Tale of three bonnets in four cantos/Canto II

CANTO II.

BARD.

THE ſupper ſowin-cogs and bannocks,
Stood cooling on the ſoles o'winnocks,
And, cracking at the weſtlin gavels,
The wives ſat beeking o' their navels,
When Jouk his brither Briſtle found,
Fetching his ev'ning wauk around
A ſcore of ploughmen of his ain,
Who blythly whiſtled on the plain.
Jouk three times congee'd, Briſtle anes,
Thus ſhook his hand, and thus begins,
⁠Bristle. Wow, brither Jouk, whare hae ye been?
I ſcarce can trow my looking-een,
Ye're grown faebraw: now weirds defend me,
Gin that I had nae maiſt miſkend ye,
And whare gat ye that braw blue ſtringing,
That's at your houghs and ſhoulders hinging?
Ye look as ſpruſh as ane that's wooing,
I ferly lad, what ye've been doing.
⁠Joukum. My very much reſpected brither,
Shou'd we hide ought frae ane anither!
And not, when warm'd by the ſame blood,
Conſult ilk ane anither's good;
And be it kend t'ye, my deſign,
Will profit prove to me and mine.
⁠Bris. And brither, troch it much commends
Your virtue, thus to love your friends,
It maks me blyth, for aft I ſaid,
Ye were a clever mettl'd lad.
⁠Jouk. And ſae, I hope, will ever prove,
If ye befriend me in my love:
For Roſie, bonny, rich, and gay,
And ſweet as flowers in June and May,
Her gear I'll get, her ſweets I'll rifle
If ye'll but yield me up a trifle.
Promiſe to do't, and ye'ſe be free,
With ony thing pertains to me.
⁠Briſtle. I lang to anſwer your demand,
And never ſhall for trifles ſtand.
⁠Joukum. Then ſhe defires as a propine,
Theſe Bonnets, Bawſy's, your's and mine;
And weel I wat that's nae great matter,
If I ſae eaſily can get her.
⁠Briſtle. Ha, ha! ye Judas, are ye there?
The D— then nor ſhe ne'er get mair.
Is that the trifle that ye ſpoke of?
Wha think ye, Sir, ye mak a mock of?
Ye ſilly, manſworn, ſcant o' grace,
Swith, let me never ſee your face.
Seek my auld Bonnet aff my head!
Faith that's a bonny ane indeed?
Require a thing I'll part wi' never;
She's get as ſoon the lap o' my liver,
Vile whore and jade, the woody hang her.
⁠Bard. Thus ſaid, he ſaid nae mair for anger,
But curs'd and ban'd, and was nae far
Frae treading Jouk amang the glar.
While Jouk, with language glib as oolie,
Right pawkily kept aff a toolie,
Well maſked with a wedder's ſkin,
Although he was a tod within.
He hum'd and ha'd, and with a cant,
Held forth as he had been a faint,
And quoted texts to prove we'd better,
Part with a ſma' thing for a greater.
⁠Jouk. Ah! Brither, may the furies rack me,
If I mean'd ill, but ye miſtak me;
But gin your Bonnet's ſic a Jewel,
Pray gie't or keep it, Sir, as you will,
Since your auld faſhion'd fancy rather,
Inclines til't than a hat and feather;
But I'll go try my Brither Bawſy,
Poor man, he's nae ſae daft and ſaucy,
With empty pride to crook his mou,
And hinder his ain good like you;
If he and I agree, ne'er doubt ye,
We'll mak the bargin up without ye,
Syne your braw Bonnet and your noddle
Will hardly baith be worth a bodle.
⁠Bard. At this bauld Briſtle's colour chang'd,
He ſwore on Roſe to be reveng'd,
For he began now to be fleed,
She'd wile the honours frae his head;
Syne with a ſtern and canker'd look,
He thus reprov'd his brither Jouk.
⁠Bristle. Thou vile diſgrace of our forbears,
Wha lang with valiant dint of weirs,
Maintain'd their rights 'gainſt a' intruſions
Of our auld faes the Roſycrucians,
Doſt thou deſign at laſt to catch
Us in a gin, with this baſe match,
And for the hauding up thy pride,
Upon thy brithers' riggins ride:
I'll ſee you hang'd, and her the gither,
As high as Haman in a tether,
Ere I with my ain Bonnet quat,
For ony borrow'd beaver hat.
Whilk I, as Roſie takes the fikes,
Maun wear or no juſt as ſhe likes:
Then let me hear nae mair about her,
For if ye dare again to mutter,
Sic vile propoſals, in my hearing,
Ye need na truſt to my forbearing;
For ſoon my beard will tak a low,
And I ſhall crack your crazy pow.
⁠Bard. This ſaid, brave Briſtle ſaid nae mair,
But cock'd his Bonnet with an air,
Wheel'd round with gloomy brows & muddy,
And left his brither in a ſtudy.