Classic Poem

'T WAS e'ening whan the speckled gowdspink sang,
Whan new fa'en dew in blobs o' crystal hang;
'Than Will and Sandie thought they'd wrought eneugh,
And loos'd their sair toil'd owsen frae the pleugh:
Before they ca'd their beasts unto the town,
The lads to draw their breath e'en sat them down:
To the stiff sturdy aik they lean their backs,
While honest Sandy thus begins the cracks.
San. Ance I could hear the lavrock's shrill-tun'd throat,
And listen to the clattering gowdspink's note;
Ance I could whistle cantily as they,
To owsen, as they till'd my ruggit clay;
But now I would as leive maist lend my lugs
To tuneless puddocks croaking i' the bogs;
I sigh at hame, a-field am dowie too,
To sowf a tune I'll never crook my mou.
Wil. Foul fa me gif your bridal had na been
Nae langer bygane than sin' Hallow-e'en,
I could hae tell'd you but a warlock's art,
That some daft lyghtlyin quean had stow'n your heart;
Our beisties here will tak their e'ening pluck,
An' now sin Jock's gane hame the byres to muck,
Fain would I houp my friend will be inclin'd
To gie me a' the secrets o' his mind:
Heh! Sandie, lad, what dool's come owr ye now,
That you to whistle ne'er will crook your mou.
San. Ah! Willie, Willie, I my date my wae
Frae what beted me on my bridal day;
Sair may I rue the hour in which our hands
Were knit thegither in the haly bands;
Sin' that I thrave sae ill, in troth I fancy,
Some fiend or fairy, nae sae very chancy,
Has driven me, by pauky wiles uncommon,
To wed this flyting fury of a woman.
Wil. Ah! Sandie, aften hae I heard you tell,
Amang the lasses a' she bure the bell;
And say, the modest glances o' her ein
Far dang the brightest beauties o' the green;
You ca'd her ay sae innocent, sae young,
I thought she kent na how to use her tongue.
San. Before I married her, I'll tak my aith,
Her tongue was never louder than her breath;
But now its turn'd sae souple and sae bauld,
That Job himsell could scarcely thole the scauld.
Wil. Let her yelp on, be you as calm's a mouse,
Nor let your whisht be heard into the house;
Do what she can, or be as loud's she please,
Ne'er mind her flytes, but set your heart at ease.
Sit down and blaw your pipe, nor faush your thumb,
An' there's my hand she'll tire, and soon sing dumb;
Sooner shou'd Winter's cald confine the sea,
An' let the sma'est o' our burns rin free:
Sooner at Yule-day shall the birk be drest,
Or birds in sapless busses big their nest,
Before a tonguey woman's noisy plea
Shou'd ever be a cause to danton me.
San. Weel could I this abide, but oh! I fear
I'll soon be twin'd o' a' my warldly gear;
My kirnstaff now stands gizzen'd at the door,
My cheese-rack toom that ne'er was toom before;
My ky may now rin rowtin' to the hill,
And on the naked yird their milkness spill;
She seenil lays her hand upon a turn,
Neglects the kebbuck, and forgets the kirn;
I vow my hair-mould milk would poison dogs,
As it stands lapper'd in the dirty cogs.
Before the seed I sell'd my ferra cow,
An' wi' the profit coft a stane o' woo:
I thought, by priggin', that she might hae spun
A plaidie, light, to screen me frae the sun;
But tho' the siller's scant, the cleedin' dear,
She has na ca'd about a wheel the year.
Last owk but ane I was frae hame a day,
Buying a threave or twa o' bedding strae:
O' ilka thing the woman had her will,
Had fouth o' meal to bake, and hens to kill:
But hyn awa' to Edinbrough scour'd she
To get a making o' her fav'rite tea;
And 'cause I left na her the weary clink,
She pawn'd the very trunchers frae my bink.
Wil. Her tea! ah! wae betide sic costly gear,
Or them that ever wad the price o't spear.
Sin' my auld gutcher first the warld knew,
Fowk had na found the Indies whare it grew,
I mind mysell, it's nae sae lang sin' syne,
Whan antie Marion did her stamack tyne,
That Davs our gard'ner came frae Apple-bog,
An' gae her tea to tak by way o' drog.
San. Whan ilka herd for cauld his fingers rubs,
An' cakes o' ice are seen upo' the dubs;
At morning, whan frae pleugh or fauld I come,
I'll see a bra' reek rising frae my lum,
An' ablins think to get a rantin blaze,
To fley the frost awa', and tost my taes;
But whan I shoot my nose in, ten to ane
If I weelfardly see my ane hearthstane;
She round the ingle wi' her gimmers sits,
Crammin' their gabbies wi' her nicest bits,
While the gudeman out-by maun fill his crap
Frae the milk coggie, or the parritch cap.
Wil. Sandy, gif this were ony common plea,
I should the lealest o' my counsel gie;
But mak or middle betwixt man an' wife,
Is what I never did in a' my life.
It's wearin' on now to the tail o' May,
An' just between the beer-seed and the hay;
As lang's an orra morning may be spar'd,
Stap your wa's east the haugh, an' tell the laird;
For he's a man weel vers'd in a' the laws,
Kens baith their outs an' ins, their cracks an' flaws,
An' ay right gleg, whan things are out o' joint,
At sattlin o' a nice or kittle point.
But yonder's Jock, he'll ca' your owsen hame,
And tak thir tidings to your thrawart dame,
That ye're awa' ae peacefu' meal to prie,
An' tak your supper kail or sow'ns wi' me.