Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, TO MY AULD BREEKS, by ROBERT FERGUSSON


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

TO MY AULD BREEKS, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Now gae your wa's-tho' anes as gude
Last Line: For philip was, like him, a man.
Alternate Author Name(s): Ferguson, Robert
Subject(s): Money; Old Age


Now gae your wa's -- Tho' anes as gude
As ever happit flesh and blude,
Yet part we maun -- The case sae hard is,
Amang the writers and the bardies,
That lang they'll brook the auld I trou,
Or neibours cry, "Weel brook the new";
Still making tight wi tither steek,
The tither hole, the tither eik,
To bang the birr o' winter's anger,
And had the hurdies out o' langer.

Siclike some weary wight will fill
His kyte wi drogs frae doctor's bill,
Thinking to tack the tither year
To life, and look baith hale an' fier,
Till at the lang-run death dirks in,
To birze his saul ayont his skin.

You needna wag your duds o' clouts,
Nor fa into your dorty pouts,
To think that erst you've hain'd my tail
Frae wind and weet, frae snaw and hail,
And for reward, whan bald and hummil,
Frae garret high to dree a tumble.
For you I car'd, as lang's ye dow'd
Be lin'd wi siller or wi gowd:
Now to befriend, it wad be folly,
Your raggit hide an' pouches holey;
For wha but kens a poet's placks
Get mony weary flaws an' cracks,
And canna thole to hae them tint,
As he sae seenil sees the mint?
Yet round the warld keek and see,
That ithers fare as ill as thee;
For weel we loo the chiel we think
Can get us tick, or gie us drink,
Till o' his purse we've seen the bottom,
Then we despise, and hae forgot him.

Yet gratefu hearts, to make amends,
Will ay be sorry for their friends,
And I for thee -- As mony a time
Wi you I've speel'd the braes o' rime,
Whare for the time the Muse ne'er cares
For siller, or sic guilefu wares,
Wi whilk we drumly grow, and crabbit,
Dour, capernoited, thrawin gabbit,
And brither, sister, friend and fae,
Without remeid of kindred, slay.

You've seen me round the bickers reel
Wi heart as hale as temper'd steel,
And face sae apen, free and blyth,
Nor thought that sorrow there could kyth;
But the neist mament this was lost,
Like gowan in December's frost.

Could Prick-the-louse but be sae handy
To make the breeks and claes to stand ay,
Thro' thick and thin wi you I'd dash on,
Nor mind the folly of the fashion:
But, hegh! the times' vicissitudo
Gars ither breeks decay as you do.
Thae Macaronies, braw and windy,
Maun fail -- Sic transit gloria mundi!

Now speed you to some madam's chaumer,
That but an' ben rings dule an' claumer,
Ask her, in kindness, if she seeks
In hidling ways to wear the breeks?
Safe you may dwall, tho' mould and motty,
Beneath the veil o' under coatie,
For this mair faults nor yours can screen
Frae lover's quickest sense, his een.

Or if some bard, in lucky times,
Should profit meikle by his rhymes,
And pace awa, wi smirky face,
In siller or in gowden lace,
Glowr in his face, like spectre gaunt,
Remind him o' his former want,
To cow his daffin and his pleasure,
And gar him live within the measure.

So Philip, it is said, who would ring
Owr Macedon a just and gude king,
Fearing that power might plume his feather,
And bid him stretch beyond the tether,
Ilk morning to his lug wad ca
A tiny servant o' his ha,
To tell him to improve his span,
For Philip was, like him, a man.





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