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lirik lagu frederick worlock - tam o'shanter

when chapman billies leave the street
and drouthy neebors neebors meet
as market~days are wearing late
and folk begin to tak the gate;
while we sit bousin, at the nappy
and gettin fou and unco happy
we think na on the lang scots miles
the mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles
that lie between us and our hame
whare sits our sulky, sullen dame
gathering her brows like gathering storm
nursing her wrath to keep it warm

this truth fand honest tam o’ shanter
as he frae ayr ae night did canter:
(auld ayr, wham ne’er a town surpassеs
for honest men and bonie lassеs.)

o tam! had’st thou but been sae wise
as taen thy ain wife kate’s advice!
she tauld thee weel thou was a skellum
a bletherin, bl~sterin, drunken blellum;
that frae november till october
ae market~day thou was na sober;
that ilka melder wi’ the miller
thou sat as lang as thou had siller;
that ev’ry naig was ca’d a shoe on
the smith and thee gat roarin fou on;
that at the lord’s house, ev’n on sunday
thou drank wi’ kirkton jean till monday
she prophesied, that, late or soon
thou would be found deep drown’d in doon;
ot catch’d wi’ warlocks in the mirk
by alloway’s auld haunted kirk
ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet
to think how mony counsels sweet
how mony lengthen’d sage advices
the husband frae the wife despises!

but to our tale:—ae market night
tam had got planted unco right
fast by an ingle, bleezing finely
wi’ reaming swats that drank divinely;
and at his elbow, souter johnie
his ancient, trusty, drouthy crony:
tam lo’ed him like a vera brither;
they had been fou for weeks thegither
the night drave on wi’ sangs and clatter;
and ay the ale was growing better:
the landlady and tam grew gracious
wi’ secret favours, sweet, and precious:
the souter tauld his queerest stories;
the landlord’s laugh was ready chorus:
the storm without might rair and rustle
tam did na mind the storm a whistle

care, mad to see a man sae happy
e’en drown’d himsel amang the nappy:
as bees flee hame wi’ lades o’ treasure
the minutes wing’d their way wi’ pleasure;
kings may be blest, but tam was glorious
o’er a’ the ills o’ life victorious!
but pleasures are like poppies spread
you seize the flow’r, its bloom is shed;
or like the snow falls in the river
a moment white—then melts forever;
or like the borealis race
that flit ere you can point their place;
or like the rainbow’s lovely form
evanishing amid the storm
nae man can tether time or tide:
the hour approaches tam maun ride,—
that hour, o’ night’s black arch the key~stane
that dreary hour he mounts his beast in;
and sic a night he taks the road in
as ne’er poor sinner was abroad in

the wind blew as ‘twad blawn its last;
the rattling show’rs rose on the blast;
the speedy gleams the darkness swallow’d;
loud, deep, and lang the thunder bellow’d:
that night, a child might understand
the deil had business on his hand

weel mounted on his grey mare, meg,—
a better never lifted leg,—
tam skelpit on thro’ dub and mire
despising wind and rain and fire;
whiles holding fast his guid blue bonnet
whiles crooning o’er some auld scots sonnet
whiles glowrin round wi’ prudent cares
lest bogles catch him unawares
kirk~alloway was drawing nigh
whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry
by this time he was cross the ford
whare in the snaw the chapman smoor’d;
and past the birks and meikle stane
whare drucken charlie brak’s neckbane:
and thro’ the whins, and by the cairn
whare hunters fand the murder’d bairn;
and near the th~rn, aboon the well
whare mungo’s mither hang’d hersel
before him doon pours all his floods;
the doubling storm roars thro’ the woods;
the lightnings flash from pole to pole
near and more near the thunders roll;
when, glimmering thro’ the groaning trees
kirk~alloway seem’d in a bleeze:
thro’ ilka bore the beams were glancing
and loud resounded mirth and dancing

inspiring bold john barleycorn!
what dangers thou can’st make us scorn!
wi’ tippenny we fear nae evil;
wi’ usquebae we’ll face the devil!
the swats sae ream’d in tammie’s noddle
fair play, he car’d na deils a boddle
but maggie stood right sair astonish’d
till, by the heel and hand admonish’d
she ventur’d forward on the light;
and, wow! tam saw an unco sight!

warlocks and witches in a dance;
nae cotillion brent~new frae france
but h~rnpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels
put life and mettle in their heels
a winnock bunker in the east
there sat auld nick in shape o’ beast:
a towzie tyke, black, grim, and large
to gie them music was his charge;
he screw’d the pipes and gart them skirl
till roof and rafters a’ did dirl.—
coffins stood round like open presses
that shaw’d the dead in their last dresses;
and by some devilish cantraip sleight
each in its cauld hand held a light
by which heroic tam was able
to note upon the haly table
a murderer’s banes in gibbet airns;
twa span~lang, wee, unchristen’d bairns;
a thief, new~cutted frae the rape—
wi’ his last gasp his gab did gape;
five tomahawks, wi’ blude red~rusted;
five scimitars, wi’ murder crusted;
a garter, which a babe had strangled;
a knife, a father’s throat had mangled
whom his ain son o’ life bereft—
the grey hairs yet stack to the heft;
wi’ mair o’ horrible and awfu’
which ev’n to name wad be unlawfu’

as tammie glowr’d, amaz’d and curious
the mirth and fun grew fast and furious:
the piper loud and louder blew
the dancers quick and quicker flew;
they reel’d, they set, they cross’d, they cleekit
till ilka carlin swat and reekit
and coost her duddies to the wark
and linket at it in her sark!

now tam, o tam! had thae been queans
a’ plump and strapping in their teens!
their sarks, instead o’ creeshie flannen
been snaw~white seventeen hunder linen!—
thir breeks o’ mine, my only pair
that ance were plush, o’ gude blue hair
i wad hae gien them aff y hurdies
for ae blink o’ the bonie burdies!

but wither’d beldams, auld and droll
rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal
lowping and flinging on a crummock
i wonder didna turn thy stomach

but tam ken’d what was what fu’ brawlie;
there was ae winsom wench and walie
that night enlisted in the core
(lang after ken’d on carrick shore
for mony a beast to dead she shot
and perish’d mony a bonie boat
and shook baith meikle corn and bear
and kept the country~side in fear);
her cutty sark o’ paisley harn
that while a lassie she had worn
in longitude tho’ sorely scanty
it was her best, and she was vauntie
ah! little ken’d thy reverend grannie
that sark she coft for her wee nannie
wi’ twa pund scots (’twas a’ her riches)
wad ever grac’d a dance of witches!

but here my muse her wing maun cow’r
sic flights are far beyond her pow’r;
to sing how nannie lap and flang
(a souple jad she was and strang)
and how tam stood like ane bewitch’d
and thought his very een enrich’d;
even satan glowr’d and fidg’d fu’ fain
and hotch’d and blew wi’ might and main:
till first ae caper, syne anither
tam tint his reason a’ thegither
and roars out, “weel done, cutty~sark!”
and in an instant all was dark:
and scarcely had he maggie rallied
when out the h~llish legion sallied

as bees bizz out wi’ angry fyke
when plundering herds assail their byke;
as open p~ssie’s mortal foes
when, pop! she starts before their nose;
as eager runs the market~crowd
when “catch the thief!” resounds aloud;
so maggie runs, the witches follow
wi’ mony an eldritch skriech and hollo

ah, tam! ah, tam! thou’ll get thy fairin!
in h~ll they’ll roast thee like a herrin!
in vain thy kate awaits thy comin!
kate soon will be a woefu’ woman!
now, do thy speedy utmost, meg
and win the key~stane of the brig:
there at them thou thy tail may toss
a running stream they dare na cross
but ere the key~stane she could make
the fient a tail she had to shake!
for nannie far before the rest
hard upon n0ble maggie prest
and flew at tam wi’ furious ettle;
but little wist she maggie’s mettle—
ae spring brought aff her master hale
but left behind her ain grey tail:
the carlin claught her by the rump
and left poor maggie scarce a stump

now, wha this tale o’ truth shall read
ilk man and mother’s son, take heed
whene’er to drink you are inclin’d
or cutty~sarks run in your mind
think, ye may buy the joys o’er dear
remember tam o’ shanter’s mear

- lirik lagu frederick worlock

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