I own it’s past my comprehension.
LUATH
Trowth, Caesar, whyles they’re fash’d eneugh: sometimes, bothered
A Cotter howckan in a sheugh, farm labourer, digging, ditch
Wi’ dirty stanes biggan a dyke, stones, building, stone wall
Bairan a quarry, an’ sic like, clearing, such
75 Himsel, a wife, he thus sustains,
A smytrie o’ wee duddie weans, number, small ragged children
An’ nought but his han’-daurk, to keep hands’ work
Them right an’ tight in thack an’ raep. snug, thatch, rope
An’ when they meet wi’ sair disasters, sore
80 Like loss o’ health or want o’ masters,
Ye maist wad think, a wee touch langer, most would, longer
An’ they maun starve o’ cauld and hunger: should, cold
But how it comes, I never kend yet, knew
They’re maistly wonderfu’ contented; mostly
85 An’ buirdly chiels, an’ clever hizzies, stout lads, girls
Are bred in sic a way as this is. such
CAESAR
But then to see how ye’re neglecket, neglected
How huff’d, an’ cuff’d, an’ disrespecket! scolded, slapped, disrespected
Lord man, our gentry care as little
90 For delvers, ditchers, an’ sic cattle; labourers, diggers, such
They gang as saucy by poor folk, go, smugly
As I wad by a stinkan brock. would, badger
I’ve notic’d, on our Laird’s court-day,2
(An’ monie a time my heart’s been wae), many, sad
95 Poor tenant bodies, scant o’ cash, short of money
How they maun thole a Factor’s snash:3 would suffer, abuse
He’ll stamp an’ threaten, curse an’ swear
He’ll apprehend them, poind their gear; seize & sell their goods
While they maun staun’, wi’ aspect humble, must stand
100 An’ hear it a’, an’ fear an’ tremble! all
I see how folk live that hae riches; have
But surely poor-folk maun be wretches! must
LUATH
They’re nae sae wretched’s ane wad think: not so, as one would
Tho’ constantly on poortith’s brink, poverty’s
105 They’re sae accustom’d wi’ the sight, so
The view o’t gies them little fright. gives
Then chance an’ fortune are sae guided, so
They’re ay in less or mair provided; always, more
An’ tho’ fatigu’d wi’ close employment,
110 A blink o’ rest’s a sweet enjoyment.
The dearest comfort o’ their lives,
Their grushie weans an’ faithfu’ wives; thriving children
The prattling things are just their pride,
That sweetens a’ their fire-side.
115 An’ whyles twalpennie worth o’ nappy sometimes, ale
Can mak the bodies unco happy: folk, very
They lay aside their private cares,
To mind the Kirk an’ State affairs;
They’ll talk o’ patronage an’ priests,
120 Wi’ kindling fury i’ their breasts,
Or tell what new taxation’s comin,
An’ ferlie at the folk in LON’ON. wonder
As bleak-fac’d Hallowmass returns, festival of All-Saints
They get the jovial, rantan Kirns, harvest homes
125 When rural life, of ev’ry station,
Unite in common recreation;
Love blinks, Wit slaps, an’ social Mirth
Forgets there’s Care upo’ the earth.
That merry day the year begins,
130 They bar the door on frosty win’s; winds
The nappy reeks wi’ mantling ream, ale, foaming froth
An’ sheds a heart-inspiring steam;
The luntan pipe, an’ sneeshin mill, smoking, snuff box
Are handed round wi’ right guid will; good
135 The cantie, auld folks, crackan crouse, jolly old, chatting, cheerful
The young anes rantan thro’ the house — one, running
My heart has been sae fain to see them, so content
That I for joy hae barket wi’ them. have barked
Still it’s owre true that ye hae said over, have
140 Sic game is now owre aften play’d; such a, over often
There’s monie a creditable stock many
O’ decent, honest, fawsont folk, respectable
Are riven out baith root an’ branch, thrown out by force, both
Some rascal’s pridefu’ greed to quench,
145 Wha thinks to knit himsel the faster who
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