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Sent to Sir JOHN WHITE FORD, of WHITEFORD,
BArt. with the foregoing Poem.
HOL, who thy honour as thy God rever'it, Who, save thy mind's reproach, nought earthly fear'it, To thee this votive off ring I impart, The tearful tribute of a broken heart. 'The Friend thou valued it, I, the Patron, lor'd; His worth, his honour, all the world approv'd. Well mourn till we too go as he has gone, And tread the dreary path to that dark world un
A T A L E.
Of Brownyis and of Bogillis full is this Buke.
WHEN chapmen billies leave the freet,
And drouthy neebors ncebors meet,
This truth fand honest Tam o Shanter,
O Tam! hadst thou but been fae wise, As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice ; She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum, A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum ; That frae November till O&tober, Ae market-day thou, was nae sober ; That ilka melder, wi' the miller, Thou sat as lang as thou had filler ; That every naig was cad a shoe on, The smith and thee gat roaring fou on ; That at the L-d's house, even on Sunday, Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday. She prophesied that late or soon, Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon; Or catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirk, By Alloway’s auld haunted kirk.
Ah, gentle dames.! it gars me greeting
But to our tale: Ae market-night,
Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither;
ay the ale was growing better :
Care, mad to see a man fae happy,
But pleasures are like poppies spread, You seize the flower, its bloom is shed; Or like the snow falls in the river, A moment white then melts for ever ; Or like the Borealis race, That fit ere you can point their place ; Or like the rainbow's lovely form Evanishing amid the storm. Nae man can tether time or tide ; The hour approaches I'am maun ride ; That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane,
That dreary hour he mounts his beast in
The wind blew as 't wad blawn its lait;
Weel mounted on his grey mare, Meg, A better never lifted leg, Tam skelpit on thro’ dub and mire, Despising wind, and rain, and fire ; Whiles holding fast his gude blue bonnet; Whiles crooning o'er fome auld Scots fonnet Whiles glowring round wi' prudent cares, Left bogles catch him unawares : Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh, Where ghaifts and houlets nightly cry.
By this time he was crofs the ford, W hare, in the fnaw, the chapman fmoor’d; And past the birks and meikle - stane, Wbare drunken Charlie brak's neck-bane ;. And thro' the whins, and by the cairn, Whare hunters fand the murder'd bairn ; And near the thorn, aboon the well, Whare Mungo's mither hang'd hersel, Before him Doon pours all bis floods; The doubling storm roars thro' the woods,