<br><h3> Chapter One </h3> <b>My Father was a Farmer</b> <p> <p> My father was a farmer upon the Carrick border O And carefully he bred me, in decency & order O He bade me act a manly part, though I had ne'er a farthing O For without an honest manly heart, no man was worth regarding O Chorus Row de dow &c. <p> Then out into the world my course I did determine. O Tho' to be rich was not my wish, yet to be great was charming. O My talents they were not the worst, nor yet my education: O Resolv'd was I, at least to try, to mend my situation. O In many a way, & vain essay, I courted fortune's favor; O Some cause unseen, still stept between, & frustrate each endeavor; O Some times by foes I was o'erpower'd, sometimes by friends forsaken; O And when my hope was at the top, I still was worst mistaken. O Then sore harass'd, & tir'd at last, with fortune's vain delusion; O I dropt my schemes, like idle dreams and came to this conclusion; O The past wast bad, & the future hid; its good or ill untryed; O But the present hour was in my pow'r, & so I would enjoy it, O No help, nor hope, nor view had I; nor person to befriend me; O So I must toil, & sweat & moil, & labor to sustain me, O To plough & sow, to reap & mow, my father bred me early, O For one, he said, to labor bred, was a match for fortune fairly, O Thus all obscure, unknown, & poor, thro' life I'm doom'd to wander, O Till down my weary bones I lay in everlasting slumber: O No view nor care, but shun whate'er might breed me pain or sorrow; O I live today as well's I may, regardless of tomorrow, O But chearful still, I am as well as a Monarch in a palace; O Tho' fortune's frown still hunts me down with all her wonted malice: O I make indeed, my daily bread, but ne'er can make it farther; O But as daily bread is all I heed, I do not much regard her. O When sometimes by my labor I earn a little money, O Some unforseen misfortune comes generally upon me; O Mischance, mistake, or by neglect, or my good natur'd folly; O But come what will I've sworn it still, I'll ne'er be melancholy, O All you who follow wealth & power with unremitting ardor, O The more in this you look for bliss, you leave your view the farther; O Had you the wealth Potosi boasts, or nations to adore you, O A chearful honest-hearted clown I will prefer before you. O <p> <p> <b>To Ruin.</b> <p> All hail! inexorable lord! At whose destruction-breathing word, The mightiest empires fall! Thy cruel, woe-delighted train, The ministers of Grief and Pain, A sullen welcome, all! With stern-resolv'd, despairing eye, I see each aimed dart; For one has cut my <i>dearest tye</i>, And quivers in my heart. Then low'ring, and pouring, The <i>Storm</i> no more I dread; Tho' thick'ning, and black'ning, Round my devoted head. <p> And thou grim Pow'r, by Life abhorr'd, While Life a <i>pleasure</i> can afford, Oh! hear a wretch's pray'r! No more I shrink appall'd, afraid; I court, I beg thy friendly aid, To close this scene of care! When shall my soul, in silent peace, Resign Life's <i>joyless</i> day? My weary heart it's throbbings cease, Cold-mould'ring in the clay? No fear more, no tear more, To stain my lifeless face, Enclasped, and grasped, Within thy cold embrace! <p> <p> <b>The Death and Dying Words of Poor Mailie, The Author's Only Pet Yowe, <i>ewe</i> An Unco Mournfu' Tale</b> <i>extraordinarily</i> <p> <p> As Mailie, an' her lambs thegither, <i>and; together</i> Was ae day nibbling on the tether, <i>one</i> Upon her cloot she coost a hitch, <i>hoof; cast</i> An' owre she warsl'd in the ditch: <i>over; wriggled</i> There, groaning, dying, she did ly, <i>lie</i> When <i>Hughoc</i> he cam doytan by. <i>came stumbling</i> <p> Wi' glowrin een, an' lifted han's <i>with glowering eyes; hands</i> Poor <i>Hughoc</i> like a statue stan's; <i>stands</i> He saw her days were near hand ended, But, waes my heart! he could na mend it! <i>woe is; not</i> He gaped wide, but naething spak, <i>nothing spoke</i> At length poor <i>Mailie</i> silence brak. <i>broke</i> <p> 'O thou, whase lamentable face <i>whose</i> Appears to mourn my woefu' case! <i>woeful</i> My <i>dying words</i> attentive hear, An' bear them to my <i>Master</i> dear. <i>and</i> <p> Tell him, if e'er again he keep As muckle gear as buy a <i>sheep</i>, <i>much wealth</i> O, bid him never tye them mair, <i>tie; more</i> Wi' wicked strings o' hemp or hair! <i>with; of</i> But ca them out to park or hill, <i>drive</i> An' let them wander at their will: <i>and</i> So, may his flock increase an' grow To <i>scores</i> o' lambs, an' <i>packs</i> of woo'! <i>wool</i> <p> Tell him, he was a Master kin', <i>kind</i> An' ay was guid to me an' mine; <i>and always; good</i> An' now my <i>dying</i> charge I gie him, <i>give</i> My helpless <i>lambs</i>, I trust them wi' him. <i>with</i> <p> O, bid him save their harmless lives, Frae dogs an' tods, an' butchers' knives! <i>from; foxes</i> But gie them guid <i>cow-milk</i> their fill, <i>give; good</i> Till they be fit to fend themsel; <i>themselves</i> An' tent them duely, e'en an' morn, <i>tend; duly; evening</i> Wi' taets o' <i>hay</i> an' ripps o' <i>corn</i>. <i>tufts of; handfuls of</i> <p> An' may they never learn the gaets, <i>ways</i> Of ither vile, wanrestfu' <i>Pets! other; restless</i> To slink thro' slaps, an' reave an' steal, <i>through gaps; rob</i> At stacks o' pease, or stocks o' kail. <i>cole, cabbage</i> So may they, like their great <i>forbears</i>, For monie a year come thro' the sheers: <i>many; shears</i> So <i>wives</i> will gie them bits o' bread, <i>give</i> An' <i>bairns</i> greet for them when they're dead. <i>children weep</i> <p> My poor <i>toop-lamb</i>, my son an' heir, <i>ram-</i> O, bid him breed him up wi' care! <i>with</i> An' if he live to be a beast, <i>and</i> To pit some havins in his breast! <i>put; manners</i> An' warn him ay at ridin time, <i>always; breeding</i> To stay content wi' <i>yowes</i> at hame; <i>with ewes; home</i> An' no to rin an' wear his cloots, <i>not; run; hooves</i> Like ither menseless, graceless brutes. <i>other ill-bred</i> <p> An' niest my <i>yowie</i>, silly thing, <i>next; ewe-lamb</i> Gude keep thee frae a <i>tether string! go[o]d; from</i> O, may thou ne'er forgather up, <i>never meet</i> Wi' onie blastet, moorlan <i>toop; any cursed moorland ram</i> But aye keep mind to moop an' mell, <i>always; munch and mingle</i> Wi' sheep o' credit like thysel! <i>yourself</i> <p> And now, <i>my bairns</i>, wi' my last breath, <i>children</i> I lea'e my blessin wi' you baith: <i>leave; both</i> An' when ye think upo' your Mither, <i>upon; mother</i> Mind to be kind to ane anither. <i>remember; one another</i> <p> Now, honest Hughoc, dinna fail, <i>do not</i> To tell my Master a' my tale; <i>all</i> An' bid him burn this cursed <i>tether</i>, An' for thy pains thou'se get my blather. <i>you will; bladder</i> <p> This said, poor <i>Mailie</i> turn'd her head, An' clos'd her een amang the dead! <i>eyes; among</i> <p> <p> <b>Poor Mailie's Elegy.</b> <p> Lament in rhyme, lament in prose, Wi' saut tears trickling down your nose; <i>with salt</i> Our <i>Bardie's</i> fate is at a close, <i>[minor] poet's</i> Past a' remead! <i>all remedy</i> The last, sad cape-stane of his woes; cope-stone <i>Poor Mailie's</i> dead! <p> It's no the loss o' warl's gear, <i>not; of worldly wealth</i> That could sae bitter draw the tear, <i>so</i> Or make our <i>Bardie</i>, dowie, wear <i>dismal</i> The mourning weed: <i>garment</i> He's lost a friend and neebor dear, <i>neighbour</i> In <i>Mailie</i> dead. <p> Thro' a' the town she trotted by him; <i>through all</i> A lang half-mile she could descry him; <i>long; spot</i> Wi' kindly bleat, when she did spy him, <i>with</i> She ran wi' speed: A friend mair faithfu' ne'er came nigh him, <i>more faithful never</i> Than <i>Mailie</i> dead. <p> I wat she was a <i>sheep</i> o' sense, <i>know</i> An' could behave hersel wi' mense: <i>with decorum</i> I'll say't, she never brak a fence, <i>broke</i> Thro' thievish greed. Our <i>Bardie</i>, lanely, keeps the spence <i>lonely, sits in the best room</i> Sin' <i>Mailie's</i> dead. <i>since</i> <p> Or, if he wanders up the howe, <i>valley</i> Her living image in <i>her yowe, ewe</i> Comes bleating till him, owre the knowe, <i>to; over the knoll</i> For bits o' bread; An' down the briny pearls rowe <i>roll</i> For <i>Mailie</i> dead. <p> She was nae get o' moorlan tips, <i>no offspring; rams</i> Wi' tauted ket, an' hairy hips; <i>tangled fleece</i> For her forbears were brought in ships, Frae 'yont the TWEED. <i>from beyond</i> A bonier <i>fleesh</i> ne'er cross'd the clips <i>prettier fleece never; clippers</i> Than <i>Mailie's</i> dead. <p> Wae worth that man wha first did shape <i>woe; who</i> That vile, wanchancie thing-<i>a raep! unlucky; rope</i> It maks guid fellows girn an' gape, <i>makes good; grimace</i> Wi' chokin dread; <i>choking</i> An' <i>Robin's</i> bonnet wave wi' crape <i>black mourning ribbons</i> For <i>Mailie</i> dead. <p> O, a' ye <i>Bards</i> on bonie DOON! <i>all</i> An' wha on AIRE your chanters tune! <i>who; pipes</i> Come, join the melancholious croon <i>moan</i> O' <i>Robin's</i> reed! <i>reed-pipe</i> His heart will never get aboon! <i>recover, get over it</i> His <i>Mailie's</i> dead! <p> <i>(Continues...)</i> <p> <p> <!-- copyright notice --> <br></pre> <blockquote><hr noshade size='1'><font size='-2'> Excerpted from <b>The Best Laid Schemes</b> Copyright © 2009 by Robert Crawford and Christopher MacLachlan . Excerpted by permission.<br> All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.<br>Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.