The Auld Doctor and other Poems and Songs in Scots | Page 6

kin' o' sough.
'Twas a cheery like sicht as the bonny
fire-licht
Gar't the winnock play flicker wi' flame;
But my supper
was "Aff for the doctor at aince!"
That nicht that the bairnie cam'
hame.
Noo, I kent there was somethin' o' that sort to be,
An' I'd had my ain
thochts, tae, aboot it;
Sae when my gude-mither had tel't me to flee,

Fegs, it wisna my pairt for to doot it.
Wi' a new pair o' buits that was
pinchin' like sin,
In a mile I was hirplin' deid lame;
'Twas the warst
nicht o' a' that I ever pit in,
That nicht that the bairnie cam' hame.
I'd a gude seeven mile o' a fecht wi' the snaw,
An the road was near
smoort oot wi' drift;
While the maister at market had got on the ba',

Sae I'd tint my ae chance o' a lift.
When I passed the auld inn as I
cam' owre the hill,
Although I was mebbe to blame,
I bude to gang
in-bye an' swallow a gill,
That nicht that the bairnie cam' hame.
"Gude be thankit!" says I, at the doctor's front door,
As I pu'd like
mischeef at the bell;
But my he'rt gae a dunt at the story that runt
O'
a hoose-keeper body'd to tell.
The man wasna in? He was at the big
hoose?
A sick dwam cam' richt owre my wame.
Hoo the deevil was
I to get haud o' him noo,
That nicht that the bairnie cam' hame?
The doctor was spendin' the nicht at the laird's,
For the leddy, ye see,
was expeckin';
A feckless bit cratur, weel-meanin' an' a',
Though
she ne'er got ayont the doo's cleckin'.
It's them that should hae them
that hinna eneugh,
Fegs, lads, it's a damnable shame!
Here's me wi'
a dizzen, and aye at the pleugh
Sin' that nicht that the bairnie cam'
hame!
What was I to dae? I was at my wits' en',
For Tibbie the howdie was
fou,
An' e'en had I got her to traivel the road

What use was she mair

than the soo?
I was switin' wi' fear though my fingers was cauld,

An' my taes they were muckle the same;
Man, my feet was that sair I
was creepin' twa-fauld
That nicht that the bairnie cam' hame.
Three hoors an' a hauf sin' I startit awa',
An Deil faurer forrit was I!

Govy-ding! It's nae mows for the heid o' the hoose
When the mistress
has yokit to cry!
A set o' mis-chanters like what I'd come through

The strongest o' spirits would tame,
I was ettlin' to greet as I stude in
the street
That nicht that the bairnie cam' hame!
But a voice that I kent soondit richt in my lug,
Frae my he'rt it fair
lifted a load
As I tells him my story, for wha should he be
But the
factor's son hame frae abroad.
"It's a brute of a night, but to doctor's
my trade,
If ye'll have me, my laddie, I'm game!"
An' he druve his
ain trap seeven mile through the snaw
That nicht that the bairnie cam'
hame.
Ay! an' cracked like a pen-gun the hail o' the road
An' though I was
prooder than ask,
When he fand I was grewsin' awa' at his side
He
filled me near fou frae his flask.
Syne when a' thing was owre an' I
gruppit his han'
Says the wife, "We maun gie him the name!"
An'
there's aye been a gude word for him i' the hoose
Sin' the nicht that
the bairnie cam' hame.
HUMAN NATUR'.
As I gang roon' the kintra-side
Amang the young an' auld,
I marvel
at the things I see
An' a' the lees I'm tauld.
There's Mistress-weel, I
winna say:
I wadna hurt her pride,-
But speerits hae a guff,
gude-wife,
Nae peppermints can hide.
Then there's the carle I said maun bide
In bed or I cam' back,
An'
frae the road I saw him fine
Gang dodgin' roond a stack;
I heard
him pechin' up the stair
As I cam' in the doorBut

Faith! My lad was

in his bed
An' ettlin' for to snore.
An' here's a chap that needs a peel,
He chaws it roon' an' roon',
He's
narra' i' the swalla', an'
He canna get it doon.
Yet whiles his swalla's
wide eneuch,
The muckle ne'er-dae-weel,
Gin it had aye been
narra'er
He hadna nott the peel.
Ye tend them a', baith great an' sma',
Frae cradle to the grave,
An'
add to sorrows o' your ain
The tribbles o' the lave,
An' yet ye find
they're a' the same,
When human natur's watched,
It's no' ill deeds
they haud as wrangThe
sin o't 's when they're catched.
ANG-BANG-PANG.
O hae ye heard the latest news
O' Mistress Mucklewame?
Her
doctor hadna pickit up
Her trouble here at hame,
Sae they took her
tae a speeshalist
To fin' oot what was wrang,
An' it seems noo a' the
bother
Has been ang-bang-pang.
Faith, in the marriage market then
Her man's had little luck,
She's
just a muckle creishy lump
That waddles like a juck;
But the nerves
gaun through her body's
Been the trouble a' alang,
An' its
complicated noo, ye see,
By ang-bang-pang.
I've aye held oot oor doctor
Was a skeely man afore,
But I'll never
lat the cratur noo
A stap inside the door!
A'