Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ELEGY ON JOHN HOGG, LATE PORTER TO THE UNIVERSITY OF ST ANDREWS, by ROBERT FERGUSSON


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ELEGY ON JOHN HOGG, LATE PORTER TO THE UNIVERSITY OF ST ANDREWS, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Death, what's ado? The deil be licket
Last Line: Baith ear' and late.
Alternate Author Name(s): Ferguson, Robert
Subject(s): Death; Praise; Dead, The


Death, what's a do? The deil be licket,
Or wi your stang, you ne'er had pricket,
Or our auld Alma Mater tricket
O' poor John Hogg,
And trail'd him ben thro' your mirk wicket
As dead's a log.

Now ilka glaikit scholar loun
May dander wae wi duddy goun;
Kate Kennedy to dowy crune
May mourn and clink,
And steeples o' St Andrew's toun
To yird may sink.

Sin Pauly Tam wi canker'd snout
First held the students in about,
To wear their claes as black as soot
They ne'er had reason,
Till death John's haffit gae a clout,
Sae out o' season.

Whan regents met at common schools,
He taught auld Tam to hail the dools,
And eident to rowe right the bools,
And eident to rowe right the bools
Like ony emmack;
He kept us a' within the rules
Strict academic.

Heh! wha will tell the students now
To meet the Pauly cheek for chow,
Whan he, like frightsome wirrikow,
Had wont to rail,
And set our stamacks in a lowe,
Or we turn'd tail.

Ah, Johnny! aften did I grumble
Frae cozy bed fu ear' to tumble;
Whan art and part I'd been in some ill,
Troth I was sweer,
His words they brodit like a wumill
Frae ear to ear.

Whan I had been fu laith to rise,
John than begude to moralize:
"The tither nap, the sluggard cries,
And turns him round;
Sae spake auld Solomon the wise,
Divine profound!"

Nae dominie, or wise Mess John,
Was better lear'd in Solomon;
He cited proverbs one by one,
Ilk vice to tame;
He gar'd ilk sinner sigh an' groan,
And fear hell's flame.

"I hae nae meikle skill," quo he,
"In what you ca philosophy;
It tells that baith the earth and sea
Rin round about;
Either the Bible tells a lee,
Or you're a' out.

"It's i' the Psalms o' David writ,
That this wide warld ne'er should flit,
But on the waters coshly sit
Fu steeve and lasting;
An' was na he a head o' wit
At sic contesting!"

On e'enings cauld wi glee we'd trudge
To heat our shins in Johnny's lodge;
The deil ane thought his bum to budge
Wi siller on us:
To claw het pints we'd never grudge
O' molationis.

Say ye, red gowns! that aften here
Hae toasted bakes to Katie's beer,
Gin ere thir days hae had their peer,
Sae blyth, sae daft;
You'll ne'er again in life's career
Sit ha'f sae saft.

Wi haffit locks, sae smooth and sleek,
John look'd like ony ancient Greek;
He was a Nazarene a' the week,
And doughtna tell out
A bawbee Scots to straik his cheek
Tell Sunday fell out.

For John ay loo'd to turn the pence,
Thought poortith was a great offence:
"What recks tho' ye ken mood and tense?
A hungry weym
For gowd wad wi them baith dispense
At ony time.

"Ye ken what ails maun ay befall
The chiel that will be prodigal;
Whan wasted to the very spaul
He turns his tusk,
For want o' comfort to his saul
O' hungry husk."

Ye royit louns! Just do as he'd do;
For mony braw green shaw and meadow
He's left to cheer his dowy widow,
His winsome Kate,
That to him prov'd a canny she-doo,
Baith ear' and late.





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