Gib's Auld Mear

by Richard Watson

GIB'S AULD MEAR

Upon yan clear September morn,
Az folk were gether'n in thir corn;—
"T'was five o'clock, or varra near,
Az aw unto mie wark did steer;
Mie wallet owre mie shoulder flung,
At a brisk pace aw jogged along;
Aw knew for wark it was quite soon,
Sae 'neath a wall aw sat ma down,
By a plantation et's weel kenn'd,
Near Al———n's, at Middle End.

While aw was sitting on the ground,
Aw heard a strange, unearthly sound;
Aw luk'd around, aw thaught it queer,
An' spi'd it was Gib T———n's auld mear.
Yis, thar it stood, 'twas nae mistak—
An' like a human being spak;
Aw rubb'd mie e'en, for it did seem
It could be naught else but a dream,
But 'twasn't lang afore aw knew
Et what aw saw and hear'd was true.

"Young man," it said, "you needn't wonder,
For it is real; it is nae blunder;
Don't be surpris'd, or think't a joke,
To hear a poor auld mear talk.
You will hae read what com to pass
When t'prophet Balaam wollop'd t'ass,
How it did open t'jaws sae wide,
And did its maister straightaway chide:
Then cease, young man, to scratch your pate,
While aw to you mie life relate.

"Now two and twenty years hae fled,
Syn aw a little foal was bred,
An' how aw then did sport an' play
Doth seem to me like yisterday.
Oh, how I then did loupe an' trot,
Aw thaught mine was a happy lot;
Aw sported free frae care or strife,
An' led an easy plisent life:
Mie pleasure ended varra soon,
When aw'd a little aulder grown.

"Aw wasn't lang remaining idle,
Soon to mie head they popp'd a bridle;
Aw gat a t'yast o' the whup-thong,
Aw had to drag a cart along.
Yis! ivvery day, baith wet an' fine,
Aw had to travel to some mine;
Whinivver they had yur to fill,
To tak two bings to Blackton mill;
Frae Calla unto Blackton twice;—
A day like that is nut sae nice.
An' monny a time to Gaundles mill,
An' that's a langer journey still;
Nor com back empty on the road,
For they wi' coal mie cart did load;
But whether carting coals or wood,
Aw always did the best aw could,
An' Gib can prove mie statement well,
If he the truth to you will tell.

"Aw Gib for mie first maister had,
At first aw thaught he wasn't bad,
But soon aw led a sorry life,
Aw then fond out he'd got a wife;
Then ivvery day aw got weell hather'd,
For Gib, you know, is nobbut natter'd.
Aw was wraught hard as aw could be,
Until at length I strain'd mie knee;
An' now here is a lump sae big,
It's like the blether of a pig.

"The last time aw wi' Gib did go,
Was unto Sharnberry Grove, you know,
To tak some coals, an then to fill
Some yur, to tak to Blackton mill,
Aw fand me strength was failing fast,
Aw thaught grim death had come at last;
Nut a step farther aw could gan,
Which made Gib an angry man:
A creeping chillness on me stole,
An' weak and faint aw down did fall,
Then Gibby loos'd me fra the cart,
And then for Sharnberry he did start,
And left me on the ground to die.
At length some grovers did come by,
Then from the ground they did ma raise,
Wi' monny a gr'yan an' monny a paze.

"Aw then to Al———n was given,
Aw hae wi' him syn then been living;
But he would not had me at all,
But that thaught aw was wi' foal.
What they intend to do wi' me,
Is mair than aw can tell to thee;
But az thinking, varra soon,
For t'squire's dogs they'll tak ma down;
Nae matter what they do wi' me
Aw nobbut hae but yance to dee.

"Aw forgive auld Gib wi' all mie heart,
Aw oft see him gan by wi' t'cart;
Aw think he hae's sair croppen in,
Aw 'magine he lukes varra thin.
He'll be like t'rest o' t'human race
When they hae nigh spun out thir days,
Who hae stern poverty to 'bide,
Who, like auld clouts, are thrown aside."

Aw thaught aw wad say a word or twee;
Aw says,—"Auld mear, we don't agree:
Aw really think it cannot be
  What ye've last tauld,
That men hae naught but poverty
  When they git auld;
For there are clubs et de provide
For men, when they're wi' sickness tried;
Therefore, don't think they're thrawn aside,
  To fend or f'yal,
For they can tell the world wide
  A different t'yal."

Upon again, then spak, t'auld mear;
It said,—"Aw's varra glad to hear
Et thar's something to keep a man,
When labour he nae langer can,
Et he may nivver feel distress,
Therefore, I wish, the club success!
But az for me, syn wark is pass'd,
Aw've had to suffer the keen blast
O' monny a cauld an' stormy day
Without a bite o' corn or hay;
An Al———n does begrudge mie meat,
Although it's little et aw eat,
For it he's wanted Gib to pay,
Though aw to him was gi'en away.
He needn't be sae discontent,
But aw get nought frae him but bent;
Aw sometimes think it may be that
Et maks Gib ne'er come whar aws at;
Sec things as that sud nivver vex him,
But whiles, aw think, ez conscience pricks em.
But while that aw hae life an' bluid,
Aw'll think o' Jack wi' gratitude.
Last winter, monny a stormy day,
He braught to me baith corn an' hay;
Aw wish him luck while he does live,
An' all my foes aw do forgive;
An' in whativver shape comes death,
Aw's riddy to resign mie breath;
Aw lang wie death mie limbs to rest,
To me 'tis nae unwelcome guest."

This was te t'yal t'mear telt me,
An' it's true az it can be;
Aw left it thar the bent to swallow,
While aw mov'd on mie way to Calla;
But when aw e'er by t'plantation steer,
Aw still remember "Gib's Auld Mear."