ROBERT BURNS

TAM O'SHANTER

"Of brownyis and of bogilis full is this buke."

A TALE

GAWIN DOUGLAS.

WHEN chapman billies° leave the street,
And drouty neebors, neebors meet,
As market-days are wearing late,
And folk begin to tak the gate°;
While we sit bousing at the nappy,'
And gettin' 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,
Where sits our sulky sullen dame,
Gathering her brows like gathering storm,
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.

This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter,
As he frae Ayr° ae night did canter,
(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses
For honest men and bonny lasses.)

O Tam! hadst thou but been sae wise,
As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice!

She tauld thee weel thou wast a skellum,°

5

10

15

A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum°; 20

That frae November till October,
Ae market-day thou wasna sober;
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 Lord's house, even on Sunday,
Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday.
She prophesied that, late or soon,

Thou would be found deep drowned in Doon,° 30 Or catched wi' warlocks in the mirk,°

By Alloway's° auld haunted kirk.°

Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet,
To think how monie counsels sweet,
How monie lengthened 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,
And aye the ale was growing better;
The landlady and Tam grew gracious,
Wi' favors secret, sweet, and precious;
The souter tauld his queerest stories,
The landlord's laugh was ready chorus;

The storm without might rair and rustle
Tam did na mind the storm a whistle.

!

Care, mad to see a man sae happy,
E'en drowned himself amang the nappy
As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure,
The minutes winged their way wi' pleasure:
Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious,
O'er a' the ills o' life victorious.

But pleasures are like poppies spread,
You seize the flower, its bloom is shed;
Or like the snowfall in the river,

A moment white - then melts forever;
Or like the borealis race,

That flit ere you can point their place;
Or like the rainbow's lovely form,

Evanishing amid the storm.

55

60

65

Nae man can tether time or tide;

The hour approaches Tam maun° ride:

That hour, o' night's black arch the keystane,

That dreary hour he mounts his beast in;

70

And sic a night he taks the road in

As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in.

The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last;
The rattling showers rose on the blast;
The speedy gleams the darkness swallowed;
Loud, deep, and lang the thunder bellowed:
That night, a child might understand,
The Deil° had business on his hand.

75

Weel mounted on his gray mare, Meg, (A better never lifted leg,)

80

Tam skelpit on through dub° and mire,
Despising wind, and rain, and fire;
Whiles holding fast his guid blue bonnet,
Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet;
Whiles glowering round wi' prudent cares,
Lest bogles catch him unawares:
Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh,
Where ghaists and houlets nightly cry.

By this time he was cross the ford,
Where in the snaw the chapman smoored°;
And past the birks and meikle stane,
Where drunken Charlie brak's neck-bane;
And through the whins, and by the cairn,'
Where hunters fand the murdered bairn°;
And near the thorn, aboon the well,
Where Mungo's mither hanged hersel'.
Before him Doon pours all his floods;

The doubling storm roars through the woods;
The lightnings flash from pole to pole;
Near and more near the thunders roll;
When, glimmering through the groaning trees,
Kirk-Alloway seemed in a bleeze°;

Through ilka bore the beams were glancing,
And loud resounded mirth and dancing.

Inspiring bold John Barleycorn,°
What dangers thou canst make us scorn!
Wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil;

Wi' usquebae,° we'll face the devil!

The swats sae reamed in Tammie's noddle,
Fair play, he cared na deils a boddle.°

But Maggie stood right sair astonished,
Till, by the heel and hand admonished,

100

105

110

She ventured forward on the light;
And, vow! Tam saw an unco sight!
Warlocks and witches in a dance;
Nae cotillion brent° new frae France,
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 towzie tyke,° black, grim, and large,
To gie them music was his charge;

115

120

He screwed the pipes and gart them skirl,°
Till roof and rafters a' did dirl.°
Coffins stood round, like open presses,

125

That shawed the dead in their last dresses;

Twa span-lang, wee unchristened bairns;
A thief, new-cutted frae the rape,
Wi' his last gasp his gab° did gape;
Five tomahawks, wi' bluid red-rusted;
Five scimitars, 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 gray hairs yet stack to the heft:
Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu',
Which even to name wad be unlawfu'!

As Tammie glow'red, amazed and curious,
The mirth and fun grew fast and furious:

135

140