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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=506509" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Tam O'Shanter</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">When chapman billies leave the street,<br>And drouthy neebors neebors meet,<br>As market-days are wearing late,<br>And folk begin to tak the gate;<br>While we sit bousin, at the nappy,<br>And gettin fou and unco happy,<br>We think na on the lang Scots miles,<br>The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles,<br>That lie between us and our hame,<br>Whare sits our sulky, sullen dame,<br>Gathering her brows like gathering storm,<br>Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.<br>This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter,<br>As he frae Ayr ae night did canter:<br>(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses,<br>For honest men and bonie lasses.)</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O Tam! had'st thou but been sae wise<br>As taen thy ain wife Kate's advice!<br>She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum,<br>A bletherin, blusterin, drunken blellum;<br>That frae November till October,<br>Ae market-day thou was na sober;<br>That ilka melder wi' the miller,<br>Thou sat as lang as thou had siller;<br>That ev'ry naig was ca'd a shoe on,<br>The smith and thee gat roarin fou on;<br>That at the Lord's house, ev'n on Sunday,<br>Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday.<br>She prophesied, that, late or soon,<br>Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon;<br>Ot catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirk,<br>By Alloway's auld haunted kirk.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet,<br>To think how mony counsels sweet,<br>How mony lengthen'd sage advices,<br>The husband frae the wife despises!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But to our tale:-Ae market night,<br>Tam had got planted unco right,<br>Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely,<br>Wi' reaming swats that drank divinely;<br>And at his elbow, Souter Johnie,<br>His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony:<br>Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither;<br>They had been fou for weeks thegither.<br>The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter;<br>And ay the ale was growing better:<br>The landlady and Tam grew gracious<br>Wi' secret favours, sweet, and precious:<br>The souter tauld his queerest stories;<br>The landlord's laugh was ready chorus:<br>The storm without might rair and rustle,<br>Tam did na mind the storm a whistle.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Care, mad to see a man sae happy,<br>E'en drown'd himsel amang the nappy:<br>As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure,<br>The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure;<br>Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious,<br>O'er a' the ills o' life victorious!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But pleasures are like poppies spread,<br>You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed;<br>Or like the snow falls in the river,<br>A moment white--then melts forever;<br>Or like the borealis race,<br>That flit ere you can point their place;<br>Or like the rainbow's lovely form<br>Evanishing amid the storm.<br>Nae man can tether time or tide:<br>The hour approaches Tam maun ride,-<br>That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane<br>That dreary hour he mounts his beast in;<br>And sic a night he taks the road in,<br>As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last;<br>The rattling show'rs rose on the blast;<br>The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd;<br>Loud, deep, and lang the thunder bellow'd:<br>That night, a child might understand,<br>The Deil had business on his hand.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Weel mounted on his grey mare, Meg,-<br>A better never lifted leg,-<br>Tam skelpit on thro' dub and mire,<br>Despising wind and rain and fire;<br>Whiles holding fast his guid blue bonnet,<br>Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet,<br>Whiles glowrin round wi' prudent cares,<br>Lest bogles catch him unawares.<br>Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh,<br>Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">By this time he was cross the ford,<br>Whare in the snaw the chapman smoor'd;<br>And past the birks and meikle stane,<br>Whare drucken Charlie brak's neckbane:<br>And thro' the whins, and by the cairn,<br>Whare hunters fand the murder'd bairn;<br>And near the thorn, aboon the well,<br>Whare Mungo's mither hang'd hersel.<br>Before him Doon pours all his floods;<br>The doubling storm roars thro' the woods;<br>The lightnings flash from pole to pole,<br>Near and more near the thunders roll;<br>When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees,<br>Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze:<br>Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing,<br>And loud resounded mirth and dancing.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Inspiring bold John Barleycorn!<br>What dangers thou can'st make us scorn!<br>Wi' tippenny we fear nae evil;<br>Wi' usquebae we'll face the devil!<br>The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle,<br>Fair play, he car'd na deils a boddle.<br>But Maggie stood right sair astonish'd,<br>Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd,<br>She ventur'd forward on the light;<br>And, wow! Tam saw an unco sight!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Warlocks and witches in a dance;<br>Nae cotillion brent-new frae France,<br>But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels<br>Put life and mettle in their heels.<br>A winnock bunker in the east,<br>There sat Auld Nick in shape o' beast:<br>A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large,<br>To gie them music was his charge;<br>He screw'd the pipes and gart them skirl,<br>Till roof and rafters a' did dirl.-<br>Coffins stood round like open presses,<br>That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses;<br>And by some devilish cantraip sleight<br>Each in its cauld hand held a light,<br>By which heroic Tam was able<br>To note upon the haly table<br>A murderer's banes in gibbet airns;<br>Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen'd bairns;<br>A thief, new-cutted frae the rape--<br>Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape;<br>Five tomahawks, wi' blude red-rusted;<br>Five scimitars, wi' murder crusted;<br>A garter, which a babe had strangled;<br>A knife, a father's throat had mangled,<br>Whom his ain son o' life bereft-<br>The grey hairs yet stack to the heft;<br>Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu',<br>Which ev'n to name wad be unlawfu'.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd and curious,<br>The mirth and fun grew fast and furious:<br>The piper loud and louder blew,<br>The dancers quick and quicker flew;<br>They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit<br>Till ilka carlin swat and reekit<br>And coost her duddies to the wark<br>And linket at it in her sark!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now Tam, O Tam! had thae been queans,<br>A' plump and strapping in their teens!<br>Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen,<br>Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linen!-<br>Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair,<br>That ance were plush, o' gude blue hair,<br>I wad hae gien them aff y hurdies,<br>For ae blink o' the bonie burdies!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But wither'd beldams, auld and droll,<br>Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal,<br>Lowping and flinging on a crummock.<br>I wonder didna turn thy stomach.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But Tam ken'd what was what fu' brawlie;<br>There was ae winsom wench and walie,<br>That night enlisted in the core<br>(Lang after ken'd on Carrick shore.<br>For mony a beast to dead she shot,<br>And perish'd mony a bonie boat,<br>And shook baith meikle corn and bear<br>And kept the country-side in fear);<br>Her cutty sark o' Paisley harn,<br>That while a lassie she had worn,<br>In longitude tho' sorely scanty,<br>It was her best, and she was vauntie.<br>Ah! little ken'd thy reverend grannie,<br>That sark she coft for her wee Nannie,<br>Wi' twa pund Scots ('twas a' her riches),<br>Wad ever grac'd a dance of witches!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But here my Muse her wing maun cow'r,<br>Sic flights are far beyond her pow'r;<br>To sing how Nannie lap and flang,<br>(A souple jad she was and strang),<br>And how Tam stood like ane bewitch'd,<br>And thought his very een enrich'd;<br>Even Satan glowr'd and fidg'd fu' fain,<br>And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main:<br>Till first ae caper, syne anither,<br>Tam tint his reason a' thegither,<br>And roars out, &quot;Weel done, Cutty-sark!&quot;<br>And in an instant all was dark:<br>And scarcely had he Maggie rallied,<br>When out the hellish legion sallied.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke,<br>When plundering herds assail their byke;<br>As open pussie's mortal foes,<br>When, pop! she starts before their nose;<br>As eager runs the market-crowd,<br>When &quot;Catch the thief!&quot; resounds aloud;<br>So Maggie runs, the witches follow,<br>Wi' mony an eldritch skriech and hollo.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah, Tam! ah, Tam! thou'll get thy fairin!<br>In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin!<br>In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin!<br>Kate soon will be a woefu' woman!<br>Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg,<br>And win the key-stane of the brig:<br>There at them thou thy tail may toss,<br>A running stream they dare na cross.<br>But ere the key-stane she could make,<br>The fient a tail she had to shake!<br>For Nannie far before the rest,<br>Hard upon noble Maggie prest,<br>And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle;<br>But little wist she Maggie's mettle-<br>Ae spring brought aff her master hale<br>But left behind her ain grey tail:<br>The carlin claught her by the rump,<br>And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read,<br>Ilk man and mother's son, take heed,<br>Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd,<br>Or cutty-sarks run in your mind,<br>Think, ye may buy the joys o'er dear,<br>Remember Tam o' Shanter's mear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Robert+Burns">Robert Burns</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=506509" data-title="Tam O'Shanter de Robert Burns" data-description="When chapman billies leave the street,
And drouthy neebors neebors meet,
As market-days are wearing late,
And folk begin to tak the gate;
While we sit bousin, at the nappy,
And gettin fou and unco happy,
We think na on the lang Scots miles,
The mo..."></div>
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