The Auld Doctor and other Poems and Songs in Scots | Page 4

in his bauchles an' his
breeches
Cam' grum'lin' doon to get the leeches
While, nearly
scunnert wi' their squirmin',
Aff hirples Girsie wi' the vermin.
VII.
An' noo, my billies, draw a veil,
Till mornin's licht, owre Tam
Macphail,
Till aince again the doctor cam'
To see what cheenge was
wrocht in Tam.
'Twas nine o'clock he stapt in-bye,
Relieved to hear
nae waesome cry.
"Well, well, Macphail!" the doctor says,
"My
treatment's worthy of all praise!
I left you-why 'twas like a riot!
I
see you now, contented, quiet.
Far, very far, our knowledge reaches!

How did you get on with the leeches?"
Tam ne'er replied, but
turn'd his back,
Wi' tearful een 'twas Jean wha spak,
"Eh, Doctor!
-Sic an awfu' cure
I ne'er saw gi'en to rich or puir,
For when we saw
the ugsome beasts
It gart the herts rise in our breists!
But Tam, wha
tak's your word for law,
Juist swalla'd doon the first pair raw!
Yet
try's he micht, an' sair he tried,

He had to hae the last four fried!"

The doctor turn'd him on his heel,
An' though puir Tam looked rale
no-weel,
He couldna trust himsel' to speak,
The tears were rinnin'
doon his cheek,
An' a' that day was sair forfaughen
Wi' tryin' to
haud himsel' frae lauchin'!
VIII.
Whate'er wi' Tam ye chance to crack on,
There's ae thing ye
maun ne'er gang back on.
Freely he'll talk on politics,
The weather
an' its dirty tricks,
On wages an' the price o' coal
Or things
conneckit wi' the soul,
On hoo the meenister's a leear
An' medical

advice owre dear,
But if the crack warks roond to leeches,
Puir Tam
pits doon his pipe an' retches!
THE HOWDIE.
'Twas in a wee bit but-an'-ben
She bade when first I kent her,
Doon
the side roadie by the kirk
Whaur Andra was precentor.
An' a' the week he keepit thrang
At's wark as village thatcher,

Whiles sairly fashed by women folk,
Wi' "Hurry up an' catch her!"
Nae books e'er ravel't Tibbie's harns,
Nae college lear had reached her,

An' a' she kent aboot her job
Her ain experience teached her.
To this cauld warld in fifty year
She'd fosh near auchteen hunner.

Losh keep's! When a' thing's said an' dune,
The cratur' was a won'er!
A' gate she'd traivelled day an' nicht,
A' kin' o' orra weather
Had
seen her trampin' on the road,
Or trailin' through the heather.
But Time had set her pechin' sair,
As on his way he birled;
The
body startit failin' fast
An' gettin' auld an' nirled.
An' syne, to weet the bairnie's heid
Owre muckle, whiles, they'd gie
her;
But noo she's deid-ay, mony a yearAn'
Andra's sleepin' wi' her.
DAYLICHT HAS MONY EEN.
O! can'le licht's baith braw and bricht
At e'en when bars are drawn,

But can'le licht's a dowie sicht
When dwinin' i' the dawn.
Yet dawn
can bring nae wearier day
Than I hae dree'd yestre'en,
An' comin'
day may licht my wayDaylicht
has mony een.
Noo, daylicht's fairly creepin' in,
I hear the auld cock craw;
Fu' aft
I've banned him for his din,
An' wauk'nin' o' us a'!
But welcome
noo's his lichtsome cry
Sin' bed-fast I ha'e been,
It tells anither

nicht's gane byDaylicht
has mony een.
O! bed-fast men are weary men,
Laid by frae a' their wark;
Hoo
thocht can kill ye ne'er will ken
Till tholin' 't in the dark.
But ere
nicht fa's I'll maybe see
What yet I hinna seen,
A land whaur mirk
can never beDaylicht
has mony een.
THE BANE-SETTER.
Oor Jock's gude mither's second man
At banes was unco skilly;
It
cam' by heirskep frae an aunt,
Leeb Tod o' Nether Tillie.
An' when
he thocht to sough awa',
He sent for Jock, ay did he,
An' wulled him
the bane-doctorin',
Wi' a' the lave o's smiddy.
A braw doon-settin' 'twas for Jock,
An' for a while it paid him,
For
wi's great muckle nieves like mells
He pit in banes wi' smeddum.

Ay! mony a bane he snappit in
At elbuck, thee, an' shouther;
Gin
ony wouldna gang his gait,
Jock dang them a' to poother.
Noo, smiddy wark's a droothy job,
Sae whiles Jock wat his whustle,

When wi' a horse-shoe or a bane
He'd held some unco tussle.
But
even though miracklous whiles,
It mattered nane whativer,
For
whaur's the body disna ken
A drucken doctor's cliver?
Ae nicht when Jock was gey weel on,
An' warslin' wi' some shoein',

They brocht a bane case intil him
That proved puir Jock's undoin',

A cadger wi' an auld cork leg,
An' fou as Jock or fouer,
Wha
swore that o' his lower limb
He'd fairly lost the pooer.
Jock fin's the leg, an' shaks his heid,
Syne tells the man richt solemn,

"Your knee-pan's slippit up your thee
Aside your spinal column;

But gin ye'll tak a seat owre here,

An' lat them haud ye ticht, man,

I'se warrant for a quart o' beer
I'll quickly hae ye richt, man."
Jock yokit noo wi' rale guid wull
To better the condeetion,
While

Corkie swore he had his leg
Ca'd a' to crockaneetion.
Jock banned
the lamp-"'twas in his een"-
An' deaved wi' Corkie's granin',
Quo'
he, "Gin ye'll pit oot the licht
I'll gey sune pit the bane in!"
Oot went the licht, Jock got his grup,
He yarkit an' he ruggit,
He
doobled up puir Corkie's leg,
Syne strauchtened it an' tuggit.
An'
while that baith the twa o' them
Were sayin' some orra wordies,

Auld Corkie's leg,