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 sleight,
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 fra a rape,
Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape;
Five tomahawks, wi' bluid 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
The gray hairs yet stack to the heft;
Three lawyers' tongues turned inside out,
Wi' lies seamed like a beggar's clout;
And priests' hearts, rotten, black as muck,
Lay stinking, vile, in every neuk:
Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu',
Which ev'n 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;
They reeled, they set, they crossed, they cleckit, Till ilka carlin swat and reekit,
And coost her duddies to the wark,
And linket at it in her sark.
Now Tam, O Tam! had they been queans
A' plump and strapping in their teens:
Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen,
Been snaw-white seventeen-hunder linen;
Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair,
That ance were plush, o' guid blue hair,
I wad hae gi'en them aff my hurdies,
For ae blink o' the bonnie burdies!
But withered beldams, auld and droll,
Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal,
Lowping an' flinging on a crummock -
I wonder did na turn thy stomach.
But Tam kenned what was what fu' brawlie.
There was ae winsome wench and walie,
That night inlisted in the core
(Lang after kenned on Carrick shore!
For monie a beast to dead she shot,
And perished monie 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 tho' sorely scanty,
It was her best, and she was vauntie.
Ah! little kenned thy reverend grannie
That sark she coft for her wee Nannie,
Wi' twa pund Scots (twas a' her riches) —
Wad ever graced a dance o' witches!
But here my Muse her wing maun cow'r,
Sic flights are far beyond her pow'r;
To sing how Nannie lap and flang,
(A souple jad she was and strang!)
And how Tam stood, like ane bewitched,
And thought his very een enriched.
Ev'n Satan glowered, and fidged 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-sark!
And in an instant a' 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 pussie'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' monie an eldritch skreech and hollow.
Ah, Tam! ah, Tam! thou 'lt get thy fairin'!
In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin!
In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin'
Kate soon will be a woefu' woman!
Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg,
And win the keystane of the brig;
There at them thou thy tail may toss, -
A running stream they dare na cross.
But ere the keystane she could make,
The fient a tail she had to shake;
For Nannie, far before the rest,
Hard upon noble Maggie prest,
And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle;
But little wist she Maggie's mettle -
Ae spring brought aff her master hale,
But left behind her ain gray tail :
The carlin claught her by the rump,
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.
Now, wha this tale o' 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.
DONNIE Mary Halliday,
Turn again, I call you;
your father's ha'
Sorrow will befall you;
The cushat, hark, a tale of woe
Is to its true love telling,
And Annan stream in drowning wrath
Is through the greenwood swelling.
Gentle Mary Halliday,
Born to be a lady,
Upon the Annan's woody side
Thy saddled steed stands ready;
For thy haughty kinsman's threats
Will thy true faith falter?
The bridal banquet 's ready made,
The priest stands by the altar.
Bonnie Mary Halliday,
Turn again, I tell you;
For wit and grace and loveliness,
What maiden can excel you?
Though Annan has its beauteous dames,
And Corrie mony a fair one,
We canna spare thee frae our sight,
Thou lovely and thou rare one.
Gentle Mary Halliday,
When the cittern's sounding
We'll miss the music of thy foot
Amang the blythe lads bounding,
The summer sun will freeze our blood,
The winter moon will warm us,
Ere the like o' thee will come again
To cheer us and to charm us.
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