An ELEGY on WILLY BALD
Who was long Porter in Traquaire:
Tho' he's now dead he was not auld;
Alas for him my Heart is saire.
|
AND has auld Death that Bloody Knave
|
E'en brought Poor Willy to his Grave?
|
Tho' we pray'd ay his Life to save
|
with Book and Beed.
|
Alas we'll never hear him Rave,
|
since now he's dead.
|
2
|
Now wha'll descrive to us the Flight
|
Of Suthren Men, from Scottish Knight;
|
And how they Ran with all their Might,
|
and shook for Dread:
|
This Willy taul'd us many a Night,
|
but now he's dead.
|
3
|
Then when of Barley's healsom Juice,
|
He got his Dose he crack'd so Cruse,
|
Of Douglass, Wallace and the Bruce
|
their doughty deed:
|
The Names of these made Willy spruce;
|
but now he's dead.
|
4
|
Since e'er he height the Name of Baul,
|
Since he cou'd Speak, or Creep, or Craul,
|
He lik'd the Ingles Men to Maul,
|
and Curse their Seed:
|
Good Faith he was an honest Saul
|
tho' now he's dead.
|
5
|
Aft has he Sworn be Haly Rood,
|
Yea I trow something no so good,
|
That those who for the Union stood,
|
shou'd want the Head:
|
These were his Tales when in right Mood;
|
but now he's dead.
|
6
|
Of Scripture Texts he was a Mumbler,
|
Yea in Philosophy no Fumbler,
|
At making Rhymes not thought a Bumbler,
|
scarce Sense indeed:
|
But, best of a he turn'd the Tumbler;
|
but now he's dead.
|
7
|
Ance to chop Logick he did denzie,
|
With Doctors, Strachan and Mackenzie;
|
But when he tyr'd he did not fenzie
|
to shake his Head:
|
And bid the De'el receive the Enzie,
|
that's ane indeed.
|
8
|
As he came hame frae Edinburgh Town,
|
'Twixt his Mare's Lugs he sleept sou soun,
|
With Pistols well sew'd in a Gown,
|
with double Threed:
|
But an their Buts were up or down,
|
ne'er fash'd his Head.
|
9
|
Among the Hills e'er break of Day,
|
He saw the Fairies in his Way,
|
On Nagues some White, some Black, some Bay,
|
ride by with speed:
|
Yet fiend ae Word the De'els durst say,
|
unarm'd indeed.
|
10
|
Now wha'll for a lick of the Kirn,
|
Gae hame with Horsebrugh to the Pirn,
|
And venture aft baith Skin and Birn,
|
and scoure through Tweed:
|
Will wou'd have doon't without a Girn,
|
but now he's dead.
|
11
|
Now wha will manage the Kail Bell,
|
Or wha like him will make it knell,
|
Or wha will on us yelp and yell;
|
to Board ye speed:
|
The fiend a ane I 'tweel can tell;
|
since Willy's dead.
|
12
|
Aft did he Mind John in Dunlappy,
|
And lik'd his Wife for being sappy;
|
In ev'ry Thing he thought him happy,
|
and wife indeed:
|
But wish't his sensless little Cappy
|
broke o're his Head.
|
13
|
Well did his Neighbours all and he,
|
About the Brekfast Bread agree,
|
Yet for the Drink he'd sometimes plee,
|
and had good need:
|
But now the De'el yae drap gets he
|
since he is dead.
|
14
|
At seeking Barm he gaed his Round,
|
Be Knows, Rigs, Mills, to the Kirk Town,
|
Till's Heels cou'd hardly save his Crown,
|
or bear his Head:
|
Yet there was still Life in the Loun,
|
till now he's dead.
|
15
|
Ah how strong Ale wou'd made him clatter,
|
And then a Dram wou'd mend the Matter,
|
His Bowsplit he wou'd sometimes batter;
|
that's true indeed:
|
For all that he ne'er car'd for Water,
|
yet now he's dead.
|
16
|
But if sometimes it was his Hap,
|
To get a Soup that was but Jap,
|
Yet he wou'd drink it ev'ry Drap,
|
and shake his Head:
|
Then carelesly fling by the Cap
|
and swear it's dead.
|
17
|
Now we pray all with Heart and Mouth,
|
May Willy's Doom be soft and smooth,
|
Oh save him from the Lions Tooth;
|
and Fire of Hell:
|
For he cou'd never suffer Drouth,
|
he kens himsel.
|
A Verse made upon William Bald in imitati-
|
on of John in Dunlappy.
|
WILLY BALD dwells in Traquaire,
|
Thou hast a Heart that's void of Fear;
|
Give the strong Drink thou seek'st na mair,
|
Thou'lt take a Quart for thy own share,
|
And when that's done look sharp for mair,
|
Tho' thou shou'd Spew't thou'lt never care,
|
To try't again, nay feind yae Hair:
|
So honest Willy e'en had the there.
|
|
|
|
|
|