Now Tam! O Tam! had thae been queans,1
A' plump and strappin' in their teens,
Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen,2
Been snaw-white seventeen-hunder linen !*
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 wither'd beldams, auld and droll,
Rigwoodie hags, wad spean a foal,
Lowpin' and flingin' on a cummock,"
I wonder didna turn thy stomach.
But Tam kenn'd 10 what was what fu' brawlie,"
'There was ae winsome wench and walie,"
That night enlisted in the core
(Lang after kenn'd on Carrick shore;
For mony a beast to dead she shot,
And perish'd mony a bonny boat,
And shook baith meikle corn and bear,
And kept the country-side in fear).
Her cutty sark,13 o' Paisley harn,
That, while a lassie,14 she had worn,
1 Young girls. 2 Greasy flannel.
5 Look.
'Jumping and capering on a staff. 10 Knew.
12 A hearty girl and jolly.
3 These breeches.
7 Gallows-worthy.
*The manufacturer's term for a fine linen woven in a reed of
In longitude though sorely scanty,
It was her best, and she was vauntie.1
Ah! little kenn'd thy reverend grannie,
That sark she coft2 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,3
Sic flights are far beyond her power;
To sing how Nannie lap and flang*
(A souple jade she was, and strango),
And how Tam stood, like ane bewitch'd,
And thought his very een enrich'd;
Even Satan glower'd, and fidged fu' fain,
And hotch'd' and blew wi' might and main :
Till first ae caper, syne3 anither,
Tam tint 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,1o
When plundering herds assail their byke,11
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 eldritch1 screech and hollow.
Ah, Tam! ah, Tam! thou 'lt get thy fairin'!2
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; *
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:
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