Underwoods Part 7

There's just a waukrif' twa or three: Thrawn commentautors sweer to 'gree, Weans glowrin' at the b.u.mlin' bee On windie-gla.s.ses, Or lads that tak a keek a-glee At sonsie la.s.ses.

Himsel', meanwhile, frae whaur he c.o.c.ks An' bobs belaw the soundin'-box, The treesures of his words unlocks Wi' prodigality, An' deals some unco dingin' knocks To infidality.

Wi' sappy unction, hoo he burkes The hopes o' men that trust in works, Expounds the fau'ts o' ither kirks, An' shaws the best o' them No muckle better than mere Turks, When a's confessed o' them.

Bethankit! what a bonny creed!

What mair would ony Christian need?- The braw words rumm'le ower his heid, Nor steer the sleeper; And in their restin' graves, the deid Sleep aye the deeper.

_Note_.-It may be guessed by some that I had a certain parish in my eye, and this makes it proper I should add a word of disclamation. In my time there have been two ministers in that parish. Of the first I have a special reason to speak well, even had there been any to think ill. The second I have often met in private and long (in the due phrase) "sat under" in his church, and neither here nor there have I heard an unkind or ugly word upon his lips. The preacher of the text had thus no original in that particular parish; but when I was a boy, he might have been observed in many others; he was then (like the schoolmaster) abroad; and by recent advices, it would seem he has not yet entirely disappeared.

VI-THE SPAEWIFE

O, I wad like to ken-to the beggar-wife says I- Why chops are guid to brander and nane sae guid to fry.

An' siller, that's sae braw to keep, is brawer still to gi'e.

-_It's gey an' easy spierin'_, says the beggar-wife to me.

O, I wad like to ken-to the beggar-wife says I- Hoo a' things come to be whaur we find them when we try, The la.s.ses in their claes an' the fishes in the sea.

-_It's gey an' easy spierin'_, says the beggar-wife to me.

O, I wad like to ken-to the beggar-wife says I- Why lads are a' to sell an' la.s.ses a' to buy; An' naebody for dacency but barely twa or three -_It's gey an' easy spierin'_, says the beggar-wife to me.

O, I wad like to ken-to the beggar-wife says I- Gin death's as shure to men as killin' is to kye, Why G.o.d has filled the yearth sae fu' o' tasty things to pree.

-_It's gey an' easy spierin'_, says the beggar-wife to me.

O, I wad like to ken-to the beggar wife says I- The reason o' the cause an' the wherefore o' the why, Wi' mony anither riddle brings the tear into my e'e.

-_It's gey an' easy spierin'_, says the beggar-wife to me.

VII-THE BLAST-1875

IT'S rainin'. Weet's the gairden sod, Weet the lang roads whaur gangrels plod- A maist unceevil thing o' G.o.d In mid July- If ye'll just curse the sneckdraw, dod!

An' sae wull I!

He's a braw place in Heev'n, ye ken, An' lea's us puir, forjaskit men Clamjamfried in the but and ben He ca's the earth- A wee bit inconvenient den No muckle worth;

An' whiles, at orra times, keeks out, Sees what puir mankind are about; An' if He can, I've little doubt, Upsets their plans; He hates a' mankind, brainch and root, An' a' that's man's.

An' whiles, whan they tak heart again, An' life i' the sun looks braw an' plain, Doun comes a jaw o' droukin' rain Upon their honours- G.o.d sends a spate outower the plain, Or mebbe thun'ers.

Lord safe us, life's an unco thing!

Simmer an' Winter, Yule an' Spring, The d.a.m.ned, dour-heart.i.t seasons bring A f.e.c.k o' trouble.

I wadnae try't to be a king- No, nor for double.

But since we're in it, w.i.l.l.y-nilly, We maun be watchfu', wise an' skilly, An' no mind ony ither billy, La.s.sie nor G.o.d.

But drink-that's my best counsel till 'e: Sae tak the nod.

VIII-THE COUNTERBLAST-1886

MY bonny man, the warld, it's true, Was made for neither me nor you; It's just a place to warstle through, As job confessed o't; And aye the best that we'll can do Is mak the best o't.

There's rowth o' wrang, I'm free to say: The simmer brunt, the winter blae, The face of earth a' fyled wi' clay An' dour wi' chuckies, An' life a rough an' land'art play For country buckies.

An' food's anither name for clart; An' beasts an' brambles bite an' scart; An' what would WE be like, my heart!

If bared o' claethin'?

-Aweel, I cannae mend your cart: It's that or naethin'.

A f.e.c.k o' folk frae first to last Have through this queer experience pa.s.sed; Twa-three, I ken, just d.a.m.n an' blast The hale transaction; But twa-three ithers, east an' wast, Fand satisfaction,

Whaur braid the briery muirs expand, A waefu' an' a weary land, The b.u.mblebees, a gowden band, Are blithely hingin'; An' there the canty wanderer fand The laverock singin'.

Trout in the burn grow great as herr'n, The simple sheep can find their fair'n'; The wind blaws clean about the cairn Wi' caller air; The muirc.o.c.k an' the barefit bairn Are happy there.

Sic-like the howes o' life to some: Green loans whaur they ne'er fash their thumb.

But mark the muckle winds that come Soopin' an' cool, Or hear the powrin' burnie drum In the s.h.i.+lfa's pool.

The evil wi' the guid they tak; They ca' a gray thing gray, no black; To a steigh brae, a stubborn back Addressin' daily; An' up the rude, unbieldy track O' life, gang gaily.

What you would like's a palace ha', Or Sinday parlour d.i.n.k an' braw Wi' a' things ordered in a raw By denty leddies.

Weel, than, ye cannae hae't: that's a'

That to be said is.

An' since at life ye've taen the grue, An' winnae blithely hirsle through, Ye've fund the very thing to do- That's to drink speerit; An' shune we'll hear the last o' you- An' blithe to hear it!

The shoon ye coft, the life ye lead, Ithers will heir when aince ye're deid; They'll heir your tasteless bite o' breid, An' find it sappy; They'll to your dulefu' house succeed, An' there be happy.

As whan a glum an' fractious wean Has sat an' sullened by his lane Till, wi' a rowstin' skelp, he's taen An' shoo'd to bed- The ither bairns a' fa' to play'n', As gleg's a gled.

IX-THE COUNTERBLAST IRONICAL

IT'S strange that G.o.d should fash to frame The yearth and lift sae hie, An' clean forget to explain the same To a gentleman like me.

They gutsy, donnered ither folk, Their weird they weel may dree; But why present a pig in a poke To a gentleman like me?

They ither folk their parritch eat An' sup their sugared tea; But the mind is no to be wyled wi' meat Wi' a gentleman like me.

They ither folk, they court their joes At gloamin' on the lea; But they're made of a commoner clay, I suppose, Than a gentleman like me.

They ither folk, for richt or wrang, They suffer, bleed, or dee; But a' thir things are an emp'y sang To a gentleman like me.