WHEN chapman billies' leave the street,
And drouthy neebors,3 neebors meet,
As market-days are wearing late,
An' 4 folk begin to tak the gate; 5
While we fit bousing at the nappy,
An' getting fou 7 and, unco 8 happy,
We think na on the lang 10 Scots miles,
The moffes, waters, flaps," and styles,
That lie between us and our hame,12
Whare 13 fits our fulky fullen dame,
Gathering her brows like gathering storm,
Nurfing her wrath to keep it warm.
This truth fand honeft Tam O'Shanter,
As he frae Ayr ae 3 night did canter,
(Auld 4 Ayr wham 5 ne'er a town surpasses,
For honest men and bonny laffes.)
O Tam! had'ft thou but been fae 7 wise,
As ta'en thy ain 8 wife Kate's advice!
She tauld thee weel 10 thou was a fkellum,"
A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum;
That frae November till October,
Ae market-day thou was nae 3 fober;
That ilka 14 melder, wi' 15 the miller,
Thou fat as lang as thou had filler;
That every naig 17
18
was ca'd a fhoe on,
The smith and thee gat roaring fou on;
That at the L-d's houfe, even on Sunday,
Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday.
She prophefy'd that, late or foon,
Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon 、
Or catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirk,
By Alloway's auld haunted kirk.3
Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet,+
To think how mony 3 counfels fweet,
How mony lengthen'd fage advices,
The hufband 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 9 Johnny,
His ancient, trufty, drouthy crony ;"
Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither; I t
They had been fou for weeks thegither.'
The night drave 13 on wi' sangs and clatter; 14
And ay the ale was growing better:
The landlady and Tam grew gracious,
Wi' favours, fecret, fweet, and precious
The fouter tauld his queerest stories;
The landlord's laugh was ready chorus:
The ftorm without might rair1 and rustle,
Tam did na mind the ftorm a whistle.
Care, mad to fee a man fae happy,
E'en drown'd himself amang the nappy,
As bees flee hame wi' lades 3 o' 4 treasure,
The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure :
Kings may be blefs'd, but Tam was glorious,
O'er a'5 the hills o' life victorious!
But pleasures are like poppies spread,
You feize the flower, its bloom is fhed;
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,
Evanishing amid the storm.—
Nae man can tether time or tide;
The hour approaches Tam maun 7 ride;
That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane,
That dreary hour he mounts his beast in;
And fic a night he tacks the road in,
As ne'er poor finner was abroad in.
The wind blew as 'twad blawn 3 its laft
The rattling fhowers rofe on the blaft;
The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd;
Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bellow'd:
That night, a child might understand,
The deil had bufinefs on his hand.
Weel mounted on his grey mare, Meg,
A better never lifted leg,
Tam skelpit on through dub and mire,7
Defpifing wind, and rain, and fire;
Whiles holding faft his gude blue bonnet;
Whiles crooning 1° o'er fome auld Scots fonnet;
Whiles glow'ring " round wi' prudent cares,
Left bogles 2 catch him unawares :
Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh,
Whare ghaifts 13 and houlets 14 nightly cry.
By this time he was cross the ford,
Whare in the fnaw 15 the chapman fmoor'd;
3 As 'twad blawn, as if it would have blown. 4 Deil, the devil..
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