Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, A DRINK ECLOGUE: LANDLADY, BRANDY AND WHISKY, by ROBERT FERGUSSON


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

A DRINK ECLOGUE: LANDLADY, BRANDY AND WHISKY, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: On auld worm-eaten skelf, in cellar dunk
Last Line: Fley'd to be seen amang the tassel'd train.
Alternate Author Name(s): Ferguson, Robert
Subject(s): Alcoholism & Alcoholics; Conversation; Quarrels; Drunkards; Alcohol Abuse; Arguments; Disagreements


On auld worm-eaten skelf, in cellar dunk,
Whare hearty benders syn'd their drouthy trunk,
Twa chappin bottles, pang'd wi liquor fu,
Brandy the tane, the tither Whisky blue,
Grew canker'd; for the twa war het within,
An' het-skinned fock to flyting soon begin.
The Frenchman fizz'd, and first wad foot the field,
While paughty Scotsman scorn'd to beenge or yield.

BRANDY
Black be your fa! ye cottar loun mislear'd,
Blawn by the porters, chairmen, city-guard;
Hae ye nae breeding, that you shaw your nose
Anent my sweetly gusted cordial dose?
I've been near pauky courts, and aften there
Hae ca'd hystericks frae the dowy fair;
And courtiers aft gaed griening for my smack,
To gar them bauldly glowr, and gashly crack;
The priest, to bang mishaunters black, and cares,
Has sought me in his closet for his prayers.
What tig then takes the fates, that they can thole,
Thrawart to fix me in this weary hole,
Sair fash'd wi din, wi darkness, and wi stinks,
Whare cheery day-light thro' the mirk ne'er blinks?

WHISKY
But ye maun be content, and maunna rue,
Tho' erst ye've bizz'd in bonny madam's mou;
Wi thoughts like thae your heart may sairly dunt;
The warld's now chang'd, it's no like use and wont;
For here, wae's me! there's nouther lord nor laird
Come to get heart-scad frae their stamack skair'd;
Nae mair your courtier louns will shaw their face,
For they glowr eery at a friend's disgrace;
But heeze your heart up -- whan at court you hear
The patriot's thrapple wat wi reaming beer;
Whan chairman, weary wi his daily gain,
Can syn' his whistle wi the clear champaign;
Be hopefu, for the time will soon rowe round,
Whan you'll nae langer dwall beneath the ground.

BRANDY
Wanwordy gowk! did I sae aften shine
Wi gowden glister thro' the crystal fine,
To thole your taunts, that seenil hae been seen
Awa frae luggie, quegh, or truncher treen;
Gif honour wad but lat, a challenge should
Twin ye o' Highland tongue and Highland blude;
Wi cairds like thee I scorn to fyle my thoum,
For gentle spirits gentle breeding doom.

WHISKY
Truly I think it right you get your amis,
Your high heart humbled amang common drams:
Braw days for you, whan fools newfangle fain,
Like ither countries better than their ain,
For there ye never saw sic chancy days,
Sic balls, assemblies, operas, or plays:
Hame-owr lang syne you hae been blyth to pack
Your a' upon a sarkless soldier's back;
For you thir lads, as weel-lear'd trav'lers tell,
Had sell'd their sarks, gin sarks they'd had to sell.
But worth gets poortith an' black burning shame,
To draunt and drivel out a life at hame.
Alake! the byword's owr weel kend throughoot,
"Prophets at hame are held in nae repute";
Sae fair'st wi me, tho' I can heat the skin,
And set the saul upon a merry pin,
Yet I am hameil, there's the sour mischance!
I'm no frae Turkey, Italy, or France;
For now our gentles' gabs are grown sae nice,
At thee they toot, an' never spier my price:
Witness -- for thee they hight their tenants' rent,
And fill their lands wi poortith, discontent;
Gar them owr seas for cheaper mailins hunt,
An' leave their ain as bare's the Cairn-o'-mount.

BRANDY
Tho' lairds take toothfu's o' my warming sap,
This dwynes nor tenants' gear, nor cows their crap:
For love to you, there's mony a tenant gaes
Bare-ars'd and barefoot owr the Highland braes;
For you nae mair the thrifty gudewife sees
Her lasses kirn, or birze the dainty cheese;
Crummie nae mair for Jenny's hand will crune
Wi milkness dreeping frae her teats adoun;
For you owr ear' the ox his fate partakes,
And fa's a victim to the bludey aix.

WHISKY
Wha is't that gars the greedy bankers prieve
The maiden's tocher, but the maiden's leave?
By you when spulzied o' her charming pose
She tholes in turn the taunt o' cauldrife joes;
Wi skelps like this fock sit but seenil down
To wether-gammond or how-towdy brown;
Sair dung wi dule, and fley'd for coming debt,
They gar their mou-bits wi their incomes mett,
Content eneugh gif they hae wherewithal
Scrimply to tack their body and their saul.

BRANDY
Frae some poor poet, owr as poor a pot,
Ye've lear'd to crack sae crouse, ye haveril Scot!
Or burgher politician, that embrues
His tongue in thee, and reads the claiking news;
But wae's heart for you! that for ay maun dwell
In poet's garret, or in chairman's cell,
While I shall yet on bien-clad tables stand,
Bowden wi a' the daintiths o' the land.

WHISKY
Troth I hae been ere now the poet's flame,
And heez'd his sangs to mony blythsome theme.
Wha was't gar'd Allie's chaunter chirm fu clear,
Life to the saul, and music to the ear?
Nae stream but kens, and can repeat the lay
To shepherds streekit on the simmer brae,
Wha to their whistle wi the lav'rock bang,
To wauken flocks the rural fields amang.

BRANDY
But here's the browster wife, and she can tell
Wha's win the day, and wha should wear the bell:
Hae done your din, an' lat her judgment join
In final verdict 'twixt your pley and mine.

LANDLADY
In days o' yore I could my living prize,
Nor faush'd wi dolefu gaugers or excise;
But now-a-days we're blyth to lear the thrift,
Our heads 'boon licence and excise to lift:
Inlakes o' brandy we can soon supply
By whisky tinctur'd wi the saffron's dye.
Will you your breeding threep, ye mongrel loun!
Frae hame-bred liquor dy'd to colour broun?
So flunky braw, whan drest in master's claes,
Struts to Auld Reikie's cross on sunny days,
Till some auld comrade, ablins out o' place,
Near the vain upstart shaws his meagre face;
Bumbaz'd he loups frae sight, and jooks his ken,
Fley'd to be seen amang the tassel'd train.





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