But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels
Put life and mettle in their heels.
A winnock-bunker in the east,
There sat Auld Nick, in shape o' beast,-
A tosie 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 cantraip 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-long, wee, unchristened bairns;
A thief new-cutted frae 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 grey-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 of horrible and awe fu',
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 ;
They reeled, they set, they crossed, they cleekit, 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 thae 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 off my hurdies For ae blink o' the bonnie burdies!
But withered beldames, auld and droll, Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal, Lowping an' flinging on a crummock,→ I wonder did na turn thy stomach.
But Tam kenn'd what was what fu' brawlie: There was ae winsome wench and wawlie, That night inlisted in the core,..
Lang after kend 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 though sorely scanty,
It was her best, and she was vaunty.--
Ah! little kend thy reverend grannie
That sark she coft for her wee Nannie,
Wi' twa pund Scots ('t was a' her riches),
Wad ever graced a dance of 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 een enriched.
Even Satan glowered, and fidged fu' fain,
And hotched 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 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 skreich and hollo.
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 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.
But ere the key-stane 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.
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