TAM O'SHANTER.

A TALE.

"Of Brownyis and of Bogilis full is this buke." GAWIN DOUGLASS.

HEN chapman billies leave the street,
And drouthy neebors, neebors meet,
As market-days are wearing late,
An' folk begin to tak the gate;
While we sit bousing at the nappy,
An' getting fou and unco happy,
We think na on the lang Scots miles,
The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles,
That lie between us and our hame,
Where sits our sulky, sullen dame,
Gathering her brows like gathering storm,
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.

This truth fand honest Tam O'Shanter,
As he frae Ayr ae night did canter-
Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses
For honest men, and bonnie lasses.

O Tam! hadst thou but been sae wise
As taen thy ain wife Kate's advice!
She tauld thee weel thou wast a skellum,
A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum,
That frae November till October,
Ae market-day thou wast nae sober;
That ilka melder, wi' the miller,
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller;
That every naig was ca'd a shoe on,
The smith and thee got roaring fou on;
That at the Lord's house, even on Sunday,
Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday.
She prophesied, that, late or soon,

Wi' favors secret, sweet and precious;
The souter tauld his queerest stories,
The landlord's laugh was ready chorus;
The storm without might rair and rustle,
Tam did na mind the storm a whistle.
Care, mad to see a man sae happy,
E'en drowned himself amang the nappy!
As bees fly hame wi' lades of treasure,
The minutes winged their way wi' pleasure;
Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious,
O'er a' the ills o' life victorious!

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 forever;
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 nor tide;
The hour approaches Tam maun ride;
That hour, o' night's black arch the keystane,
That dreary hour he mounts his beast in;
And sic a night he taks the road in,

As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in.

The wind blew as 'twould blawn its last;
The rattling showers rose on the blast;
The speedy gleams the darkness swallowed:
Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bellowed;
That night, a child might understand,
The Deil had business on his hand.

Or catched wi' warlocks i' the mirk, By Alloway's auld haunted kirk.

Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet, To think how many counsels sweet, How many lengthened, sage advices, The husband frae the wife despises!

But to our tale! Ae market-night,
Tam had got planted unco right,
Fast by an ingle, blazing finely,
With reaming swats, that drank divinely;
And, at his elbow, Souter Johnny,
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony;
Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither:
They had been fou for weeks thegither!
The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter;
And ay the ale was growing better;
The landlady and Tam grew gracious,

Tam skelpit on through dub and mire,
Despising wind and rain and fire;
Whiles holding fast his gude blue bonnet,
Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scot's sonnet,
Whiles glowering round wi' prudent cares,
Lest bogles catch him unawares;
Kirk Alloway was drawing nigh,
Where ghaists and houlets nightly cry.
By this time he was cross the ford,
Where i' the snaw the chapman smoored;
And past the birks and meikle stane,
Where drunken Charlie brak's neck-bane;
And through the whins, and by the cairn
Whare hunters fand the murdered bairn;
And near the thorn, aboon the well,
Where Mungo's mither hanged herself.
Before him Doon pours all his floods;
The doubling storm roars through the woods;
The lightnings flash from pole to pole;

Near and more near the thunders roll;
When, glimmering through the groaning trees,
Kirk Alloway seemed in a bleeze;
Through ilka bore the beams were glancing;
And loud resounded mirth and dancing.

Inspiring bold John Barleycorn!
What dangers thou canst make us scorn!
Wi' tippenny, we'll fear nae evil;
Wi' usquebaugh, we'll face the Devil!
The swats sae reamed in Tammie's noddle,
Fair play, he cared na deils a boddle;
But Maggie stood right sair astonished,
Till, by the hand and heel admonished,
She ventured forward on the light;

And, wow! Tam saw an unco sight!
Warlocks and witches in a dance;
Nae cotillion brent new frae France,
But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels,
Put life and mettle in their heels.
At winnock-bunker, in the east,
There sat auld Nick, in shape of beast,
A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large;
To gie them music was his charge;
He screwed the pipes and gart them skirl,
Till roof and rafters a' did dirl.
Coffins stood round, like open presses,
That shawed the dead in their last dresses,
And by some devilish cantrip 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;

Twa span-lang, wee, unchristened bairns;
A thief, new-cutted frae the 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;
The knife, a father's throat had mangled,
Whom his ain son of life bereft,
The gray hairs yet stack to the heft;
Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu’,
Which even to name wad be unlawfu’.

As Tammie glowered, amazed and curious, The mirth and fun grew fast and furious; The piper loud and louder blew,

The dancers quick and quicker flew,

Now Tam, O Tam! had they been queans A' plump and strapping, in their teens; Their sarks, instead of creeshie flannen, Been snaw-white, seventeen hunder linen, Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair, That ance were plush, o' gude blue hair, I wad hae gi'en them aff my hurdies, For ane blink o' the bonnie burdies!

But withered beldams, auld and droll, Rigwoodie hags, wad spean a foal, Lowping and flinging on a crummock, I wander didna turn thy stomach.

But Tam kenned what was what fu' brawly; "There was ane winsome wench and walie," That night enlisted in the core ;

Lang after kenned on Carrick shore;

For mony a beast to dead she shot,
And perished mony a bonnie boat,
And shook baith meikle corn and bear,
And kept the country-side in fear.
Her cutty-sark, o' Paisley harn,
That, while a lassie, she had worn,
In longitude though sorely scanty,
It was her best, and she was vaunty.
Ah! little kenned thy reverend grannie,
That sark she coft for her wee Nannie
Wi' twa pun Scots, ('twas a' her riches,)
Wad ever graced a dance o' witches!

But here my muse her wing maun cour;
Sic flights are far beyond her power;
To sing how Nannie lap and flang,
(A souple jade she was, and strang),
And how Tam stood, like ane bewitched,
And thought his very e'en enriched;
Even Satan glowered, and fidge'd fu' fain,
And hotched and blew wi' might and main;
Till first ane caper, syne anither,
Tam tint his reason a' thegither,
And roars out, "Weel done, Cutty-sark!"
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 assail their byke;
As open pussy's mortal foes,

cleekit,

Till ilka carlin swat and reekit,

And coost her duddies to the wark, And linket at it in her sark!

As eager runs the market crowd,

When "Catch the thief!" resounds aloud;

So Maggie runs, the witches follow,

Wi' mony an eldritch screech 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 wi' be a woefu' woman!
Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg,
And win the key-stane o' the brig;
There at them thou thy tale may toss,
A running stream they dare na cross.
But ere the key-stane she could make,
The fient a tale she had to shake!
For Nannie, far before the rest,
Hard upon noble Maggie pressed,
And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle;

But little wist she Maggie's mettle-
Ae sprang brought off her master hale,
But left behind her ain gray tail!
The carlin caught her by the rump,
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.

Now, wha this tale of truth shall read,
Ilk man and mother's son, take heed;
Whene'er to drink you are inclined,
Or cutty-sarks run in your mind,
Think, ye may buy the joys o'er dear;
Remember Tam O'Shanter's mare.

ROBERT BURNS.