: TAM O'SHANTER. A TALE. Of Brownyis and of Bogillis full is this buke. GAWIN DOUGLAS. WHEN chapman billies leave the street, And drouthy neebors, neebors meet, An' folk begin to tak the gate; An' getting fou and unco happy, We think na on the lang Scots miles, That lie between us and our hame, Whare fits our fulky fullen dame, This truth fand honeft Tam o' Shanter, O Tam! hadft thou but been fae wife, Ae market-day thou was nae fober; That That ev'ry naig was ca'd a fhoe on, Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon; Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet, To think how mony counfels fweet, How mony lengthen'd fage advices, The husband frae the wife defpifes! But to our tale: Ae market night, Tam had got planted unco right; Faft by an ingle, bleezing finely, Wi' reaming fwats, that drank divinely; And at his elbow, Souter Johnny, His ancient, trufty, drouthy crony ; Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither; Care, mad to fee a man fae happy, E'en drown'd himfelf amang the nappy, As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure : Kings may be bleft, but Tam was glorious, O'er a' the ills o' life victorious! But pleasures are like poppies fpread, You feize the flow'r, its bloom is fhed; Or Or like the fnow falls in the river, A moment white-then melts for ever; Or like the borealis race, That flit ere you can point their place; Or like the rainbow's lovely form Nae man can tether time or tide; The hour approaches Tam maun ride; That hour, o' night's black arch the key-ftane, As ne'er poor finner was abroad in. The wind blew as 'twad blawn its laft; The rattling fhow'rs rofe on the blast ; The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd; |