Auld farmer's salutation to his auld mare Maggy, on giving her a ripp of corn, to Hansel in the New Year/Auld Farmer's Salutation to His Auld Mare Maggy, on Giving Her a Ripp of Corn, to Hansel in the New Year
the
Farmer’s Salutation
to his
Auld Mare Maggie.
A Guid New-year I wish thee, Maggie!
Hae there’s a ripp to thy auld baggie:
Tho' thou's howe-backit, now, an’ knaggie,
I've seen the day,
Thou could hae gaen like onie staggie,
Out owre the lay.
Tho' now thou's dowie stiff an’ crazy,
An' thy auld hide as white's a daizy,
I've seen thee dappl't sleek, an glazie,
A bonnie gray:
He shou’d been right that daur't to raize thee,
Ance in a day.
Thou ance was i' the foremost rank,
A silly buirdly. sleeve and swank,
An’ set weel down a shapely shank,
As e’er tread yird;
An' could hae flown out-owre a stank,
Like onie bird.
It's now some nine an' twenty year,
Fin' thou was my guid-father's meere;
He gied thee me, o’ tocher clear,
An' fifty mark;
Tho' it was sma' 'twas weel won gear,
An' thou was stark
When first I gaed to woo my Jenny,
Ye then was tro tin' wi' your mindie:
Tho' ye was trickie slee an' funnie,
Ye ne'er was donsie;
But hamely tawie quite, an' cannie.
An’unco sonsie.
That day ye pranc'd wi muckle pride.
When ye bu/e[inillegible] my bonnie bride:
An sweet an' gracefu' she did ride,
Wi' maiden air,
Kyle Stewart I could bragged wide,
For sic a pair.
Tho' now ye dow but hoyte 'hoble,
An' winde like a faumont-coble,
That day ye was a jinker noble,
For heels an' win',
An' ran them till they a did wauble,
Far, far, behin'.
When thou an' I were young and skiegh.
An' stable meals at fairs were driegh.
How thou wad prance an' shore an' skreigh
An' tak the road,
Town‘s bodies ran, an' stood abiegh.
An' cast thee mad.
When thou was corn't an' I was mellow,
We took the road ay like a swallow;
At brooses thou had never a fellow,
For pith an speed;
But ev'ry fail thou pay't them hollow,
Whare'er thou gaed.
The sma droop-rump't hunter cattle,
Might ablins waun't thee for a brattle;
But sax Scotch miles thou try't their mettle,
an gart them whizle:
Nae whip nor spur but just a wattle,
O' saugh or hazle.
Thou was a noble Fittie-lan',
As e'er in tug or tow was drawn,
Aft' thee an' I in aught hours gaun,
On guid March weather,
Hae turn'd sax food beside our han',
For days thegither.
Thou never (illegible text) an' fecht and' sliskit,
But they auld tail thou wad hae whiskit,
An' spread abveed they weel fill'd brisket
Wi' pith an' pow'r,
Till sprittle knowes wad rair' an' risket,
An' slypet owre.
When frosts lay lang an' snaws were deep,
An' threaten'd labour back to keep,
I gied thy cog a wee bit heap,
Aboon the timmer:
I ken’d my Maggie wadna sleep
For that, or simmer.
In cart or car thou never reestie;
The stayest brae thou wad has sac't it;
Thou never lap, an' sten't, an' breastit,
Then stood to blaw;
But just thy step a wee thing hastit,
Ihou snoov'd awa.
My pleugh is now thy bairn-time a';
Four gallant brutes as e'er did draw;
For bye sax mae I've seli‘t awa,
That thou had nurs't:
They drew me thretteen pund an' twa,
The vera warst.
Monie a fair daurg we twa hae wrought,
An‘ wi' the weary warl' fought!
An' monie an anxious day I thought,
We wad be beat!
Yet here to crazy age we're brought,
Wi' something yet,
An think-na my auld trusty servan',
That now, perhaps, thou's less deservin,
An' thy auld days may enu in starvin,
For my last sow,
A heapit stimpart I'll reserve ane,
Laid by for you.
We ve worn to crazy years thegither;
We ll toyte about wi ane anither;
Wi' tenty care I ll slit thy tether,
To some hain'd rig,
Whare ye may nobly rax your leather,
Wi' ima' fatigue.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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