Didnt post the whole poem as too long, love Robbie Burns! From Tam oShanter, a Tale Inspiring bold John Barleycorn! What dangers thou canst make us scorn! Wi tippeny, we fear nae evil; Wi usquabae, well face the devil!— The swats sae reamd in Tammies noddle, Fair play, he card na deils a boddle. But Maggie stood right sair astonishd, Till, by the heel and hand admonishd, She ventured forward on the light; And, vow! Tam saw an unco sight! Warlocks and witches in a dance; Nae cotillion brent new frae France, But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels, Put life and mettle in their heels. A winnock-bunker in the east, There sat auld Nick, in shape o beast; A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large, To gie them music was his charge: He screwd the pipes and gart them skirl, Till roof and rafters a did dirl.— Coffins stood round, like open presses, That shawd the dead in their last dresses; And by some devilish cantraip slight Each in its cauld hand held a light.— By which heroic Tam was able To note upon the haly table, A murderers banes in gibbet airns; Twa span-lang, wee, unchristend bairns; A thief, new-cutted frae a rape Wi his last gasp his gab did gape; Five tomahawks, wi blude red-rusted; Five scymitars, wi murder crusted; A garter, which a babe had strangled; A knife, a fathers throat had mangled, Whom his ain son o life bereft, The grey hairs yet stack to the heft; Wi mair o horrible and awefu, Which even to name wad be unlawfu. As Tammie glowrd, amazd, and curious, The mirth and fun grew fast and furious: The piper loud and louder blew; The dancers quick and quicker flew; They reeld, they set, they crossd, they cleekit, Till ilka carlin swat and reekit, And coost her duddies to the wark, And linket at it in her sark! Now, Tam, O Tam! had thae been queans, A plump and strapping in their teens, Their sarks, instead o creeshie flannen, Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linnen! Thir breeks o mine, my only pair, That ance were plush, o gude blue hair, I wad hae gien them off my hurdies, For ae blink o the bonie burdies! But witherd beldams, auld and droll, Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal, Lowping and flinging on a crummock, I wonder didna turn thy stomach. But Tam kend what was what fu brawlie, There was ae winsome wench and wawlie, That night enlisted in the core, (Lang after kend on Carrick shore; For mony a beast to dead she shot, And perishd mony a bony boat, And shook baith meikle corn and bear, And kept the country-side in fear:) Her cutty sark, o Paisley harn, That while a lassie she had worn, In longitude tho sorely scanty, It was her best, and she was vauntie.— Ah! little kend thy reverend grannie, That sark she coft for her wee Nannie, Wi twa pund Scots, (twas a her riches), Wad ever gracd a dance of witches! But here my Muse her wing maun cour; Sic flights are far beyond her powr; To sing how Nannie lap and flang, (A souple jade she was, and strang), And how Tam stood, like ane bewitchd, And thought his very een enrichd; Even Satan glowrd, and fidgd fu fain, And hotchd an blew wi might and main: Till first ae caper, syne anither, Tam tint his reason a thegither, And roars out, Weel done, Cutty-sark! And in an instant all was dark: And scarcely had he Maggie rallied. When out the hellish legion sallied.
Posted on: Sat, 25 Oct 2014 07:38:56 +0000
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