The Auld Doctor and other Poems and Songs in Scots | Page 5

was oot afore daylicht?An' stuck it in the midden.
This feenished Jock, an' efter han'?He buckled til his ain wark,?For sune a' owre the kintra-side?They kent aboot his bane wark,?An' hoo a law-wer fleggit Jock?At Corkie's instigation,?An' gart him pay a five-pun' note?By way o' compensation.
Ne sutor ultra crepidam?Is gude enough for maist o's,?For aye there's wark that's bude to get?The better o' the best o's.?An' just as doctors canna shoe?Or haud a hin' leg stiddy,?Ye needa seek for surgery?Inside a country smiddy.
BRITHERS.
'Twas up at the tree near the heid o' the glen?I keppit a tinkler chiel,?The cauld wind whistled his auld duds through,?He was waesomely doon at the heel;?But he made me free o' his company,?For he kent that I wished him weel.
He lookit me fairly 'tween the een,?He cam' o' an auncient clan;?He gae me gude-day in a freendly way,?While he spak me man to man,?Though my gibbles were a' for the human frame?An' his for kettle an' pan.
"Ye're oot i' the warst that the weather can dae,?Ye're free o' the road, like me,?I palmer aboot for kettles to cloot,?Wi' an orra-like weird to dree;?An' oor job's to men' whativer'll men',?Wi' luck to fix oor fee!
Brithers baith o' the auld high roadYet?the Deil hae General Wade?For learnin's the shauchle instead o' the step?Wi' the weary wark o' his spade,?Till the Jew an' the Sassenach lord it noo?Owre the hills whaur the heroes gaed!"
"O, gang ye East," quo' I, "or Wast,?Or whither awa' gang ye??Will ye come to a hoose whaur a gude man bides,?For a tastin' o' barley bree??Ye can howk i' the kebbuck an' howk again?As lang as there's kebbuck to pree.
Or seek ye a saxpence to slocken your drooth??Ye needna be langer in doot;?Ye can hae a bit hurl to help ye on,?An' I'll get ye a pan to cloot.?I'se warrant I'll freely lat ye in,?An' as freely lat ye oot."
A tuft o' the broom was knotted wi' tow,?An' a rag on't fluttered free,?While he shook his heid owre some ferlies there,?That I'm bathered if I could see,?Though I kent my soul was sib to his?In a queer free-masonry.
"The wife's a mile on the road afore's,?An' the bairnies farther still;?I canna keep tryst wi' doctor folk,?But I'll borrow the price o' a gill,?An' I'll pay ye back when we've finished oor tack?O' a' that's gude an' ill."
He spat on the siller an' pooched it syne,?An' quately winked an e'e;?"The road's a bond that we canna deny,?An' its linkit you an' me?In the kindly yoke o' the gaun-about folk,?Whauriver they chance to be!"
On the bowl o's cutty he scartit a spunk,?An' he leggit it doon the wind;?Gin his claes would hae fleggit a bubbly-jock,?Guid Lord! he'd an easy mind!?An' oor forebears maybe were near-hand freen's?For a' that I can find.
THE CYNIC.
Cauld blew the blast frae East to Wast,?A blast wi' a smirr o' snaw,?An' it took the doctor's guid lum hat?Richt owre the kirk-yaird wa'.?When he sichtit it he dichtit it,?An' he glowred wi' an angry e'eFor?says auld Jock Smairt, wha was passin' wi' his cairt:?"Ye've a gey gude crap," says he.
Cauld blew the blast frae East to Wast,?A blast baith snell an' keen,?An' the washin' o' the clarty wife?Sailed aff the washin' green,?An' it landit on the midden-heid,?Whaur nae washin' ought to beAn'?says auld jock Smairt, wha was passin' wi' his cairt:?"Weel, hame's aye hame," says he.
Cauld blew the blast frae East to Wast,?An' it gart the deid leaves loup,?An' it set the shoothers heicher yet?O' the gaithrin' at the roup;?An' stour filled the een o' the unctioneer,?Till the cratur' couldna see;?An' says auld Jock Smairt, wha was passin' wi' his cairt:?"Turn aboot's fair play," says he.
Cauld blew the blast frae East to Wast,?An' the rein catched the grey mear's tail,?An' her heels to save her hin'er en'?Gaed lashin' like a flail.?An' the haill apotheck lay in spails,?As the grey mear warsled free;?An' when auld Jock Smairt saw the fashion o' his cairt:?"Wha's seekin' ony spunks?" says he.
THE NICHT THAT THE BAIRNIE CAM' HAME.
I was gaun to my supper richt hungert an' tired,?A' day I'd been hard at the pleugh;?The snaw wi' the dark'nin' was fast dingin' on,?An' the win' had a coorse 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'