The Auld Doctor and other Poems and Songs in Scots

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Title: The Auld Doctor and other Poems and Songs in Scots
Author: David Rorie
Release Date: January 2, 2006 [EBook #17448]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
0. START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE AULD
DOCTOR ***
Produced by Richard Bruce Gordon
THE AULD DOCTOR AND OTHER POEMS AND SONGS IN
SCOTS
BY DAVID RORIE M.D.
NOTE
"The Lum Hat wantin' the Croon" is published, with music,
by Mr. R. W. Pentland, Edinburgh, and it also appears in The British
Students' Song Book along with "The Pawky Duke." This latter first
appeared in St. Andrews University Bazaar Book, and is included in
Seekers after a City. "Macfadden and Macfee" was contributed to
Aberdeen University Alma Mater, and has been reprinted in Alma
Mater Anthology. Various of the other verses have appeared in The
Edinburgh Medical Journal and The Caledonian Medical Journal.
D.

R.
Not mine to let the hair grow long, and talk
In raptured accents of the
Higher Things,
Of all the purple Polyanthus bears,
And beating
wings.
(Oh no! Nothing of that sort!)
Ne'er have I languished on the lower slopes
Of sweet Parnassus in the
thrice-dead years,
Chanting in fathoms of the fathomless
To
kindred ears.
(Certainly not! No time for it!)
Nor mine the gift-O, gilded gift and grand!
To linger near the murmur
of the Nine,
To mouth in music of the meaningless,
Nay! Never
mine!
(That's so! Quite!)
But here to han'le the auld crambo-clink
On hame-owre themes
weel-kent by Galen's tribe,
Regairdless o' what ither fowk may think

Or ca' the scribe!
(Ay! That's aboot it noo!)
CONTENTS
THE AULD DOCTOR
THE CRAMBO-CLINK
THE LUM
HAT WANTIN' THE CROON
THE PAWKY DUKE

MACFADDEN AND MACFEE
TAM AND THE LEECHES

THE HOWDIE
DAYLICHT HAS MONY EEN
THE
BANE-SETTER
BRITHERS
THE CYNIC
THE NICHT
THAT THE BAIRNIE CAM' HAME
HUMAN NATUR'

ANG-BANG-PANG
THE SPEESHALIST
ISIE
THE
HYPOCHONDRIAC
THE AULD CARLE
THE FEE
HERE
ABOOTS
DROGGIE
THE WEE DRAP
THE TRICKSTER
THE AULD DOCTOR.
O' a' the jobs that sweat the sark

Gie me a kintra doctor's wark,
Ye
ca' awa' frae dawn till dark,
Whate'er the weather be, O!

Some tinkler wife is in the strae,
Your boots are owre the taps wi'
clay
Through wadin' bog an' sklimmin' brae
The besom for to see,
O!
Ye ken auld Jock o' Windybarns?
The bull had near ca'ed oot his
harns,
His een were blinkin' fu' o' starns,
An' doon they ran for me,
O!
There's ae guid wife, we're weel acquaint,
Nae trouble's kent but what
she's taen't,
Yet aye she finds some new complaint,
O' which I hae
the key, O!
She's had some unco queer mishaps,
Wi' nervish wind and clean
collapse,
An' naethin' does her guid but drapsGuid
draps o'
barley-bree, O!
I wouldna care a docken blade,
Gin her accoont she ever paid,
But
while she gi'es me a' her trade,
There's ne'er a word o' fee, O!
Then De'il hae a' thae girnin' wives,
There's ne'er a bairn they hae that
thrives,
It's aye the kink-hoast or the hives
That's gaun to gar them
dee, O!
Tak' ony job ye like ava!
Tak' trade, the poopit or the law,
But gin
ye're wise ye'll haud awa'
Frae medical degree, O!
THE CRAMBO-CLINK.
Afore there was law to fleg us a',
An' schedule richt frae wrang,
The
man o' the cave had got the crave
For the lichtsome lilt o' sang.

Wife an' strife an' the pride o' life,
Woman an' war an' drink;
He
sang o' them a' at e'enin's fa'
By aid o' the crambo-clink.
When the sharpest flint made the deepest dint,
An' the strongest
worked his will,
He drew his tune frae the burnie's croon
An' the
whistlin' win' o' the hill.
At the mou' o's cave to pleesure the lave,


He was singin' afore he could think,
An' the wife in bye hush'd the
bairnie's cry
Wi' a swatch o' the crambo-clink.
Nae creetic was there wi' superior air
For the singer wha daur decry

When they saw the sheen o' the makar's een,
An' his han' on his axe
forbye?
But the nicht grew auld an' he never devaul'd
While ane by
ane they would slink,
Awa' at a rin to their beds o' skin
Frae the
soun' o' the crambo-clink.
THE LUM HAT WANTIN' THE CROON.
The burn was big wi' spate,
An' there cam' tum'lin' doon

Tapsalteerie the half o' a gate,
Wi' an auld fish-hake an' a great
muckle skate,
An' a lum hat wantin' the croon!
The auld wife stude on the bank
As they gaed swirlin' roun',
She
took a gude look an' syne says she:
"There's food an' there's firin'
gaun to the sea,
An' a lum hat wantin' the croon!"
Sae she gruppit the branch o' a saugh,
An' she kickit aff ane o' her
shoon,
An' she stuck oot her fit-but it caught in the gate,
An' awa'
she went