Humorous Poems/The Gudewife o' Guilston
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THE GUDEWIFE O' GUILSTON.
To farnish matter for some rhymes,
I'll tell a tale o' former times:—
I'll tell a tale o' former times:—
A farmer, near the east nook o' Fife,
Was carried aff in prime o' life,
And left a widow fu' o' grief,
Her sorrow real, but unco brief.
At first nae comfort would she hear,
Frae scripture, or frae reason clear;
Although the priest, and her neist elder,
In pointed language plainly tell'd her,—
'We're here the day—awa to-morrow,
Nor should be swallow'd up wi' sorrow.'
After a short, but decent season,
The widow thus began to reason:—
'Why should I for a husband mourn,
Will greetin gar the man return.'
Now, though her storm o' grief blew over,
She didna turn a wanton lover;
Although it also must be granted,
Anither husband soon she wanted:
But this was only on condition,
Of asking the divine permission.
Full sax lang weeks were gane and past,
After the farmer breath'd his last,
When, having clos'd her house affairs,
Ae e'ening she was at her prayers.
'Twas in the barn,—the usual place,—
Whare loud she pray'd for gear and grace.
Here then she wrestled hard and fervent,
That God would pity his puir servant;
As her dear husband now had left her,
And o' ae comfort had bereft her;
As he was ane o' her ain chusing,
And really ane amang a thousand,
She pray'd, if such was Heaven's decree,
Anither just as gude as he
Might influenced be to court her,
Nor wad she keep him lang in torture;
But mak him happy, wi' her haun,
Wi' stock and farm at his commaun.
The righteous' prayers availeth much,
And Maggie's prayers were really such.
Her servant man, a sturdy chield,
As ever swung a flail or teild,
In secret truly did adore her,
Was ae night in the barn before her;
Wi' nae design to interrup' her,
But shake some strae the beast to supper
When in comes Margaret, stark and ⟨stoutly⟩
And to her prayers began devoutly,
And after seeking spiritual things,
The married state about she brings.
Jock in a corner lay fu' snug,
Lending an eager tentie lug:
He, being a lad o' ready wit,
Conceiv'd a wise and lucky hit,
To work on Maggie's superstition,
And thus accomplish his ambition.
A sheet lay huddled in the nook,
Which Jock on this occasion took,
To cleed himsel' in snawy white,
And personate an angel bright.
The silver moon shone in her vigour,
When, by the bole, Meg saw the figure.
In accents solemn, deep and hollow,
Her close attention he made follow:—
'Thy prayers are heard, and shall be granted,
Nor shall a husband lang be wanted:
It therefore is the will o' God,
That you should marry Johnnie Tod;
Though he be but your servant man,
And neither has a pat nor pan;
He's young, religious, chaste, and thrifty,
And acts just like a man o' fifty.
By day wi' care he'll sort your farm,
By night he'll daut and keep you warm.'
The widow maist was in a trance, Sir,
At hearing sic a gracious answer.
Jock reach'd the kitchen, unperceiv'd,
And quietly at his stocking weav'd;
Whan in the widow comes fu' prim,
And lovingly she looks at him.
Johnnie, my man, you'll see but dimly,
Working ahint the cradle chimly;
The backside ribs are cauld and dark,
And you hae hain a sair day's wark.
Come roun', and fill the twa-arm chair;
And here's the kebbuck,—tak your sair:
Frae this time forth, believe me, John,
Thous never get a cheeseless scone.
The lasses at their wheels were linkin',
And scarce could keep frae nods and winkin'
They thought it was a matter oddlike,
To hear their mistress hint sae broadlike;
For baith o' Jock had some daft notion,
Baith lang had been at his devotion;
Lang to his wants they had attended,
And aft his sarks and breeks had mended;
And mony a dunt o' cheese and bread,
And mony a cake o' butter spread,
And mony a cog o' cards and cream,
They steal'd to fill his craving wame;
But now baith fear'd 'twas labour lost,
And that their love wad soon be cross'd.
John soon, wi' manners mild and honest,
Improv'd his mistress' hints the broadest.
Within ae fleeting month he wed his charmer,
And liv'd and died a much respeckit farmer.
Was carried aff in prime o' life,
And left a widow fu' o' grief,
Her sorrow real, but unco brief.
At first nae comfort would she hear,
Frae scripture, or frae reason clear;
Although the priest, and her neist elder,
In pointed language plainly tell'd her,—
'We're here the day—awa to-morrow,
Nor should be swallow'd up wi' sorrow.'
After a short, but decent season,
The widow thus began to reason:—
'Why should I for a husband mourn,
Will greetin gar the man return.'
Now, though her storm o' grief blew over,
She didna turn a wanton lover;
Although it also must be granted,
Anither husband soon she wanted:
But this was only on condition,
Of asking the divine permission.
Full sax lang weeks were gane and past,
After the farmer breath'd his last,
When, having clos'd her house affairs,
Ae e'ening she was at her prayers.
'Twas in the barn,—the usual place,—
Whare loud she pray'd for gear and grace.
Here then she wrestled hard and fervent,
That God would pity his puir servant;
As her dear husband now had left her,
And o' ae comfort had bereft her;
As he was ane o' her ain chusing,
And really ane amang a thousand,
She pray'd, if such was Heaven's decree,
Anither just as gude as he
Might influenced be to court her,
Nor wad she keep him lang in torture;
But mak him happy, wi' her haun,
Wi' stock and farm at his commaun.
The righteous' prayers availeth much,
And Maggie's prayers were really such.
Her servant man, a sturdy chield,
As ever swung a flail or teild,
In secret truly did adore her,
Was ae night in the barn before her;
Wi' nae design to interrup' her,
But shake some strae the beast to supper
When in comes Margaret, stark and ⟨stoutly⟩
And to her prayers began devoutly,
And after seeking spiritual things,
The married state about she brings.
Jock in a corner lay fu' snug,
Lending an eager tentie lug:
He, being a lad o' ready wit,
Conceiv'd a wise and lucky hit,
To work on Maggie's superstition,
And thus accomplish his ambition.
A sheet lay huddled in the nook,
Which Jock on this occasion took,
To cleed himsel' in snawy white,
And personate an angel bright.
The silver moon shone in her vigour,
When, by the bole, Meg saw the figure.
In accents solemn, deep and hollow,
Her close attention he made follow:—
'Thy prayers are heard, and shall be granted,
Nor shall a husband lang be wanted:
It therefore is the will o' God,
That you should marry Johnnie Tod;
Though he be but your servant man,
And neither has a pat nor pan;
He's young, religious, chaste, and thrifty,
And acts just like a man o' fifty.
By day wi' care he'll sort your farm,
By night he'll daut and keep you warm.'
The widow maist was in a trance, Sir,
At hearing sic a gracious answer.
Jock reach'd the kitchen, unperceiv'd,
And quietly at his stocking weav'd;
Whan in the widow comes fu' prim,
And lovingly she looks at him.
Johnnie, my man, you'll see but dimly,
Working ahint the cradle chimly;
The backside ribs are cauld and dark,
And you hae hain a sair day's wark.
Come roun', and fill the twa-arm chair;
And here's the kebbuck,—tak your sair:
Frae this time forth, believe me, John,
Thous never get a cheeseless scone.
The lasses at their wheels were linkin',
And scarce could keep frae nods and winkin'
They thought it was a matter oddlike,
To hear their mistress hint sae broadlike;
For baith o' Jock had some daft notion,
Baith lang had been at his devotion;
Lang to his wants they had attended,
And aft his sarks and breeks had mended;
And mony a dunt o' cheese and bread,
And mony a cake o' butter spread,
And mony a cog o' cards and cream,
They steal'd to fill his craving wame;
But now baith fear'd 'twas labour lost,
And that their love wad soon be cross'd.
John soon, wi' manners mild and honest,
Improv'd his mistress' hints the broadest.
Within ae fleeting month he wed his charmer,
And liv'd and died a much respeckit farmer.