The Auld Doctor and other Poems and Songs in Scots | Page 3

the daddin'

That echoed oot when'er Macfee
Got hame upon Macfadden?
Nae sweeter soond I weel could ween,
Exceppin' it micht be, sirs,

The soond that hurtled oot when'er
Macfadden hit Macfee, sirs.
An awfu' fecht it was to see,
A fecht baith fell an' dour, sirs,
For ere
the tuilzie weel began
The glen was fu' o' stour, sirs.
An awfu' fecht, again I say't,
And on each auld clay biggin',
The
freends o' baith, like hoodie craws,
Were roostin' on the riggin'.
And aye they buckled till't wi' birr;
In combat sair an' grievous,

They glanced like lightnin' up Strathyre
An' thundered doon Ben
Nevis.
Wha won the fecht, or whilk ane lost,
Was hid frae mortal e'e, sirs,

Nane saw the fearsome end o' baith
Macfadden an' Macfee, sirs.
But still they say, at break o' day,
Upon the braes o' Lorne,
Ye'll

hear the ghaistly rustlin' o'
Macfadden's Sabbath sporran.
TAM AND THE LEECHES.
I.
Faith, there's a hantle queer complaints
To cheenge puir sinners
into saints,
An' mony divers ways o' deein'
That doctors hae a
chance o' seein'.
The Babylonian scartit bricks
To tell his doots o'
Death's dark tricks,
The Roman kentna hoo 'twas farin'
Across the
ferry rowed by Charon,
An' readin' doonwards through the ages
The
tale's the same in a' their pages,
Eternal grum'lin' at the load
We hae
to bear alang Life's road,
Yet, when we're fairly at the bit,
Awfu',
maist awfu sweer to flit,
Praisin' the name o' ony drug
The doctor
whispers in oor lug
As guaranteed to cure the evil,
To haud us here
an' cheat the Deevil.
For gangrels, croochin' in the strae,
To leave
this warld are oft as wae
As the prood laird o' mony an acre,
O'
temporal things a keen partaker.
II.
Noo a' this leads up to my tale
O' what befell puir Tam MacPhail,

A dacent miner chiel in Fife
Wha led a maist exemplar' life,
An'
ne'er abused himsel' wi' liquor,
But took it canny-like an' siccar.

Aye when he cast his wet pit-breeks,
Tam had a gless that warm'd his
cheeks;
For as it trickled owre his craigie,
He held it wardit aff
lumbaigy.
It wasna that he liked the dram,
'Twas pure needcessity
wi' Tam!
But twa years syne-or was it three?-
Tam thocht that he
was gaun to dee,
An' Faith! they've often gar'd me grew
By tellin'
what I'll tell to you.
III.

The early tatties had come in
When Tammas's besettin' sin,
A
love o' a' this warld's gude things
An' a' the pleesures eatin' brings,

Gar'd him hae sic a bad mischeef
It fleggit him ayont belief!

Pay-Saturday it was, I mind,
An' Jean, intendin' to be kind,
Had
biled the firstlins o' her yaird
(For naethin' else Tam wud hae sair'd),

Sae when they cam' frae Jean's clean pat,
Altho' they seemed a
trifle wat,
Tam in his hunger ate a meal
That wud hae staw'd the big

black Deil,
Syne at his cutty had a draw,
Syne gantit wi' wide-open
jaw,
An' aince his heid was on the cod,
He sune was in the land o'
Nod.
IV.
But when the knock had chappit four
Tam had to rise an' get
attour,
For in his bed he couldna' bide
He'd sic a steer in his inside!

The granes o'm waukent faithfu' Jean.
An' then began a bonny
scene!
A parritch poultice first she tries,
Het plates on plates she
multiplies,
But ilka time his puddens rum'les
A' owre the place Tam
rows an' tum'les,
For men in sic-like situations,
Gude kens hae gey
sma' stock o' patience!
Yet fast the pain grows diabolic,
A reg'lar,
riving, ragin' colic,
A loupin', gowpin', stoondin' pain
That gars the
sweat hail doon like rain.
Whiles Tam gangs dancin' owre the flair,

Whiles cheeky-on intil a chair,
Whiles some sma' comfort he
achieves
By brizzin' hard wi' baith his nieves;
In a' his toilsome tack
o' life
Ne'er had he kent sic inward strife,
For while he couldna' sit,
forbye
Like Washington he couldna' lie!
V.
Noo, at lang last his guts was rackit
Till Tam was bullerin' fair
distrackit,
An' sune wi' roar succeedin' roar
He fosh in a' the fowk
neist door,
An' ane o' them-auld Girsie BroonShe
ran an' brocht the
doctor doon,
Wha hurried in a' oot o' breath,
For Girsie said 'twas
life or death!
The doctor oxter'd Tam till's bed,
Fingert his wame an
shook his head;
"We who pursue the healing art,
See youth
commence and age depart,

Pills we prescribe and pulses feel,
Your
systems know from scalp to heel!
And here? Potato indigestion,
Of
that there's not the slightest question,
While, what my great
experience teaches
Is most relief is got from leeches."-
"Awa',"
yells Tam, "fesh hauf a dizzen!
O haste ye, ere I loss my rizzon!"

Sae aff gangs wullin' Girsie Broon,
To wauk the druggist wast the
toon.
VI.
Noo, Droggie had an awfu' stock,
Tobacco, wreetin' paper, rock,

A' kin' o' wersh tongue-twistin' drinks,
A' kin' o' Oriental stinks,


The best cod liver ile emulsions,
Wee poothers that could cure
convulsions,
Famed Peter Puffer's soothin' syrup,
An' stuff to gar
canaries chirrup.
He'd toothache tinctur's, cures for corns,
Pomades
to gar hair grow on horns,
He'd stuff for healin' beelin' lugs,
He'd
stuff for suffocatin' bugs,
He'd stuff for feshin' up your denners,

Against your wull an' a' gude menners,
A' kin' o' queer cahoochy
goods
To suit the system's varyin' moods,
Wi' navvies' operatin'
peels,
Sookers for bairns an' fishin' reels,
In fac'-but losh! I'd better
stop,
The mannie kep' a druggist's shop!
An'