LL-L "Resources" 2002.03.17 (01) [S]

Sun Mar 17 16:27:34 UTC 2002

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 L O W L A N D S - L * 17.MAR.2002 (01) * ISSN 189-5582 * LCSN 96-4226
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From: Sandy Fleemin [sandy at scotstext.org]
Subject: "Resources"

The'r twa new poets up on ScotsteXt, and they're baith on the
shortleet o the greatest poets in the langage.

The first is Robert Fergusson, that Burns caa'd his "elder
brither in the muse", an in fack some o Burns's maist famous
phrases, the likes o "chapman billies" an "Auld Reikie" wis
first wrutten doun bi Fergusson. Fergusson wrate epic,
clessical, scholarly poetry that Burns could never hiv
ettlt for. Here's a teeny sneddin fae "Hallow Fair":

The dinlin drums alarm our ears,
    The serjeant screechs fou loud,
"A' gentelmen an volunteers
    "That wish your country gude,
"Come here to me, an I sall gie
    "Twa guineas an a croun,
"A bowl o punch that like the sea
    "Will soum a lang dragoon
                "Wi ease this day."

Without the cuissers prance an nicker,
    An ower the ley-rig scud;
In tents the carles bend the bicker,
    An rant an roar like wud.
Than there's sic yellowchin an din,
    Wi wives an wee-anes gablin,
That ane micht trow they were a kin
    To a' the tongues at Babylon,
                Confus'd that day.

Whan Phoebus ligs in Thetis' lap,
    Auld Reikie gies them shelter,
Whare cadgily they kiss the cap,
    An ca't roond helter-skelter.
Jock Bell gaed furth to play his freaks,
    Great cause he had to rue it,
For frae a stark Lochaber aix
    He gat a clamihewit,
                Fou sair that nicht.

Burns scholars'll can see whaur he fand his favourite kin
o verse an aa!

For a muckle peety, Fergusson dee'd whan he wis 23 year
auld, throu a combination o ill-health an ill-traetment.
He left ahint a muckle body o wark in baith Scots an
English. His Scots poems is at:

http://scotstext.org/pages/resultspage.asp?text=1529&pagetype=text

The saicont great poet is Allan Ramsay, that cam alang even
aerlier than Fergusson an's been described bi Sir Wattie as
"the lamp at which Burns lit his brilliant torch". Ramsay
wis a "weeg-makar" bi profession, an wis aiblins the first
tae shup a muckle body o wark in modern Scots. He rewrate
an "completit" mony a traditional Scots sang, but thir's
generally seen as ower sentimental an stechie. He pit the
clessical poets ower intae Scots even tho he haed tae wirk
fae the English texts for want o the Latin, but he haed a
richt lug for naitral, an yet original, Scots that pat a
life o their ain intil them, pittin ower Horace's "nil
mortalibus arduum est: ceolum etiam petinus stultitia" as:

"What is't man winna ettle at?
"E'en wi the Gods he'll bell the cat."

We dinna hae ony o this up on ScotsteXt, houanever. What we
div hae is his greatest an maist entertainin wark, "The Gentle
Shepherd".

This is a five-ack play settin oot twinty-fower oors in the
life o a Scottish shepherd that's ae ettle in life is tae
settle doun an mairy his sweethert. Of coorse, his elders,
an his rival in love, an a local witch-wife, an the laird,
an a spaeman that appearinly juist chances intae him that
nicht, aa haes their ain plans for him, sae it's no gaun
tae be that simple!

Aesy Ramsay's best wark, it haes plenty o thae original
turns o phrase he wis famous for:

"I dinna like him, Peggy, there's an end;
"A herd mair sheepish yet I never kend."

an:

"Wi how much joy I on this errand flee,
"There's nane can ken that is nae dounricht me."

an:

"Sun, gallop doun the westlin skies,
"Gang suin to bed, an quickly rise;
"O lash yer steeds, post time awa,
"An haste aboot oor bridal day!
"An if ye're wearied, honest licht,
"Sleep, gin ye like, a week that nicht."

And finally, for a gust o the general quality o the Scots an
the teuchterosity the hale play's famous for:

PEGGY.

Gae far'er up the burn to Habbie's How,
Where a' the sweets o spring an summer growe:
There 'tween twa birks, oot ower a little lin,
The water fa's an maks a singin din;
A puil briest-deep, beneath as clear as gless,
Kisses wi easy whirls the borderin gress.
We'll end oor washin while the mornin's cool;
An when the day growes het, we'll to the puil,
There wash oorsels--'tis healthfu nou in Mey,
An sweetly cauler on sae warm a day.

JENNY.

Daft lassie, when we're naked, what'll ye say
Gif oor twa herds come brattlin doun the brae,
An see us sae?--that jeerin fallow Pate
Wad tauntin say, "Haith, lasses, ye're no blate!"

PEGGY.

We're far frae ony road, an oot o sicht;
The lads they're feedin far beyont the hicht.
But tell me nou, dear Jenny (we're oor lane),
What gars ye plague yer wooer wi disdain?
The neibours a' tent this as weel as I,
That Roger loes ye, yet ye carena by.
What ails ye at him? Troth, between us twa,
He's wordy ye the best day e'er ye saw!

It's aa illustrate wi David Allan's bonny steel engravins
(the tartan claiths that ye see the herds weerin in the
picturs is plydes) at:

http://scotstext.org/pages/resultspage.asp?text=1549&pagetype=text

Sandy
http://scotstext.org
A dinna dout him, for he says that he
On nae accoont wad ever tell a lee.
                          - C.W.Wade,
                    'The Adventures o McNab'

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