Part 2

** A whiskey house.

*** Frolic.

**** Superfluous rags.

First, neist the fire, in auld red rags, Ane sat, weel brac'd wi' mealy bags, And knapsack a' in order; His doxy lay within his arm, Wi' _usquebae_ an' blankets warm, She blinket on her sodger: An' ay he gies the tozie drab The tither skelpan kiss, While she held up her greedy gab Just like an aumous* dish: Ilk smack still, did crack still, Just like a cadger's** whip; Then staggering, an' swaggering, He roar'd this ditty up--

AIR.

_Tune_--Soldier's Joy.

I.

I am a son of Mars, who have been in many wars, And shew my cuts and scars wherever I come; This here was for a wench, and that other in a trench, When welcoming the French at the sound of the drum.

_Lai de daudle, &c._

II.

My prenticeship I past, where my leader breath'd his last, When the bloody die was cast on the heights of Abram; I served out my trade, when the gallant _game_ was play'd, And the Moro low was laid at the sound of the drum.

* A plate for receiving alms.

** A man who travels the country, with his wares on the back of a horse or ass.

III.

I lastly was with Curtis, among the floating batt'ries, And there I left for witness, an arm and a limb; Yet let my country need me, with Elliot to head me, I'll clatter on my stumps at the sound of a drum.

IV.

And now tho' I must beg, with a wooden arm and leg, And many a tatter'd rag hanging over my------, I'm as happy with my wallet, my bottle and my callet*, As when I us'd in scarlet to follow a drum.

V.

What tho' with hoary locks, I must stand the winter shocks, Beneath the woods and rocks oftentimes for a home, When the tother bag I sell, and the tother bottle tell, I could meet a troop of hell at the sound of a drum.

RECITATIVO.

He ended; and the kebars** sheuk Aboon the chorus roar; While frighted rattons backward leuk, An' seek the benmost bore***; A Merry Andrew i' the neuk, He skirl'd out, _encore!_ But up arose the martial chuck, An' laid the loud uproar.

*Wench.

**Rafters.

***Deepest recess.

AIR.

_Tune_--Sodger Laddie.

I.

I once was a maid, tho' I cannot tell when, And still my delight is in proper young men: Some one of a troop of dragoons was my daddie, No wonder I'm fond of a _sodger laddie_.

Sing, _Lal de lal, &c._

II.

The first of my loves was a swaggering blade, To rattle the thundering drum was his trade; His leg was so tight and his cheek was so ruddy, Transported was I with my _sodger laddie._

III.

But the godly old chaplain left him in the lurch, The sword I forsook for the sake of the church; He ventur'd the soul, and I risked the body, 'Twas then I prov'd false to my _sodger laddie._

IV.

Full soon I grew sick of my sanctified sot, The regiment at large for a husband I got; From the gilded spontoon to the fife I was ready, I asked no more but a _sodger laddie._

V.

But the _peace_, it reduc'd me to beg in despair, Till I met my old boy at a _Cunningham_ fair; His rags regimental they flutter'd so gaudy, My heart it rejoic'd at my _sodger laddie._

VI.

And now I have lived--I know not how long, And still I can join in a cup and a song: But whilst with both hands I can hold the glass steady, Here's to thee, my hero, my _sodger laddie._

Sing, _Lal de dal, &c._

RECITATIVO.

Poor Merry Andrew in the neuk Sat guzzling wi' a tinkler hizzie; They mind't na wha the chorus teuk, Between themsels they were sae busy. At length wi' drink and courting dizzy, He stoiter'd up an' made a face; Then turn'd an' laid a smack on Grizzy, Syne tun'd his pipes wi' grave grimace.

AIR.

_Tune_--Auld Sir Simon.

Sir Wisdom's a fool when he's fou, Sir Knave is a fool in a session; He's there but a prentice, I trow, But I am a fool by profession. My Grannie she bought me a beuk, An' I held awa to the school; I fear I my talent misteuk, But what will ye hae of a fool. For drink I would venture my neck; A hizzie's the half of my craft; But what could ye other expect Of ane that's avowedly daft. I ance was ty'd up like a stirk, For civilly swearing and quaffing; I ance was abus'd i' the Kirk, For towzing a lass i' my daffin. Poor Andrew that tumbles for sport, Let naebody name wi' a jeer; There's ev'n, I'm tauld, i' the court, A _Tumbler_ ca'd the _Premier_. Observ'd ye yon reverend lad Mak faces to tickle the mob; He rails at our mountebank squad, It's _rivalship_ just i' the job. And now my conclusion I'll tell, For faith I'm confoundedly dry, The chiel that's a fool for himsel, Guid Lord, he's far dafter than I.

POINT VI.

RECITATIVO.

Then neist outspak a raucle carlin*, Wha kent fu' weel to cleek the sterlin'; For mony a pursie she had hooked, An' had in mony a well been douked: Her Love had been a _Highland laddie_, But weary fa' the waefu' woodie**! Wi' sighs and sobs she thus began, To wail her braw _John Highlandman_.

AIR.

_Tune_--O an ye were dead, Gudeman.

I.

A highland lad my love was born, The Lalland laws he held in scorn; But he still was faithfu' to his clan, My gallant, braw _John Highlandman!_

CHORUS.

_Sing hey my braw John Highlandman! Sing ho my brazo John Highlandman! There's not a lad in a' the lan' Was match for my John Highlandman!_

* A sturdy raw-boned dame. ** The gallows.

II.

With his philibeg an' tartan plaid, An' guid claymore down by his side, The ladies' hearts he did trepan, My gallant, braw _John Highlandman._

_Sing, hey, &c._

III.

We ranged a' from Tweed to Spey, An' liv'd like lords an' ladies gay; For a lalland face he feared none, My gallant, braw _John Highlandman._

_Sing, hey, &c._

IV.

They banish'd him beyond the sea, But ere the bud was on the tree, Adown my cheeks the pearls ran, Embracing my _John Highlandman._

_Sing, hey, &c._

V.

But och! they catch'd him at the last, And bound him in a dungeon fast; My curse upon them every one, They've hang'd my braw _John Highlandman._

_Sing, hey, &c._

VI.

And now a widow I must mourn, Departed joys that ne'er return; No comfort but a hearty can, When I think on _John Highlandman._

_Sing, hey, &c._

RECITATIVO.

A pigmy scraper wi' his fiddle, Wha us'd to trystes and fairs to driddle. Her strappen limb an' gausy middle, (He reach'd na higher,) Had hol'd his heartie like a riddle, An' blawn't on fire. W' hand on hainch, an' upward e'e, He croon'd his gamut, _one, two, three,_ Then in an arioso key, The wee Apollo Set off wi' _allegretto_ glee His _giga solo._

AIR.

_Tune_--Whistle owre the lave o't. Let me ryke up to dight that tear, An' go wi' me an' be my dear; An' then your every _care_ and _fear_ May whistle owre the lave o't.

CHORUS.

_I am fidler to my trade, An' at the tunes that e'er I play'd, The sweetest still to wife or maid, Was, whistle owre the lave o't._ At kirns an' weddins we'se be there, An' O sae nicely's we will fare! We'll bowse about till Dadie Care Sing whistle owre the lave o't.

_I am, &c._

Sae merrily's the banes we'll pyke, An' sun oursells about the dyke; An' at our leisure when ye like We'll--whistle owre the lave o't.--

_I am, &c._

But bless me wi' your heav'n o' charms, And while I kittle * hair on thairms, Hunger, cauld, an' a' sic harms May whistle owre the lave o't.

_I am, &c._

RECITATIVO.

Her charms had struck a sturdy _Caird_ **, As weel as poor _Gutscraper_; He taks the fiddler by the beard, An' draws a roosty rapier-- He swoor by a' was swearing worth, To speet him like a pli ver, Unless he would from that time forth Relinquish her for ever:

Wi' ghastly e'e, poor _tweedle-dee_, Upon his hunkers*** bended, An' pray'd for grace wi' ruefu' face, An' so the quarrel ended; But tho' his little heart did grieve, When round the _tinker_ prest her, He feign'd to snirtle in his sleeve, When thus the _Caird_ address'd her

* While I rub a horse-hair bow upon cat-gut.

** Tinker.

***Haunches.

AIR.

_Tune_--Clout the Caudron.

I..

My bonie lass I work in brass, A tinkler is my station; I've travell'd round all Christian ground In this my occupation; I've ta'en the gold, I've been enroll'd In many a noble squadron; But vain they search'd, when off I march'd To go an' clout the caudron.

_I've ta 'en the gold, &c._

II.

Despise that shrimp, that wither'd imp, With a' his noise an' caprin; An' take a share with those that bear The budget an' the apron! An' by that stowp, my faith an' houpe, An' by that dear Kilbaigie*! If e'er ye want, or meet with scant, May I ne'er weet my craigie.

_An' by that stowp, &c._

RECITATIVO.

The Caird prevail'd--th' unblushing fair In his embraces sunk; Partly wi' love o'ercome sa sair, An' partly she was drunk: _Sir Violino_, with an air, That show'd a man o' spunk, Wish'd unison between the pair, An' made the bottle clunk To their health that night.

* A well known kind of whiskey.

But hurchin Cupid shot a shaft, That play'd a dame a shavie-- A sailor rak'd her fore and aft, Behind the chicken cavie. Her lord a wight o' Homer's craft, Tho' limpan wi' the spavie, He hirpl'd up an' lap like daft, An _shor'd_ * them _Dainty Davie_ O'boot that night. He was a care-defying blade, As ever Bacchus listed! Tho' fortune sair upon him laid, His heart, she ever miss'd it: He had no wish but--to be glad, Nor want but--when he thirsted; He hated nought but--to be sad, An' thus the Muse suggested His sang that night.

AIR.

_Tune_--for a' that, an' a' that.

I.

I am a bard of no regard Wi' gentle-folks, an' a' that; But Homer-like, the glowran byke**, Frae town to town I draw that.

CHORUS.

_For a' that, an' a' that, An' twice as muckle's a' that, I've lost but ane, I've twa behin' I've wife eneugh 'or a' that._

* Promised.

** The multitude.

II.

I never drank the Muses' _tank_, Castalia's burn an' a' that; But there it streams, an' richly reams My _Helicon_ I ca' that.

_For a' that, &c._

III.

Great love I bear to all the Fair, Their humble slave, an' a' that; But lordly Will, I hold it still A mortal sin to thraw that.

_For a' that, &c._

IV.

In raptures sweet, this hour we meet, Wi' mutual love an' a' that; But for how lang the flie may stang, Let Inclination law that.

_For a' that, &c._

V.

Their tricks an' craft hae put me daft, They've ta'en me in, an' a' that; But clear your decks, an' here's _the Sex!_ I like the jads for a' that.

_For a' that, an a' that,_

An' twice as muckle's a' that, My dearest bluid, to do them guid, _They're welcome till't for a' that._

POINT VII.

RECITATIVO.

So sung the _Bard_--and Nansie's waws Shook wi' a thunder of applause, Re-echo'd from each mouth! They toom'd * their pokes, they pawn'd their duds**, They scarcely left to coor their fuds, To quench their lowan drouth.

Then owre again, the jovial thrang, The poet did request, To lowse his pack an' wale a sang, A ballad o' the best.. He, rising, rejoicing, Between his _two, Deborahs_, Looks round him, an' found them Impatient for the chorus.

* Opened.

**Rags.

POINT VIII.

AIR.

_Tune_--JOLLY MORTALS, fill your glasses.

I.

See! the smoking bowl before us, Mark our jovial, ragged ring! Round and round take up the chorus, And in raptures let us sing-- _A fig for those by law protected,_ Liberty's _a glorious feast! Courts for cowards were erected, Churches built to please the priest._ What is title, what is treasure, What is reputation's care? If we lead a life of pleasure, 'Tis no matter how or where.

_A fig, &c._

III.

With the ready trick and fable, Round we wander all the day; And at night, in barn or stable, Hug our doxies on the hay.

_A fig, &c._

IV.

Does the train-attended carriage Thrp' the country lighter rove? Does the sober bed of marriage Witness brighter scenes of love?

_A fig, &c._

V.

Life is all a _variorum,_ We regard not how it goes; Let them cant about, decorum Who have character to lose.

_A fig, &c._

VI.

Here's to _budgets, bags, and wallets!_ Here's to all the wandering train! Here's _our ragged brats and callets!_ One and all cry out, _Amen!_

_A fig for those by law protected,_ Liberty's _a glorious feast! Courts for cowards were erected, Churches built to please the priest._

POINT IX. THE DOWNFALL OF HOLY CHURCH.

In the year of 1460, Revel was governed by a General, whose name was John of Mengden; a worthy old man, who loved his glass of wine, and had the gout; for wine and the gout are sister's children. It was his custom to ride out occasionally on a black horse down to the shores of the Baltic, whence he continued his way to a convent of nuns consecrated to St. Bridget. This nunnery, which was called Marianthal, was situated about a mile from the town, and its ruins are inhabited by owls and ravens.

On one of these excursions he was accompanied by the Lord Marshal, Gothard of Plettenberg.

As they approached the convent wall, the Marshal's horse became suddenly restive. "Have you heard," said he, "the strange, stories of the subterraneous passage, and that it winds in intricate mazes round the cloister?"---- "No," replied John of Mengden, "but I should like to hear them over a bottle; you shall relate them to me in the evening."

"It may be done now, and in a few words," rejoined the other; "for we stand exactly before the subterraneous passage, or mouth of the cavern; but for fifty years, not a human foot has advanced beyond the bottom of the steps, there the torches are always blown out."

The burgomaster of Revel, who was then with them, made a cross on his breast, and confirmed the statement. "Sometimes," continued Gothard, "are heard, during the night, the sounds of soft music, arising slowly and melodiously from the cave, like the sweet tones of musical glasses, with an accompaniment of the songs of angels. The holy sisters of the convent are frequent listeners to this divine harmony, though none of the words can be understood."

"Let the venerable Lady Abbess come down to me," said the general, as he alighted from his horse, and placed his glove in his sword-belt. The Abbess now appeared, veiled. She modestly curtsied to the knight, and presented him with a cup of Spanish wine. The old General laid himself down on the grass, and asked the sainted lady if she could give him any information relative to the subterraneous passage? The Abbess replied in the affirmative, adding a number of particulars concerning what she and her pious sisters had seen,--and fancied they had seen--heard, and fancied they had heard.

"So God and St. Vitus help me!" exclaimed the governor, "I will myself make an attempt to descend into the cavern; give me a lighted, consecrated torch."

The burgomaster crossed himself all over. A cold shivering seized him; the only vault into which he had been accustomed to descend, was the town-cellar which was haunted by none but _choice spirits_, with which he was familiar.

The lady Abbess entreated the old man not to undertake so rash an enterprize; and assured him, that the spirits of former times, unlike those of the present day, would not allow themselves to be sported with. But in arguing with the brave old General, they talked to the wind which blew over the Baltic. The consecrated torches were brought, the corpulent General repeated an Ave-Maria, recommended himself to St. Vitus, his protecting Saint, and courageously entered the mysterious passage. The sound of his feet was still heard on the steps; his breathing was still audible, and the glimmer of his torch played on the damp walls. On a sudden all was silent, and the light disappeared. The listeners above were on the stretch of attention. Go-thard was stationed on the upper step; the burgomaster a few paces further back; and behind him stood the Abbess, her rosary running through her fingers. They listened, but all was still! "Holloa there, John of Mengden!--how fare you?" thundered the voice of Gothard; yet all was still as the grave. The listeners were alarmed; they inclined their ears; they stood lightly on tip-toe; they restrained their breath--not a sound ascended. The cavern yawned before them, and all was silent below; "Holy St. Bridget! what can have happened? Let the priests be summoned, and mass be said, to appease the spirits!"

The lady Abbess hastened to the convent, rang the chapel-bell, when all the pious sisterhood hurried from their cells, fell upon their bare knees, chastizing themselves, and praying to heaven for mercy towards the old General. The burgomaster threw himself upon his horse, and trotted back to the town to impart the terrible news to his wife, children and domestics. Gothard, who was a courageous knight, alone remained, absorbed in gloomy reflection, leaning against the wall, with his eyes fixed on the darkness beneath. Thus he continued during two hours. At last he thought he heard on the steps, some one breathing and struggling.--"John of Mengden!" he vociferated--"are you alive, or dead?"---"I am alive!" replied the General, half breathless, as he stumbled up the steps. "Thanks to God and St. Bridget!--we have been in agony on your account. Where have you been? What have you heard or seen?" The General then related that he had quietly descended, with the consecrated taper in his hand; that his heart beat a little as he advanced; that a cold shiver had begun to seize him; but that he took courage, as his taper burnt always clear and bright: that at length he stood on the bottom step, and looked down an endless passage, doubtful whether, under the protection of St. Bridget, he should move forward or backward; that suddenly he was surrounded by a lukewarm breeze, mild and fragrant, as if wafted over a bed of flowers, which in a moment extinguished his taper, and so clouded his senses, that he sunk like a dead man on the steps, and then lay a considerable time in a sort of trance; that at last he awoke again, and it appeared to him as if he were gently moved by a warm hand, though he knew not where he was, nor what had happened to him; that he stretched out his hands, and felt nothing but the cold stone; but that, as a little daylight glimmered upon him from above, he composed his spirits, and began to creep with difficulty up the steps; that when on them he was perfectly recovered, feeling only a slight oppression in the head, similar to the effect of intoxication.

"Well, brother," said he to the lord-marshal, "will not you also make the attempt, and try whether it will not succeed better with you."

Gothard of Plettenberg demurred: notwithstanding he never feared, in former times, a knight of flesh and bone, as long as he was able to wield his sword; yet, with respect to ghosts, a very just exception was allowed; and a knight might tremble in the dark like an old woman, without any stain upon his honor, or impeachment of his valour. Now a days, the matter is quite altered, and a man may fear any thing but ghosts.

"By my sword," said the governor, as he was returning home, "I will investigate the causes of this mystery. I must know from whose mouth proceeded the gentle breath, that smelt fragrant as the plants of the east, and yet had force enough to extinguish the flame of the consecrated taper, and even to confuse my head, as though I had been drunk."

He instantly sent for Henry of Uxkull, bishop of Revel, and the Abbot, of Pardis. Being arrived, they were entertained at a large oak table, and quaffed wine from the family goblet. They listened to the fearful story of their host, with their fat hands folded upon their huge bellies, and shook their heads with significant silence.

Having well weighed the matter, knitted their brows and assumed an air of importance, they finally agreed _that they knew not what to think of it_. Each then waddled to his home and thought no more of the mysterious cavern.

But it was not so with the General. He could not rest. His fancy was on the rack, to account for the mystery. On the next morning, he despatched letters to the Archbishop of Riga, to a learned canon, and two pious deans of the holy church of Riga--stating "that a surprising incident had obliged him to have recourse to their piety and wisdom, and entreating that they would be at Revel on St. Egidius's day, to discuss in Christian humility this weighty affair."

They came on the appointed day: for they were aware that the cellar of the Governor contained excellent wine, and that his was no niggard hospitality. The archbishop of Revel, and the Abbot of Pardis, were likewise invited to assist, who failed not at the proper hour to present themselves at the castle. An elegant repast had been prepared for them, bumpers went cheerily round to the prosperity of Holy Church, and to the perpetual bloom of the German order of religion. When their spiritual stomachs were sufficiently gorged, the General thus addressed them: "Reverend and pious fathers! thus and thus it happened to me and my friend here, Gothard of Plettenberg," recounting his story--"What is to be done to liberate the spirits who wander and breathe in the subterraneous passage?"

"They must be driven out by force," replied the archbishop of Riga, "and the power to do this was given to bishops from above."

"A wisp of hay should be steeped in holy water," added the canon, "with which the steps of the dark passage should be sprinkled."

One of the deans advised that "the little chest with the Egyptian hieroglyphics, which was kept as a relic in the convent of St. Bridget, should be taken to the cavern.".

The other dean was of opinion that the spirits should be allowed to continue without molestation so long as they only wandered and breathed.

The archbishop of Revel was also of the same sentiment, but the Abbot of Pardis applauded this idea of the Egyptian hieroglyphics.

Last of all, the old General proposed that they should immediately ride to the beach, and employ the arms of the church against the inhabitants of the subterraneous passage. The wine had imparted its spirit to the holy fathers; and they now felt courage to engage, if necessary, even with the fiends of hell.

Within half an hour they were at the convent gate!