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 think na' on the lang" Scots miles,
The mosses, waters, slaps," and styles,
That lie between us and our hame,"
Gathering her brows like gathering storm,
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.
This truth fand' honest Tam O'Shanter,
As he frae Ayr ae3 night did canter,
(Auld* Ayr wham' ne'er a town surpasses,
For honest men and bonny lasses.)
O Tam! had'st thou but been sae' wise,
As ta'en thy ain3 wife Kate's advice!
She tauld thee weel 10 thou was a skellum,'
A blethering," blustering, drunken blellum;
That frae November till October,
Ae market-day thou was nae
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 L—d's house, even on Sunday,
Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday.
She prophesy'd that, late or soon,
Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon;
Or catch'd wi' warlocks' in the mirk,"
By Alloway's auld haunted kirk.'
Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet,*
To think how mony' counsels sweet,
How mony lengthen'd 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;"
the ale was growing better:
The landlady and Tam grew gracious,
Wi' favours, secret, sweet, and precious:
The souter tauld his queerest stories;
The landlord's laugh was ready chorus:
The storm without might rair1 and rustle,
Tam did na mind the storm a whistle.
Care, mad to see a man sae happy,
E'en drown'd himself amang the nappy,
As bees flee hame wi' lades' o' treasure,
The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure:
Kings may be bless'd, but Tam was glorious,
O'er a'' the hills 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 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' ride;
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