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Hear me, ye venerable Core,
As counsel for poor mortals,
That frequent pass douce Wisdom's
door,

For glaikit Folly's portals;
I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes,
Would here propone defences,
Their donsie tricks, their black mis-
takes,

Their failings and mischances.

Ye see your state wi' theirs compared,
And shudder at the niffer,
But cast a moment's fair regard,
What makes the mighty differ?
Discount what scant occasion gave
That purity ye pride in,

And (what's aft mair than a' the lave)
Your better art o' hidin'.

Think, when your castigated pulse Gies now and then a wallop, What raging must his veins convulse,

That still eternal gallop:
Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail,
Right on ye scud your sea-way:
But in the teeth o' baith to sail,
It maks an unco leeway.

See Social Life and Glee sit down,
All joyous and unthinking,
Till, quite transmugrified, they're
grown

Debauchery and Drinking:
O would they stay to calculate

Th' eternal consequences; Or your more dreaded hell to state, Damnation of expenses!

Ye high, exalted, virtuous Dames,
Tied up in godly laces,
Before ye gie poor Frailty names,
Suppose a change o' cases:
A dear-loved lad, convenience snug,
A treacherous inclination —
But let me whisper i' your lug,

Ye're aiblins nae temptation.

Then gently scan your brother Man, Still gentler sister Woman, Though they may gang a kennie

wrang,

To step aside is human: One point must still be greatly dark, The moving Why they do it; And just as lamely can ye mark How far perhaps they rue it.

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WHEN wise Minerva still was young,
And just the least romantic,
Soon after from Jove's head she
flung,

That preternatural antic,
'Tis said to keep from idleness

Or flirting, those twin curses,She spent her leisure, more or less, In writing po, no, verses.

How nice they were! to rhyme with far,

A kind star did not tarry; The metre, too, was regular

As schoolboy's dot and carry; And full they were of pious plums, So extra-super-moral, For sucking Virtue's tender gums Most tooth-enticing coral.

A clean, fair copy she prepares,

Makes sure of moods and tenses, With her own hand, ― for prudence spares

A man- (or woman) -uensis; Complete, and tied with ribbons proud,

She hinted soon how cosey a Treat it would be to read them loud After next day's Ambrosia.

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WHEN 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 thinkna on the lang Scots miles,
The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles,
That lie between us and our hame,
Whare 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 sur passes,

For honest men and bonnie lasses). O Tam! hadst thou but been sae

wise,

As ta'en 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 was 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 gat 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, Thou would be found deep drowned in Doon:

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

Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet,

To think how mony counsels sweet, How mony 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, bleezing finely, Wi' 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,

Wi'

favors, secret, sweet, and precious:

The souter tauld his queerest stories; The landlord's laugh was ready cho

rus:

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 flee hame wi' lades o' treas

ure,

The minutes winged their way wi' pleasure:

Kings may be blessed, 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 for-

ever:

Or like the borealis race,

That fit 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 ride;

That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane,

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 'twad 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 under

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And past the birks and meikle-stane, Whare drunken Charlie brak's neckbane;

And through the whins, and by the cairn,

Whare hunters fand the murdered bairn:

And near the thorn, aboon the well, Whare Mungo's mither hanged hersel.

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 thro' 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 fear nae evil;
Wi' usquebae, 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 aston

ished,

Till, by the heel and hand 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 o'
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 Tom 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 a rape,
Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape;
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 man

gled,

Whom his ain son o' life bereft,
The gray hairs yet stack to the heft;
Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu',
Which even to name wad be unlaw-
fu'.

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 cleekit,

Till ilka carlin sweat and reekit,
And coost her duddies to the wark,
And linket at it in her sark!

Now Tam, O Tam! had thae been

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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 withered beldams, auld and droll,

Rigwoodie hags, wad spean a foal, Lowping and flinging on a crummock,

I wonder didna turn thy stomach.

But Tam kend what was what fu' brawlie,

"There was ae winsome wench and walie,"

That night enlisted in the core,
(Lang after kend on Carrick shore;
For mony a beast to dead she shot,
And perished mony a bonnie boat,

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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 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 screech and hollow.

Ali, 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 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.

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