Puslapio vaizdai
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Coffins stood round, like open presses,
That shaw'd the dead in their last
dresses;

And by some devilish cantrip1 slight
Each in its cauld hand held a light,—
By which heroic Tam was able
To note upon the haly table,

A murderer's banes in gibbet airns;2
Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen'd
bairns;

A thief, new-cutted frae a rape,
Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape;
Five tomahawks, wi' blude red rusted;
Five scimitars, wi' murder crusted;
A garter, which a babe had strangled;
A knife, a father's throat had man-
gled,

Whom his ain son o' life bereft,
The gray hairs yet stack to the heft;
Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu',
Which ev'n to name wad be
lawfu',

As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd
curious,

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But wither'd beldams, auld and droll,

Rigwoodie hags, wad spean a foal, Lowping and flinging on a crummock,9

I wonder didna turn the stomach, But Tam kend what was what fu' brawlie,

"There was ae winsome wench and
walie,"

That night enlisted in the core,
(Lang after kend on Carrick shore;
For mony a beast to dead she shot,
And perish'd mony a bonnie boat,
And shook baith meikle corn and
bear, 19

And kept the country-side in fear),
Her cutty 11 sark, o' Paisley harn, 12
That, while a lassie, she had worn,
In longitude though sorely scanty,
un-It was her best, and she was vauntie-
Ah! little kend thy reverend grannie,
That sark she coft 18 for her wee
Nannie,

and

The mirth and fun grew fast and

furious:

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Wi' twa pund Scots ('twas a' her
riches),

Wad ever grac'd a dance of witches!
But here my muse her wing maun

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1 Magic.

2 Irons.

3 Clothes.
Tripped along.

Greasy.

The manufacturing term for a fine linen, woven in a reel of 1700 divisions.

Cromek.

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13 Bought.

14 Then.
15 Lost.

As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke,1 When plundering herds assail their byke;2

As open pussie's mortal foes, When, pop! she starts before their nose;

As eager runs the market-crowd, When, "Catch the thief!" resounds aloud;

So Maggie runs, the witches follow, Wi' mony an eldritch skreech and hollow.

Ah, Tam! ah, Tam! thou'll get thy fairin!

In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin!

In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin!
Kate soon will be a woefu' woman!
Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg,
And win the key-stane of the brig;
There at them thou thy tail may toss,
A running stream they dare na cross.
But ere the key-stane she could make,
The fient a tail she had to shake!
For Nannie, far before the rest,
Hard upon noble Maggie prest,
And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle;4
But little wist she Maggie's mettle -
Ae spring brought off her master
hale,

But left behind her ain gray tail;
The carlin claught her by the rump,
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.
Now, who this tale of truth shall
read,

Ilk man and mother's son, tak heed;

1 Bustle,

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It is a well-known fact that witches, or any evil spirits have no power to follow a poor wight any farther than the middle of the next running stream. It may be proper likewise to mention to the benighted traveller, that when he falls in with bogles, whatever danger may be in his going forward, there is much more hazard in turning back. R. B.

4 Effort.

An old-fashioned head-dress.

Ribbon-ends. Flannel vest.

A bonnet, named after Lunardi, whose balloon made him notorious in Scotland about 1785.

The shrivelled dwarf.

SAMUEL BUTLER.

[From Hudibras.]

THE LEARNING OF HUDIBRAS.

He was in logic a great critic, Profoundly skill'd in analytic; He could distinguish and divide A hair 'twixt south and south-west side;

On either which he would dispute, Confute, change hands, and still confute.

He'd undertake to prove, by force
Of argument, a man's no horse.
He'd prove a buzzard is no fowl,
And that a lord may be an owl,
A calf an alderman, a goose a jus-
tice,

And rooks committee-men and trus

tees.

He'd run in debt by disputation,
And pay with ratiocination.
All this by syllogism, true

In mood and figure he would do.
For Rhetoric, he could not ope

Which made some think, when he did gabble,

They'd heard three laborers of Babel·
Or Cerberus himself pronounce
A leash of languages at once.
This he as volubly would vent
As if his stock would ne'er be spent;
And truly to support that charge,
He had supplies as vast and large;
For he could coin or counterfeit
New words with little or no wit:
Words, so debas'd and hard, no stone
Was hard enough to touch them on:
And when with hasty noise he spoke
'em,

The ignorant for current took 'em;
That had the orator, who once
Did fill his mouth with pebble-stones
When he harangued, but known his
phrase,

He would have used no other ways.
In Mathematics he was greater
Than Tycho Brahe or Erra Pater:
For he, by geometric scale,

His mouth, but out there flew a Could take the size of pots of ale;

trope:

And when he happened to break off
In the middle of his speech, or cough,
He had hard words ready to shew
why,

And tell what rules he did it by:
Else, when with greatest art he spoke,
You'd think he talk'd like other
folk:

For all a rhetorician's rules
Teach nothing but to name his tools.
But, when he pleas'd to shew't, his
speech,

In loftiness of sound, was rich;
A Babylonish dialect,
Which learned pedants much affect.
It was a party-color'd dress

Of patch'd and piebald languages: 'Twas English cut on Greek and Latin,

Like fustian heretofore on satin.
It had an odd promiscuous tone,
As if he'd talked three parts in
one;

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Whate'er the crabbed'st author hath, He understood by implicit faith: Whatever sceptic could inquire for, For ev'ry why he had a wherefore; Knew more than forty of them do, As far as words and terms could go: All which he understood by rote, And, as occasion serv'd, would quote No matter whether right or wrong, They might be either said or sung. His notions fitted things so well, That which was which he could not tell

But oftentimes mistook the one For th' other, as great clerks have done.

He could reduce all things to acts, And knew their natures by abstracts; Where entity and quiddity,

The ghosts of defunct bodies fly, Where truth in person does appear, Like words congeal'd in northern sir.

He knew what's what, and that's as high

As metaphysic wit can fly.

[From Hudibras.]

More peevish, cross, and splenetic, Than dog distract, or monkey sick; That with more care keep holy-day The wrong, than others the right way:

Compound for sins they are inclined to,

By damning those they have no mind

to:

Still so perverse and opposite,
As if they worshipped God for spite.
The self-same thing they will abhor
One way, and long another for.
Free-will they one way disavow;

THE BIBLICAL KNOWLEDGE AND Another, nothing else allow.

RELIGION OF HUDIBRAS.

HE knew the seat of Paradise,
Could tell in what degree it lies;
And, as he was disposed, could prove

it

Below the moon, or else above it: What Adam dreamt of, when his bride

Came from her closet in his side;
Whether the devil tempted her
By a High-Dutch interpreter:
If either of them had a navel:
Who first made music malleable;
Whether the serpent, at the fall,
Had cloven feet or none at all.
All this without a gloss or comment,
He could unriddle in a moment,
In proper terms, such as men smat-
ter,

When they throw out and miss the

matter.

For his religion, it was fit
To match his learning and his wit:
'Twas Presbyterian true blue;
For he was of that stubborn crew
Of errant saints whom all men grant
To be the true church militant;
Such as do build their faith upon
The holy text of pike and gun;
Decide all controversies by
Infallible artillery;

And prove their doctrine orthodox
By apostolic blows and knocks.

A sect whose chief devotion lies
In odd perverse antipathies;
In falling out with that or this,
And finding somewhat still amiss:

All piety consists therein

In them, in other men all sin.
Rather than fail they will decry
That which they love most tenderly;
Quarrel with minced pie, and dispar-

age

Their best and dearest friend, plumporridge.

[From Hudibras.]

THE KNIGHT"S STEED.

THE beast was sturdy, large, and tall,

With mouth of meal, and eyes of wall.

I would say eye; for he had but one,
As most agree: tho' some say none.
He was well stayed: and in his gait
Preserved a grave majestic state.
At spur or switch no more he skipt,
Or mended pace than Spaniard
whipt;

And yet so fiery he would bound
As if he grieved to touch the ground:
That Cæsar's horse, who as fame

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