Ancient history of three bonnets

BARD. WHEN men of mettle thought it nonence, To heed that cleping thing ca'd concience And by free-thinking had the knack, Of jeering ilka work it pake: And as a learned author peaks, Imploy'd it like a pair of breaks, To hide their lewd and naty luices, Whilk eith lipt down for baith thee ues. Then Duniwhitle, worn with years, And gawn the gate of his forbears, Commanded his three ons to come, And wait upon him in his room: Bade Britle teek the door: and yne, He thus began Duniwhile.Dear bairns of mine, I quickly maun ubmit to fate, And leave you three a good etate, Which has been honourably won, And handed down frae ire to on, But clag or claim for ages pat: Now that mayna prove the lat, Here's three permiion Bonnets for ye, Which our Great Gutchers wore before ye, And if ye'd hae na man betray ye, Let naething ever wile them frae ye; But keep the Bonnets on your heads, And hands frae igning foolih deed, And ye hall never want uch things, Shall gar ye be made of by kings: But, if ye ever with them part Fou fair ye'll for your folly mart: Bare-headed then ye'll look like nools, And dwindle down to illy tools Haud up your hands now wear and ay, As ye hall anwer on a day— Ye'll faithfully oberve my will, And a' its premies fulfill. Britle. My worthy father, I hall trive, To keep your name and fame alive, And never haw a aul that's datard, To gar fouk take me for a batard: If e'er by me ye're diobey'd, May witches nightly on me ride. Joukum. Whae'er hall dare by force or guile, This Bonnet aff my head to wile, For ic a bauld attempt hall rue, And ken I was begot by you Ele, may I like a gypie wander, Or my daily bread turn pander. Bawy. May I be jyb'd by great and ma', And kytch'd like ony tennis ba', Be the digrace of a' my kin. If e'er I with my bonnet twin. Bard Now oon as each had gi'n his aith, The auld man yielded up his breath, Was row'd in linen white as naw, And to his fathers borne awa'. But carcely he in mos was rotten, Before his tet'ment was forgotten, As ye hall hear frae future onnet, How Joukum inder'd wi' his Bonnet, And bought frae eneles Billy Bawy, His to propine a giglet lay, While worthy Britle, not ae doner'd, Preerves his Bonnet, and is honour'd, Thus Caractus did behave, Tho' by the fate of war a lave; His body only,—for his mind, No Roman power could break or bind. With Bonnet on he bauldly pake, His greatnes gart his fetters crack. The victor did his friendhip claim, And ent him with new glories hame. But leave we Briis and imile, And to our tale with ardour flee. Beyond the hills where lang the billies, Hid bred up queys and kids and fillies, And foughten many a blody battle, With theives that came to lift their cattle: There liv'd a las kept rary-hows, And fidlers ay about her houe, Wha at her table fed and ranted, With the tout ale he never wanted. She was a winome wench and waly, And could put on her claiths fu' brawly, Rumble to ilka market-town, And drink and fight like a dragoon: Jut ic like her wha far aff wander'd, To get herelf weel Alexander'd. Roie had a word of meikle iller, Whilk brought a hantle o' wooers till her. Amang the ret young mater Jouk, She conquer'd ae day wi' a look: Frae that time forth he ne'er could tay, At hame to mind his corn or hay, But grew a beau, and did adron Himelf with fifty bows of corn, Forby what he took on, to rigg Him out with linen, hoon and wig, Snuff-boxes, word-knots, canes and wahes, And weeties to betow on laes, Cou'd newet aiths genteely wear, And had a coure of flaws perquire: He drank and danc'd, and igh'd to move, Fair Roie to accept his love After dumb igns he thus began, And pake his mind to'er like a man. Joukum. O take me Roie to your arms, And let me revel o'er your charms; If ye ay na, I needna care, For apes or tethers made of hair, Pen knives or pools I minna need, That minute ye ay na, I'm dead, O let me lie within your breat: Add at your dainty tazle feat: Well do I like your goud to finger, And it to her your t—s Singer. While on thus un ide o' the brae, Belongs to you, my limbs I'll lay Roie. I own, weet Sir, ye woo me frankly, But a' your courthip ars ae rankly, Of selfih interet, that I'm flead, My peron leat employs your head. Joukum What a ditinction's this your making When your poor lover's heart is breaking; With little logic I can thew, That every thing you have is you: Beides the beauties of your peron, Thee beds of flowers you et your a—e on, Your claiths, your lands, and lying pelf, Are every ane your very self, And add freh luture to thee graces, With which adorn'd your aul and face is. Roie. Ye eem to have a loving flame For me, and hate your native hame; That gars me ergh to trut you meikle, For fear you hou'd prove fale and fickle. Joukum. I troth my rugged billy Britle, About his gentrie makes ic fitle, That if a body contradict him He's ready with a durk to tick him; That wearies me of hame I vow, And fain would live and die with you. Bard Observing Jouk a wee tate tipy, Smirking reply'd the pauky gipy. Roie. I wad be very wae to ee, My lover tak the pet and die; Wherefore I am inclin'd to eae ye, And do what in me lies to pleae ye: But firt ere we conclude the paction, You mut perform ome gallant action, To prove the truth of what you've aid, Ele, for you, hall die a maid Joukum. My dearet jewel gie't a name, That I may win both you and fame: Shall I gae fight with foret bulls, Or cleave down troops with thicker kulls. Or hall I douk the deepet ea. And coral pou for beads to thee? Penty the Pope upon the noe, Or p—- upon a hundred beaus? Roie. In troth, dear lad, I wad be laith, To rik your life, or do you kaith, Only employ your canny skill, To gain and rive your father's will, With the conent of Bris and Bawy, And I hall in my boom hawe ye, Soon as the fatal Bonnets three, Are ta'en frae them and gien to me. Joukum. Which to preerve I gied my aith But now the caue is life and death, I mut, or with the Bonnet part, Or twin with yon and break my heart: Sae, tho' the aith we took waa awfu', To keep it now appears unlawfu, Then, love, I'll anwer thy demands, And fly to fetch them to your hands. Bard. The famous jilt of Paletine Thus drew the hooks o'er Samon's een, And gart him tell where lay his trength, Of which he twin'd him at the length, Then gied him up in chains to rave, And labour like a galey lave: But Roie, mind, when growing hair, His los of pith 'gan to repair, He made of thouands an example, By cruhing them beneath their temple.

Bard. THe upper owin cogs and bannocks Stood cooling on the ole o' winnocks And, cracking at the wetlin gavels, The wives at beeking of their navels, When Jouk his brither Britle found, Fetching his ev'ning wauk around A core of ploughmen of his ain, Who blythly whitled on the plain. Jouk three times congee'd, Britle anes, Then hook hand, and thus begins. Britle. Wow, brither Jouk, where hae ye been? I carce can trow my looking een, Ye're grown ae braw: now weird's defend me Gin that I had nae mait mikend ye, And where gat ye that braw blue tringing, That's at your houghs and hon'ders hinging? Ye look as pruh as one that's wooing, I ferly, lad, what ye've been doing. Joukum. My very much repect brither, Should we hide ought frae ane anither, And not, when warm'd with the ame blood Conult ilk ane anither's good; And be it kend ty'e, my deign, Will profit prove to me and mine. Britle. And brother, troth it much commends Your virtue, thus to love your friends, I makes me blyth, for aft I aid, Ye were a clever mettl'd lad. Joukum And ae I hope will ever prove If ye befriend me in my love: For Roie, bonny, rich and gay, And weet as flowers in June or May, Her gear I'll get, her weets I'll rifle, If ye'll but yield me up a trifle, Promie to do't, and ye'e be free, With ony thing pertains to me. Brile. I lang to anwer your demand, And never hall for trifles tand. Joukum. Then he deires as a propine, Thee Bonnets, Bawy's, yours and mine; And well I wat that's nae great matter, If I ae eaily can get her, Britle Ha, ha! ye Judas, are ye there? Tae D—then nor he neer get mair. Is that the trifle that ye poke of? Wha think ye, ir, ye mak a mock of? Ye illy manworn cant of grace; Swith let me never ee your face. Seek my auld Bonnet aff my head! Faith that's a bonny ane indeed! Require a thing I'll part with never; She's get as oon a lap o' my liver, Vile whore and jade, the woody hang her. Bard. Thus aid, he aid, nae mair for anger, But curs'd and ban'd, and was nae far, Frae trading Jouk amang the glar. While Jouk with language glib as oolie, Right pawkily kept aff a toolie, Well maked with a wedder's kin, Although he wis a tod within. He hum'd and ha'd, and with a cant, Held forth, as he had been a aint, And quoted texts to prove we'd better, Part with a ma' for a greater. Joukum. Ah! brither, may the furies rack me If I mean'd ill, but ye mitak me; But gin your Bonnet's ic a jewel, Pray gie't or keep it, fir, as you will, Since your auld fahion'd fancy rather, Inclines till't than a hat and feather; But I'll go try my brither Bawy, Poor man, he's nae ae daft and faucy. 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 make the bargain up without ye; Syne your braw Bonnet and your noddle Will hardly baith be worth a bodle. Bard. At this bauld Britle's colour chang'd, He wore on Roe to be reveng'd, For he began now to be flied, She'd wile the honours frae his head, Syne with a tern and canker'd look, He thus reprov'd his brother Jouk. Britle. Thou vile digrace of our forbears, Wha lang with valiant dint of weirs, Maintain'd their right 'gaint a' intruions Of our auld faes the Roycrucians, Dot thou deign a lat to catch Us in a girn with this bae match, And for the hauding up thy pride, Upon thy brither's riggins ride: I'll ee you hang'd, and her the gither, As high as Haman in a tether, Ere I with my ain Bonnet quat, For any barrow'd beaver hat, Whilk I, as Roie takes the fikees, Maun wear or no jut as he likes: Then let me hear nae mair about her, For if ye dare again to mutter, Sic vile propoal in my hearing, Ye need nae trut to my forbearing; For oon my beard will tak a low. And I hall crack your crazy pow. Bard. This aid, brave Bristle aid nae mair, But cock'd his Bonnet with an air, Wheel'd round with gloomy brows & muddy, And left his brither in a tuddy.

Bard. NOw Sol wi' his lang whip gae cracks Upon his neighering cooers backs, To gar them tak th' Olympian Brae, Wi' a cart lade of bleezing day; The country hind ceaes to nore, Bangs fred his bed, unlocks the door, His bladder tooms, and gies a rift, Then tentily urveys the lift, And, weary of his wife and flaes, To their imbrace prefers his elaes. Scarce had the lark forook her net, When Jouk, wha had got little ret, For thinking on his plot and laie, Got up to gang and deal wi' Bawie: Away fat o'er the bent he gade, And fand him dozing on bis bed, His blankets creihy, foul his ark, His curtains trim'd with pider's wark; Soot draps hang frae his roof and kipples, His floor was o' tobacco pittles: Set on the antlers of a deer, Hang mony an auld claymore and pear, With coat of iron and target truty, Inch thick of dirt and unco ruty: Enough appear'd to how his Billy, That he was lazy, poor and illy, And wadna mak o great butle, About his Bonnet as did Britle. Jouk three times rugged at his houlder, At langrun, Bawy rak'd his een, And cries, What's that? What do you mean? Then looking up he ees his brither, Bawy. Good-morrow Jouk, what brings you hither? Your'e early up, as I'm a inner I eenly rie before my dinner: Well, what's ye'r news, and how gaes a' Ye've been an ucno time awa'. Joukum. Bawfy, I m blyth to ee you weel, For me, thank God, I keep me heal: Get up, get up, ye lazy mart, I have a ecret to impart, Of which, when I give you an inkling, It will et bait your lugs a tinkling. Bard Straight Bawy ries, quickly dresses, While hate his youky mind imprees: Now rigg'd. and morning drink brought in, Thus did lee-gabbet Jouk begin. Joukum My worthy brither, well I wate O er feckles is your wee etate, For ic a meikle aul as yours, That to things greater higher towers; But ye ly loitering here at hame, Neglectfu' baith of wealth and aame, Tho', as I aid, ye have a mind, That is for higher things deign'd. Bawy. That very true, thanks to the kies But how to get them there it lies. Joukum. I'll tell ye Baws,—I've laid a plot That only want your cating vote, And if ye'll gie't your bread is baken; But firt accept of this love-taken; Here tak this gowd and never want, Enough to gar you drink and rant; And this is but an arle penny, To what I afterward deign ye; And in return I'm ure that I, Shall naithing eek that ye'll deny. Bawy. And troth now Jouk, and neither will I Or after never ca' me Billy; If I refue, wae light upon me, This gowd, O vow! 'tis wonder bonny. Joukum. Ay, that it is—'tis e'n the a' That gars the plough of living draw. 'Tis Gowd gars ogers feight the fiercer, Without it preaching wad be carcer; 'Tis gowd that makes the great men witty, And puggy laes fair and pretty; Without it ladies nice wad dwindle, Down to a wife that noves a pindle. But to the point, and wave Digreion, I make a free and plain confeion, That I'm in love, and as I aid, Demand from you a little aid, To gain a bride that eithly can, Make me fou blet and you a man: Give me your Bonnet to preent My mitres with, and your conent, To rive the Daft and fahion'd deed, That bids ye wear it on you head. Bawy. O goh! O goh! then Jouk have at her, If that be a' 'tis nae great matter. Joukum. Thee granted he demands naemair To let us in her riches hair; Nor hall our herds as heretofore, Rin aff with ane anither's tore, Nor ding out ane anither's harns, When they forgather 'mang the kairns; But freely may drive up and down, And ell in ilka market down, Belongs to her,—which oon you ll ee, If ye'll be wie, belang to me: And when that happy day hall come, My honet Bawy, there's my thumb, That while I breathe I ll ne er beguile ye, Ye'e baith get gowd, and be a Bailey. Bawy. Faith Jouk, I ee but little kaith In breakin of a eneles aith, That is impos'd by doited dads, (To pleae their whims) on thoughtles lads My Bonnet! welcome to my Bonnet! And meikle good may ye mak on it, Our Father's Will I'e make nae din, Tho' Roie hould apply't behin; But ay, does Billy Britle ken, This your deign to mak us men? Joukum. Ay, that he does, but the tiff as! Bears a heart-hatred to the las, And rattles out a hantle tories, O blood and dirt and ancient glories, Meaning foul feuds that us'd to be, Between ours and her family; Bans like a blockhead that he'll ne'er, Twin with his Bonnet for a her Gear; But you and I conjoin'd can ding him, And, by a vote, to reaon bring him; he tand cloe, 'tis unco eith, To rive the tet ment pite o's teeth, And gar him ply, for a' his clavers, To lift his Bonnet to our Beavers. Bawy Then let the doof delight in drudging What caufe have we to ten his grudging; Tho Roy's fed on the fell, If you and I be well ourells Bard Thus Jouk and Bawy were agreed, And Bris man yield, it was decreed. Thus far I've ung in Highland trains, Of Jouk's armour and pawky pains, To gain his end with ilka brither, Sae oppoite to ane anither; Of Britle's hardy reolution, And hatred to the Roycrucians; Of Bawy, put in lavery neck-fat. Selling his Bonnet for a breakfast, What follows on't, of gain or kaith, I'll tell when we hae ta'en our breath.

Bard NOW oon as e'er the Will was torn, Jouk with twa Bonnets on the morn, Frae Fairyland fat bang'd away, The prize at Roy's feet to lay; Wha leely when he did appear, About his ucces 'gan to pear. Joukum. Here bonny las, your humble lave Presents you with the things you crave, The riven Will and Bonnets twa, Which makes the third worth nought ava Our power gi'en up, now I demand, Your promis'd love, and eke your hand. Bard. Roie mil'd to ee the lad outwitted And Bonnet's to the flames committed, Immediately an awfu ound, As ane wad thought, rie frae the ground And yne appear'd a talwart Ghait, Whae tern and angry looks amait Unhool'd their auls.—haking they aw, Him frae the fire the Bonnets draw; Then came to Jouk, and with twa drugs, Encreas'd the length of baith his lugs, And aid— Ghaist.—Be a' thy days an as, And kackney to this cunning las: But for thee Bonnets I'll preerve them, For bairns unborn that will deerve them. Bard. With that he vanih'd frae their een And left poor Jouk wi' breeks not clean. He hakes, while Roie rants and capers, And ca's the viion nought but vapours: Rubs o'er his cheeks and gab wi' ream, Till he believes't to be a dream: Syne to the cloet leads the way, To oup him up with uquebae. Roie. Now, bonny lad, ye may be free, To handle ought pertains to me; And ere the un, though he be dry, Has driven down the wetlin ky, To drink his wamefu' of the ea, There's be but ane of you and me. In marriage ye hall hae my hand; But I maun hae the ole command, In Fairyland to aw and plant, And to end there for ought I want. Bard. Ay, ay, cries Jouk, all in a fire, And tiff'ning into trong deire Joukum. Come hate thee, let us ign and eal And let my billies gae to the diel. Bard Here it wad make o'er lang a tale, To tell how meikle cakes and ale, And beef and broe, and gryce and geee, And pies a' running o'er wi creeh, Was erv'd upon the wedding-table, To mak the lads and laes able, To do, ye ken, what we think hame, (Tho' ilka ane does't) to gie't a name. But true it is, they oon were buckl'd, And oon he made poor Jouk a cuckold, And play'd her bawdy ports before him With cheils that car'd not tippence for him, Beides a Roycrucian trick, She had a dealing with Auld Nick; And, whene'er Jouk began to grumble, Auld Nick in the neit room wad rumble. She drank, and fought, and pent her gear, With dice, and elling o' the mare. Thus living like a Pelzi's get, She ran her ell ae deep in debt, By borrowing money at a' hands, That yearly income of her lands, Scarce paid the int'ret of her bands. Jouk, ay ca'd wife behind the hand, The daffing of his doings fand; O'er late he now began to ee, The ruin of his family: But pat relief laird in a midden. He's now oblig'd to do her bidden. Away with trict command he's ent, To Fairyland to lift the rent. And with him many a Caterpillar, To rug frae Bris and Bawy iller; For her braid table mann be erv'd. Tho Fairy-fowk houd a' be tarv'd. Jouk, thus urrounded with his guards, Now plunders hay tacks, barns, and yards They drive the nowt frae Britle's fauld, While he can nought but ban and cald. Britle Vile lave to a huey ill begotten By many dads, with claps haf rotten, Wert na for honour of my mither, I hou'd na think ye were my brither. Jouk Dear brither, why this rude reflection? Learn to be greatfu' for protection; The Petereueans, bloody beats, That gar fouk lik the dowps of priets, Ele on a brander, like a haddock, Be broolied, prowing like a paddock, Thee monters, lang or now had come With faggots, taz, and tuck o' drum, And twin'd you of your wealth and lives Syne, without peerin,———your wives, Had not the Roycrucian tood, The bulwark of your rights and blood; And yet forooth ye girn and grumble, And with a gab unthanfu' mumble But many a black nnworthy cure, When Roie bids ye draw your pure; When he's ae gen'rouly content, With not aboon thirty per cert. Britle Damn you and her tho' now I m blae I'm hopefu yet to ee the day, I'll gar ye baith repent that e'er, Ye reav'd by force away my gear, Without, or thanks, or making price, Or ever peering my advice. Joukum. Peace gouk, we naething do at a', But by the letter of the law: Then nae mair with your din' torment us, Gowling like ane non compos mentis, Ele Roie iue may a writ, To tye ye up baith hand and fit, And dungeon ye but meat or drink Til ye be tarv'd, and die in tink Bard Thus Jouk and Britle when they met With ic braw language ither treat. Jut fury glows in Britle's veins; And tho' his Bonnet he retains, Yet on his cret he may not cock it, But in a coffer cloe maun lock it. Bare headed, thus he e'en knocks under, And lets them drive away the plunder, Sae have I een, beide a tower The king of brues oblig'd to cour; And, on his royal paunches thole, A dwarf to prob him with a pole! While he wad haw his fangs and rage, With bootles brangling in his cage. Now follows that we take a peep, Of Bawy looking like a heep, By Britle hated and dipis'd, By Jouk and Roie as little pris'd. Soon as the hore had heard his brither Joukum and Roe were prick'd the gither Away they cour o'er hight and how, For fidging fain what'eer he dow, Counting what things he now did miter That wad be gi'en him by his iter, Like hallow bards wha think they fiee, Becaue they live ax tories high, To ome poor lifeles lucubration, Perfixes fleeching dedication, And blythly dream they'll be retor'd. To ale-houe credit by my lord. Thus Bawy's mind in plenty row'd, While he thought on his promis'd gowd, And baileyhip, which he with fines, Wad mak like the Wet-India mines, Arrives, with future greatnes dizzy, Ca's. Where's Met Jouk? Beef.—Met Jouk is biy. Bawy. My Lady Roie, is he at leiure Beef. No, Sir, my Lady's at her pleaure Bawy. I wait for her, or him, go hew Beef. And pray ye, Mater, wha are you Bawy. Upo' my aul this porter's awy Sirrah, go tell my name is Bawy, Their brither who made up the marriage Beef and o I thought it by your carriage. Between your houghs gae clap your gelding, Swith hame and feat upon a pelding, For there's nae rom beneath this roof, To entertain a imple coof, The like of you, that nain can trut, Wha to your aih have been unjut. Bard. This aid, he dadded to the yate, And left poor Bawy in a fret, Wha loud growl'd, and made a din, That was o'erheard by a' within. Quoth Roe to Jouk, Come let's away, And ee what's yon makes a' this fray, Away they went, and aw the creature, Sair runkling ilka illy feature, Of his dull phiz with guns and glooms, Stamping and biting at his thumbs. They tented him a little while, Then came full on him with a mile, Which oon gart him forget the torture, Was rai'd within him by the porter. Sae will a ucking weanie yell, But hake a rattle or a bell, It hauds its tongue—- Let that alane, It to its yamering fa's again: Lilt up a ang, and traight its een, To laugh with tears into its een. Thus eithly anger'd, eithly pleas'd, Weak Bawy lang they tantaliez'd, With promies right wide extended, The ne'er perform'd ,nor ne'er intended: But now and then when they did need him A upper and a pint they gied him, That done, they hae nae mair to ay, And carcely ken him the neit day. Poor fallow, now this mony a year, With ome faint hope, and routh of fear, He had been wretling with his fate, A drudge to Joukum and his mate; While Britle aves his manly look, Regardles baith of Roe and Jouk; Maintains right queitly 'yond the cairns, His honour, concience, wife and bairns, Jouk and his rumelgary wife, Drive on a drunken gaming life, 'Caue ober they can get no ret, For Nick and Duniwhitle's ghait, Wha in the garrets often tooly, And hore them with a bloody gully. Thus have I ung in hamlet rhyme, A ang that corns the teeth of time, Yet modetly I hide my name, Admiring virtue mair than fame. But tent ye wha depie intruction, And give my wark a wrong contruction, Frae 'hind my curtain, mind I tell ye, I'll hoot a atire thro' your belly; But wha with havins jees his Bonnet, And ays, thanks ty'e for your Sonnet, Ye hanna want the praies due, To generoity. Adieu.