Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, JOCK WABSTER'S AULD COAT, by J. E. WATT


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

JOCK WABSTER'S AULD COAT, by                    
First Line: An auld gaberlunzie, jock wabster by name
Last Line: Jist to get a fresh look o' jock wabster's auld coat.
Subject(s): Clothing & Dress


AN auld gaberlunzie, Jock Wabster by name,
Was the life o' oor clachan when he was at hame;
For he daunert aboot wi' his wallets an' bags --
A lump o' guid-humour encircl'd wi' rags;
His breekums were short by amaist a han' breed,
An' the croon o' his hat was sew'd in wi' white thread;
But the ae thing that made him a bodie o' note
Was a hap that he wore ca'd Jock Wabster's Auld Coat.

There were mony disputes 'mang oor billies at e'en
As to what the original hue o't had been --
Gif the ground o't had stood by ae colour? or twa?
Or had e'en been a queer combination o' a'?
It was weel kent that noo its great motely o' dyes
Embodied ilk hue o' the earth an' the skies;
Oh, there wisna anither in Scotland, I wot,
Had a thing in his aucht like Jock Wabster's Auld Coat.

Oor gentry, wha carena to wear their claes dune,
Their fashions may change maist as aft as the mune;
But Jock wi' his coat was mair fickle than they,
For the shape an' the hue o't he'd change ilka day,
While the sleeves wad be blue, the breists red, green, an' black,
A hail rainbow o' hues wad adorn the back;
While a daud o' tann'd claith frae the sail o' a boat
Made sonsy pouch-flaps to Jock Wabster's Auld Coat.

At the cottar's fire-side hoo blythely he'd crack,
As he o' some dainty bit alms wad partak';
An', oh, hoo the auld bodie's genius shone oot
When a trinket he'd get, or a piece gaudy cloot;
He pick'd up a' scraps frae the fields an' the wuds --
The verra craw-bogles he robb'd o' their duds;
E'en rags frae the ause-bings, despite mony a spot,
Were deem'd worthy a place on Jock Wabster's Auld Coat.

Ilk chiel rides the hobby that suits his ain whim,
But Jock's was a hobby that rode upon him,
Till his sides micht as weel hae been girth'd wi' a gird,
An' the wecht o't maist crush'd the auld stock to the yird.
Yet he was contented, an' deem'd his coat braw,
An' kept aye addin' til't, but took naething awa';
Sma' dread had oor sodgers o' shell or o' shot
Were they a' clad in duds like Jock Wabster's Auld Coat.

When the weather was dour, the wind gusty an' snell,
Jock keek'd like a tortoise frae 'neath his huge shell;
An' when he gat hame he aye fell til't amain,
An' clootit, an' clootit, an' clootit again;
Till belyve, as he drew to the end o' his course,
He'd a load on his back micht hae foonder'd a horse;
An' a chiel wad hae needed the strength o' a stot
To hae swelter'd a day in Jock Wabster's Auld Coat.

But, alack! 'neath this load Jock was destined to fa',
An' the Angel o' Death took his spirit awa',
To dwell, let us hope, in a world o' bliss,
In reward for the meekness display'd while in this.
An' the coat beneath whilk the auld bodie had reel'd
Is noo in a museum 'mang relics o' eild;
An' bodies wha kenn'd him whyles pairt wi' a groat,
Jist to get a fresh look o' Jock Wabster's Auld Coat.





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