies,
For ae blink o’ the bonny burdies!
But withered beldams, auld and droll,
Rigwoodie [151d] hags, wad spean [151j] a foal,
Lowpin’ and flingin’ on a cummock, [151e]
I wonder didna turn thy stomach.
But Tam kenned what was what fu’ brawlie,
“There was ae winsome wench and walie,” [151i]
That night enlisted in the core,
(Lang after kenned on Carrick shore;
For mony a beast to dead she shot,
And perished mony a bonny boat,
And shook baith meikle corn and bere,
And kept the country-side in fear.)
Her cutty sark, [151f] o’ Paisley harn,
That, while a lassie, she had worn,
In longitude though sorely scanty,
It was her best, and she was vauntie.
Ah! little kenn’d thy reverend grannie,
That sark she coft [151g] 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;
To sing how Nannie lap and flang,
(A souple jade she was, and strang,)
And how Tam stood like ane bewitched,
And thought his very een enriched;
Even Satan glowered, and fidged fu’ fain,
And hotch’d [152a] and blew wi’ might and main:
Till first ae caper, syne anither,
Tam tint [152b] his reason a’thegither,
And roars out, “Weel done, Cutty-sark!”
And in an instant a’ was dark:
And scarcely had he Maggie rallied,
When out the hellish legion sallied.
As bees bizz out wi’ angry fyke, [152c]
When plundering herds assail their byke; [152d]
As open pussie’s mortal foes,
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 [152e] screech and hollow.
Ah, Tam! ah, Tam! thou’lt get thy fairin’!
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 keystane of the brig;
There at them thou thy tail may toss,
A running stream they darena cross;
But ere the keystane 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; [152f]
But little wist she Maggie’s mettle—
Ae spring brought off her master hale,
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:
Whane’er to drink you are inclined,
Or cutty-sarks run in your mind,
Think! ye may buy the joys owre dear—
Remember Tam o’ Shanter’s mare.