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

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, wi' hauf o's breeks,?Cam' clean aff at the hurdies.
Jock swat wi' fear, an' in the dark?He crep' attour the smiddy,?For, weel-a-wat, he thocht his wark?Would land him on the widdy.?An' wi' the leg he ran till's hoose,?Just half way doon the clachan,?His cronies oxterin' Corkie oot,?An' nearly deein' o' lauchin'.
But at Jock's door they stude an hour,?An' vainly kicked an' knockit,?Sin' Jock, in a' the fear o' death,?Had got it barred an' lockit.?An' 'twas na till the neist forenune?They fand the leg, weel hidden,?For Jock