Classic Poem

THE LAST SPEECH OF A WRETCHED MISER.

O DOOL ! and am I forc'd to die,
And nae mair my dear siller see,
That glanc'd sae sweetly in my e'e!
It breaks my heart:
My goud! my bands! alackanie!
That we should part.

For you I labour'd night and day,
For you I did my friends betray,
For you on stinking caff I lay,
And blankets thin;
And for your sake fed mony a flea
Upon my skin.

Like Tantalus, I lang have stood
Chin-deep into a siller flood,
Yet ne'er was able for my blood,
But pain and strife,
To ware ae drap on claiths or food,
To cherish life.

Or like the wissen'd beardless wights,
Wha herd the wives of eastern knights,
Yet ne'er enjoy the saft delights
Of lasses bony;
Thus did I watch lang days and nights
My lovely money.

Altho' my annual rents could feed
Thrice forty fouk that stood in need,
I grudg'd myself my daily bread;
And if frae hame,
My pouch produc'd an ingan head,
To please my wame.

To keep you cosie in a hoord,
This hunger I with ease endur'd;
And never dought a doit afford
To ane of skill,
Wha for a doller might have cur'd
Me of this ill.

I never wore my claiths with brushing,
Nor wrung away my sarks with washing;
Nor ever sat in taverns dashing
Away my coin,
To find out wit or mirth by clashing
O'er dearthfu' wine.

Abiet my pow was bald and bare,
I wore nae frizzl'd limmer's hair,
Which taks of flour to keep it fair,
Frae reesting free,
As meikle as wad dine, and mair,
The like of me.

Nor kept I servants, tales to tell,
But toom'd my coodies a' mysell;
To hane in candle I had a spell
Baith cheap and bright,
A fish-head, when it 'gins to smell,
Gives curious light.

What reason can I shaw, quo' ye,
To save and starve, to cheat and lie,
To live a beggar, and to die
Sae rich in coin?
That 's mair than can be gi'en by me,
Tho' Belzie join.

Some said my looks were groff and sowr,
Fretfu', drumbly, dull, and dowr:
I own it was na in my pow'r,
My fears to ding;
Wherefore I never could endure
To laugh or sing.

I ever hated bookish reading,
And musical or dancing breeding,
And what 's in either face or cleading,
Of painted things;
I thought nae pictures worth the heeding,
Except the king's.

Now of a' them the eard e'er bure,
I never rhymers could endure,
They 're sic a sneering pack, and poor,
I hate to ken 'em;
For 'gainst us thrifty sauls they 're sure
To spit their venom.

But waster wives, the warst of a',
Without a yeuk they gar ane claw,
When wickedly they bid us draw
Our siller spungs,
For this and that, to mak' them braw,
And lay their tongues.

Some loo the courts, some loo the kirks,
Some loo to keep their skins frae lirks,
Some loo to woo beneath the birks
Their lemans bony;
For me, I took them a' for stirks
That loo'd na money.

They ca'd me slave to usury,
Squeeze, cleave the hair, and peel the flea,
Clek, flae the flint, and penury,
And sauleless wretch;
But that ne'er skaith'd or troubled me,
Gin I grew rich.

On profit a' my thoughts were bent,
And mony thousands have I lent,
But sickerly I took good tent,
That double pawns,
With a cudeigh, and ten per cent.
Lay in my hands.

When borrow'rs brak, the pawns were rug,
Rings, beads of pearl, or siller jug,
I sald them aff, ne'er fash'd my lug
With girns or curses,
The mair they whing'd, it gart me hug
My swelling purses.

Sometimes I'd sigh, and ape a saint,
And with a lang rat-rhime of cant,
Wad make a mane for them in want;
But for ought mair,
I never was the fool to grant
Them ony skair.

I thought ane freely might pronounce
That chiel a very silly dunce,
That cou'd not honesty renunce,
With ease and joys,
At ony time, to win an unce
Of yellow boys.

When young I some remorse did feel,
And liv'd in terror of the deel,
His furnace, whips, and racking-wheel;
But by degrees
My conscience, grown as hard as steel,
Gave me some ease.

But fears of want, and carking care
To save my stock, and thirst for mair,
By night and day opprest me sair,
And turn'd my head;
While friends appear'd like harpies gare,
That wish'd me dead.

For fear of thieves I aft lay waking
The live lang night, 'till day was breaking,
Syne throu' my sleep, with heart sair aiking,
I 've aften started,
Thinking I heard my windows cracking,
When Elspa f — — .

O gear! I held ye lang the gither;
For you I starv'd my good auld mither,
And to Virginia sald my brither,
And crush'd my wife;
But now I 'm gawn I kenna whither,
To leave my life.

My life! my god! my spirit earns,
Not on my kindred, wife, or bairns,
Sic are but very laigh concerns,
Compar'd with thee;
When now this mortal rottle warns
Me, I maun die.

It to my heart gaes like a gun,
To see my kin and graceless son,
Like rooks, already are begun
To thumb my gear,
And cash that has na seen the sun
This fifty year.

Oh! oh! that spendthrift son of mine,
Wha can on roasted moorfowl dine,
And like dub-water skink the wine,
And dance and sing;
He 'll soon gar my dear darlings dwine
Down to naithing.

To that same place, where'er I gang,
O could I bear my wealth alang!
Nae heir shou'd e'er a farthing fang,
That thus carouses,
Tho' they shou'd a' on woodies hang,
For breaking houses.

Perdition! Sathan! is that you?
I sink — am dizzy — candle blue! — —
Wi' that he never mair play'd pew,
But with a rair,
Away his wretched spirit flew,
It maksnae where.