Classic Poem

“W EEL , Kirsty, since we've got a coo
We maun turn Tories, lass;
We maunna speak to puir folk noo,
But snoul them as we pass.
We'll get in wi' the muckle folk,
An', min' ma words this day,
Ye'll see I'll be nae langer Jock,
But Mr. John McRae.

“I've tried to please baith rich and puir,
Ca'd Whig and Tory brither,
But little cause hae I to care
For either ane or ither.
Frae baith what insults I hae borne
Mair than my tongue can say:
I've had to answer nicht and morn
To vulgar Jock McRae.

“An' there's that Chartist, Patie Fleck,
Wha gibes and jeers me noo,
In spite o' 's sowl he maun respec'
The man wha auchts a coo.
He ca'd me ‘Hunk, time-serving tool,’
And had the spite to say
‘There couldna be a bigger fool
Then silly Jock McRae.’

“But wha kens yet but I may sit
In Provost Tamson's seat?
And wha may staun afore me yet
But this same jeerin' Pate?
Wha kens but I may rise to be
As big as Bailie More,
And a' the toun may come to see
A chapper on ma door?

“That chapper keeps ma spirits up,
I see it ev'ry day—
Ay! even while ma brose I sup,
There's Provost John McRae.
Nae doot I ken there's twa or rhee
Will sicken at the sight,
An' oh, what fun 'twill be to me
To see their harmless spite!

“Then, when I'm walking up the street
I'll hear the laddies say:
‘Keep quait!’ as soon's ma face they see't,
‘There's Provost John McRae!’
An' then whaur dignities are met,
Gin I but show ma face,
They'll a' gie way that I may hae
The very heichest place.

“Ye needna shake your heid atweel!
Didna the spaewife say,
‘Cock up your bonnet! surely ye'll
Be Provost John McRae?’
And didna ma ain mither say,
As I sat on her knee,
‘Its prophesied that in your day
A michty man you'll be?

“‘For on the nicht when ye were born
The moon it shone sae clear,
Folk could hae seen to shear the corn,
The rye and barley-beer;
An' owre the hoose sic lichts did hing,
A' dazzlin' gowden yellow,
That oor auld toop danced sic a spring
The like was ne'er heard tell o'.’

“Sae what's ordaint to be maun be,
The very planets say;
The day will come—ye'll leeve to see—
I'm Provost John McRae.
The sword's conferr'd by God abune!
I'm thinkin' in ma reign
Some blackguard radicals 'll fin'
I wear it not in vain.

“An' pride, an' poverty, an' spite,
That flourished in this toun,
I'm death upon the three, and quite
Resolv'd to put them doun.
Folk here hate merit, weel I wat,
For to this very day
The de'il a title e'er I got
Save vulgar Jock McRae.

“I'll lea' the Free Kirk, that I'll dae!
The auld ane I will try;
I should hae been an' elder tae,
And yet they passed me by.
To get that office hoo I focht,
An' learn'd masel' to pray;
Yet a' ma labor cam' to nocht,
I'm still mere Jock McRae.

“Hoo earnestly I gaed to work,
An' studied the divines,
Made for the auld wives o' the kirk
Sic tea and cookie shines;
An' bleart ma e'en owre many a text,
Made family worship tae;
An', tho' I pray'd till I was vex'd,
I'm still mere Jock McRae.

“They put Tam Tamson on the list—
I saw the cloven foot;
Wi' hauf an e'e a wean could see
'Twas a' to keep me oot.
No won'er I did stamp an' fyte,
An' swear revenge to hae,
Or that I pray'd through perfect spite
When I was beat that day.

“An' whan I'm Provost, then ye'll see
A' the ill-wully pack;
Whan they're brocht to be tried by me,
Hoo I will pay them back!
Tam says a pray'r that's no his ain,
Like bairn its lesson saying;
I spout mine aff, no' like a wean—
I beat him far at praying.

“Hoo ye'll rejoice to hear ma voice
Pronounce them low and vile!
A speech I'll mak to Pate Fleck's pack,
Ere them I sen' to jile.
I'll rise up slowly from the bench,
Put on a dreidfu' face,
An' in this way ma nieve I'll clinch,
An' roar, ‘Shame an’ disgrace!

“‘For ye had ev'ry chance I had,
Yet leuk at me the day:
While ye hae a' gaen to the bad,
I'm Provost John McRae.’
Lord, in ma presence hoo they'll shrink!
An' willna auld wives say
Ma very leuk it gart them think
Upon the judgment day.
An' if I dinna dae for Pate,
An' the Free Kirkers tae,
An' ev'ry leivin' soul I hate,
Ma name's no' John McRae.”