Bout-gates I hate, quo' girning Maggy Pringle,Syne harled Watty, greeting, through the ingle,Since this fell question seems sae lang to hing on,In twa-three words I'll gie ye my opinion.
I wha stand here, in this bare scoury coatWas ance a packman wordy, mony a groat:I've carried packs as big's your meikle table;I've scarted pats, and sleepit in a stable:Sax pounds I widna' for my pack ance ta'en,And I could bauldly brag 'twas all mine ain.
Aye! thae were days indeed, that gart me hope,Aiblins, through time to warsle up a shop:And as a wife aye in my noddle ran,I ken'd my Kate wad grapple at me than.O Kate was past compare! sic cheek! sic een!Sic smiling looks, were never, never seen.Dear, dear I lo'ed her, and whane'er we met,Pleaded to have the bridal day but set:Stappit her pouches fu' o' prins and laces.And thought mysel' weel paid wi' twa-three kisses.Yet still she put it aff frae day to day,And aften kindly in my lug wad say,"A half year langer is na unco stop,We'll marry then, and syne set up a shop."
O, Sir, but lasses words are saft and fair,They soothe our griefs, and banish ilka care;Wha widna toil to please the lass he lo'es?A lover true minds this in a' he does.Finding her mind was thus sae firmly bent,And that I couldna get her to relent,There was nought left, but quietly to resign,To heeze my pack for a lang hard campaign;And as the Highlands was the place for meet,I ventured there in spite of wind and weet.
Cauld now the Winter blew, and deep the sna'For three haill days incessantly did fa',Far in a muir, amang the whirling drift,Whar nought was seen but mountains and the lift,
I lost my road, and wandered mony a mile,Maist dead wi' caukl and hunger, fright and toil.Thus wandering, east or west, I kend na' where,My mind o'ercome wi' gloom and black despair,Wi' a fell ringe, I plunged at ance, forsooth,Down through a wreath o' snaw, up to my mouth.Clean o'er my head my precious wallet flew,But whar it gaed, Lord kens, I never knew.
What great misfortunes are pour'd down on some,I thought my fearfu' hinder end was come;Wi' grief and sorrow was my soul o'ercast,Ilk breath I drew was like to be my last,For aye the mair I warsled roun' and roun',I fand mysel' aye stick the deeper down;Till ance at length, wi' a prodigious pull,I drew' my poor cauld carcase frae the hole.
Lang, lang I sought and graippit for my pack,Till night and hunger forced me to come back.For three lang hours I wandered up and down,Till chance at last conveyed me to a town;There, wi' a trembling hand I wrote my KateA sad account of a' my luckless fate;But bad her aye be kind, and no despairSince life was left, I soon wad gather mair;Wi' whilk, I hoped, within a towmond's date,To be at hame, and share it a' wi' Kate.
Fool that I was, how little did I thinkThat love would soon be lost for fa't o' clink.The loss of fair won wealth, though hard to bear,Afore this—neer had power to force a tear.I trusted time wad bring things round again,And Kate, dear Kate, wad then be a' mine ain;Consoled my mind, in hopes o' better luck,But, O! what sad reverse!—how thunderstruck!When a black day brought word frae Rab my brither,That Kate was cried, and married to anither!
Though a' my friends, and ilka comrade sweet,At ance, had drapped cauld dead at may feet;Or, though I'd heard the last day's dreadfu' ca',Nae deeper horror on my heart could fa':I cursed mysel', I cursed my luckless fate,I grat—and sobbing, cried—O Kate! O Kate!
Frae that day forth, I never mair did weel,But drank, and ran headformost to the diel.My siller vanished, far frae hame I pined,But Kate for ever ran across my mind.In her were a' my hopes—these hopes were vain,And now—I'll never see her like again.
'Twas this, Sir President, that gart me start,Wi' meikle grief and sorrow in my heart,To gi'e my vote, frae sad experience, here,That disappointed love is waur to bear,Ten thousand times, than loss o' warld's gear.
Printer's ornament from 'Watty and May, or, The Wife Reclaimed. an undated chapbook with no printing information
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