tam o' shanter

a tale.

“of brownyis and of bogillis full is this buke.”

gawin dous.

when chapman billies leave the street,

and drouthy neibors, neibors, meet;

as market days are wearingte,

and folk begin to tak the gate,

while we sit bousing at the nappy,

an' getting fou and unco happy,

we think na on theng scots miles,

the mosses, waters, ps and stiles,

that lie between us and our hame,

where sits our sulky, sullen dame,

gathering her brows like gathering 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 boniesses).

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,

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 asng as thou had siller;

that ev'ry naig was ca'd a shoe on

the smith and thee gat roarin' fou on;

that at the lord's house, ev'n on sunday,

thou drank wi' kirkton jean till monday,

she prophesied thatte or soon,

thou wad 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 mony counsels sweet,

how mony lengthen'd, sage advices,

the husband frae the wife despises!

but to our tale: ae market night,

tam had got nted unco right,

fast by an ingle, bleezing finely,

wi reaming saats, that drank divinely;

and at his elbow, souter johnie,

his ancient, trusty, drougthy crony:

tam lo'ed him like a very brither;

they had been fou for weeks thegither.

the night drave on wi' sangs an' tter;

and aye the ale was growing better:

thendy and tam grew gracious,

wi' favours secret, sweet, and precious:

the souter tauld his queerest stories;

thendlord'sugh 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 himsel amang the nappy.

as bees flee hame wi'des 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 ce;

or like the rainbow's lovely form

evanishing amid the storm.—

nae man can tether time nor tide,

the hour approaches tam maun ride;

that hour, o' night's ck 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 wn itsst;

the rattling showers rose on the st;

the speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd;

loud, deep, andng, the thunder bellow'd:

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 on thro' dub and mire,

despising wind, and rain, and fire;

whiles holding fast his gude blue bon,

whiles crooning o'er some auld scots son,

whiles glow'rin round wi' prudent cares,

lest bogles catch him unawares;

kirk-alloway was drawing nigh,

where ghaists and houlets nightly cry.

by this time he was cross the ford,

where in the snaw the chapman smoor'd;

and past the birks and meikle stane,

where drunken charlie brak's neck-bane;

and thro' the whins, and by the cairn,

where hunters fand the murder'd bairn;

and near the thorn, aboon the well,

where mungo's mither hang'd hersel'.

before him doon pours all his floods,

the doubling storm roars thro' the woods,

the lightnings sh from pole to pole,

near and more near the thunders roll,

when, glimmering thro' the groaning trees,

kirk-alloway seem'd in a bleeze,

thro' ilka bore the beams were ncing,

and loud resounded mirth and dancing.

inspiring bold john barleycorn!

what dangers thou canst make us scorn!

wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil;

wi' usquabae, we'll face the devil!

the swats sae ream'd in tammie's noddle,

fair y, he car'd na deils a boddle,

but ie stood, right sair astonish'd,