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Five tomahawks, wi' blude red-rusted ;
Five-scymitars, wi' murder crusted ;
A garter, which a babe had strangled,
A knife, a father's throat had mangled,
Whom his ain son o' life bereft,

stack to the heft; Wi' mair o' horrible and awefu', Which ev'n to name wad be unlawfu'.

As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd, and curious, The mirth and fun grew fast and furious : The piper loud and louder blew; The dancers quick and quicker flew; They reel'd, they set, they cross’d, they cleekit, Till ilka carlin swat and reekit, And cooft her duddies to the wark, And linket at it in her fark !

Now Tam, O Tam! had thae been queans, A' plump and strapping in their teens,


Their farks, instead o' creeshie flannen,
Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linnen!
Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair,
That ance were plush, o' gude blue hair,
I wad hae gi'en them off my hurdies,
For ae blink o' the bonnie burdies !

But wither'd beldams, auld and droll,
Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal,
Lowping an' flinging on a crummock,
I wonder didna turn thy stomach.

But Tam kend what was what fu' brawlie, There was ae winsome wench and wawlie, 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, And kept the country-lide in fear),


Her cutty sark, o' Paisley harn,
That while a laflie she had worn,
In longitude tho' sorely scanty,
It was her best, and she was vauntie.-
Ah! little kend thy reverend grannie,
That fark she coft for her wee Nannie,
Wi’ twa pund Scots, ('twas a' her riches),
Wad ever grac'd a dance of witches !

But here my Muse her wing maun cour; Sic flights are far beyond her pow'r; To fing how Nannie lap and flang, (A souple jade she was and strang), And how Tam stood, like ane bewitch'd, And thought his very een enrich'd ; Even Satan glowr'd, and fidg'd fu' fain, And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main: Till first ae caper, syne anither, Tam tint his reason a' thegither,


And roars out, “ Weel done, Cutty-fark !"
And in an instant all was dark :
And scarcely had he Maggie rallied,
When out the hellish legion sallied.

As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke, When plundering herds affail their byke; As open pusfie'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 foon 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 preft,
And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle
But little wist the 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.

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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 far. ther 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 bazard in turning back,

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