The Life and Death of the Piper of Kilbarchan
OR,
The Epitaph of Habbie Simson,
Who on his Drone bore bony Flags,
He made his Cheeks as red as Crimson,
And babbed when he blew the Bags.
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KIlbarchan now may say, alace!
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For she hath lost her Game and Grace,
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Both Trixie and the Maiden Trace;
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but what Remead?
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For no Man can supply his Place,
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Hab Simson's dead.
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Now wha shall play the Day it daws?
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Or hunt up when the Cock he craws?
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Or who can for our Kirk-town's Cause
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stand us instead?
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On Bag-pipes [now] no Body blaws,
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sen Habbies dead.
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Or wha shall cause our Shearers shear?
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Who will Bend up the Brags of Weir?
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Bring in the Bells or good Play Meir,
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in Time of Need?
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Hab Simson cou'd what need you speir
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but now he's dead.
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So kindly to his Neighbours neist,
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At Beltan and St. Barchans Feast,
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He blew, and then held up his Breast,
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as he were Weid;
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But now we need not him areast,
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for Habbies Dead.
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At Fairs he play'd before the Spear-men,
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All gayly graithed in their Gear-men,
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Steell Bonnets, Jacks and Swords so clear then
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like any Bead.
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Now wha shall play before such Weirmen,
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sen Habbies Dead.
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At Clark-plays, when he wont to come,
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His Pipe play'd tratling to the Drum,
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Like Bikes of Bees he gart it bum,
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and un'd his Reed.
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Now all our Pipers may sing dumb,
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sen Habbies Dead,
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[A]nd at Horse-races many a Day,
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[B]efore the Black, the Brown and Gray,
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He gart his Pipe, when he did play,
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both Skirl and Skreed.
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Now all such Pastime's quite away,
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sen Habbies Dead.
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He counted was a Weild Weight Man,
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And fiercely at Foot-ball he ran:
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At every Game the Gree he wan,
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for Pith and Speed.
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The like of Habbie was nae Man,
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but now he's Dead.
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And then besides his valiant Acts,
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At Bridals he wan many Placks:
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He bobbed ay behind Folks Backs,
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and shook his Head,
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Now we want many merry Cracks,
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sen Habbies Dead.
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He was convoyer of the Bride,
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With Kittock hanging at his Side:
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About the Kirk he thought a Pride,
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the Ring to lead.
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But now she may go but a Guide,
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for Habbies Dead.
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So well he keeped his decorum,
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And all the Stots of Whip-meg-morum,
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He slew a Man and waes me for him,
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and bure the Fead.
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But yet the Man was Hame before him,
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and was not Dead.
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Ay when he play'd the Lasses leugh,
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To see him toothless ald and teugh,
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He wan his Pipes beside Barcheugh,
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withoutten Dread,
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Which after wan him Gear enough,
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but now he's Dead.
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Ay when he play'd the Geittlings gather'd
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And when he spake the Carle bladder'd,
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On Sabbath-days his Cap was feather'd
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A Simly weid.
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In the Kirkyeard his Meir he teather'd,
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where he lyes Dead.
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Alas for him my heart is sair,
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For of his Springs I got a share
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At every Play, Race, Feast and Fair
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but Guile or Greed:
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We need not look for Pyping mair
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sen Habbies Dead.
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