The Auld Doctor and other Poems and Songs in Scots | Page 7

see your bit bairnie there drawin' up her knees,?Wi' grups in her little interior,?Juist gie her a nip o' a gude yalla cheese,?An' ye'll find that there's naethin' superior!
The doctor had said that ye shouldna row'r ticht,?Ye should aye gie the wee cratur's belly scope??Awa' wi' the lang-leggit lum-hattit fricht?Wi' his specks an' his wee widden tellyscope!?What kens he o' littlens? He's nane o' his ain,?If she greets it juist keeps the hoose cheerier,?See! THAT was the wey I did a' my fourteen,?An' ye'll find that there's naethin' superior!
I tell ye, noo, warkin' fowk canna draw breath,?What wi' sanitries, cruelties, an' bobbies,?An' the doctors would pit ye in fair fear o' death?Wi' their blethers o' German macrobbies!?I've been at their lectures on health an' High Jean,?Gude kens that I niver was wearier!?Use your ain commonsense when ye're treating' your wean,?An' ye'll find that there's naethin' superior!
Sunday Morning.
She's awa'? Weel, ma wumman, I thocht that mysel',?When I saw your blind doon frae our corner,?An', says I, "I'll juist tak' a step upbye an' tell?Twa or three things its better to warn her."?'Twas the doctor's negleck o'r, the auld nosey-wax!?There's naethin' to dae noo, but beery her,?Tammy Chips mak's a kist here at seeven-an'-sax,?An' ye'll find that there's naethin' superior!
ISIE.
The wife she was ailin', the doctor was ca'ed,?She was makkin' eneuch din for twa,?While Peter was suppin' his brose at the fire,?No' heedin' the cratur' ava.?"Eh, doctor! My back's fair awa' wi' it noo,?It was rackit the day spreadin' dung;?Hae Peter! Come owre wi' the lamp, like a man,?Till the doctor can look at my tongue!"
But Peter had bade wi' her near forty year,?Fine acquaint wi' her weel-soopled jaw,?Sae he lowsed his tap button for ease till his wame,?Wi' a gant at the wag-at-the-wa'.?"Weel Isie," says he, "an' it's me that should ken,?That's the ae place ye niver hae cramp.?The lamp's bidin' here: if he's seekin' a sicht?O' yer tongue he can pull't to the lamp!"
THE HYPOCHONDRIAC.
I dinna ken what is the maitter wi' Jeams,?He canna get sleepit at nicht for his dreams,?An' aye when he waukens he granes and he screams?Till he fair pits the shakers on me!
Can ye no mak' up somethin' to gie him a sleep??I'm tellin' ye, doctor, he gars my flesh creep,?Till I'm that fu' o' nerves that the verra least cheep?Noo juist fair pits the shakers on me!
Wi' his meat he was aince a man easy to please,?But last Sabbath he flang the fried ingans an' cheese?That I had for his supper richt into the bleeze,?An' he fair pit the shakers on me!
Then he sat in the ingle an' chowed bogie-roll,?An' read "Jowler's Sermons" an' talked o' his soul,?Faith! conduc' o' that sort's no' easy to thole,?For it fair pits the shakers on me!
He's plenty o' siller, ye're sure o' your fee,?Just gie him a soondin', an' gin he's to dee,?Come oot wi' the truth-dinna fash for a lee,?It'll no' pit the shakers on me!
What! Juist heepocondry? Nocht wrang wi his chest??The Deil flee awa' wi' the man for a pest!?To think o' me lossin' sae mony nichts' rest?An' him pittin' the shakers on me!
Ay, though he may rout like the bull in the park,?I'se warrant the morn he's on wi' his sark,?An' aff wi' the rest o' the men till his wark,?An' he'll no' pit the shakers on me!
THE AULD CARLE.
The auld man had a girnin' wife,?An' she was aye compleenin',?For a' kin' o' orra things?The body aye was greenin'.?It's "I'll try this," and "I'll try that,"?At ilka adverteesement,?She flang his siller richt an' left?An' niver got nae easement.
The carle he led sic a life,?The haill thing was a scunner,?Sae ae braw day his birse was up,?He fairly roondit on her.?"Ye're aye gaun to dee, gude-wifeFowre?nichts I hinna sleepit,?Gin it's to be, I wush to peace?Ye'd set a day an' keep it!"
Wow! noo there was a tirravee!?An angry wife was she, than!?"An' is it no' my ain affair?The day I'm gaun to dee, than!?Aha! ye think ye'll tryst the wricht?An' rid him o' his timmer??Syne haud anither waddin' wi'?Some feckless, thowless limmer!"
Awyte, but noo she's fu' o' life?She's ta'en anither tack o't!?An' aye that she flees oot on him?His words is at the back o't!?Sae keep your tongue atween your teeth?When ettlin' to be cliver,?Ense ye'll be like the auld carle?An' en' waur aff than iver!
THE FEE.
In the heicht o' the foray?Sir Raif got a clour,?Sir Raif the regairdless,?In battle sae dour.?O cleanly the saddle?They ca'ed him attour!
Then aid for his wounds?He did sairly beseech,?An' aff to the greenwood?In shade o' a beech?They hurried auld Simon?The kintra-side's leech.
Wi' a tow roon' his neck?Simon knelt on his knee,?An' he saw as he glow'red?Wi' the tail o' his e'e?That armed men held it?Owre bough o' the tree.
"Noo, Simon, to heal?Is your trade, no' to kill,"?Quo' Sir Raif,