PLUNKIN[1] kens a queer auld cock they ca Rab,
Wha has hoardet his hugger in coppers;
Hauf his house is filled up wi his wab,
While the ither hauf leuks like a broker's.
Auld Rab had seen bonnie Ann Auchencloss
Washin claes at the Marshall's Lane dippin, [2]
Sae, he reckonit the profit an loss
If his house tae a wife he shoud lippin.
Syne he trystet a blue coat at the Cross,—
It was Symington's [3] best, wi brass buttons ;
Wi Wright's wig, that his grandfaither Rab Ross
Had bequeatht, wi shae buckles an stockin's.
Rab took up the want, [4] dressed, in the mirk,
Creepin near Ann's backdoor in a hover,—
“Leuk,” quoth the faither, “what ails that daft stirk ?”
Quo the mither, “Come in for a bother.”
But she guessed by the sheen o his e'e,
An the queer way Rab aye glintet at her;
Sae, “Gudeman, wheesht, lea this wooin wi me,
An I'll fixt in a five minent's clatter,”—
For she weel kent, Rabbie's gear wasna sma.
Puir Ann gloomt; says her mam, “What's the matter?”
“Mither, in this warl I'll ne'er wed ava,
If my choice is confin'd tae that creature.”
But Rabbie wheetlit her out in the dark,
Wi his beard he was ne'er owre particular,
Et'lin, if Ann gaed him a squeeze or a smirk,
The jags o his bristles woud tickle her.
They brocht hame braws for the bride, quite a load;
Puir Ann wrocht, an her mither sae wrocht her,
That, before Martinmas morn, Abbey Boog [5]
Had united auld Rab tae her dochter.
They sent for yill in abundance frae Mair, [6]
An a dram frae Lochheid's roun the corner,
Widow Rule's winnock gleamit like a fair
Wi pies, puddins, and haggis extraord'nar.
They had drank Rab an Ann's health in ae glass,
Sung, danct, feastet, and fuddlet till mornin ;
Whan Annie's haun (out o sicht) gat a press,
An a whisper—“It's time for adjournin.”
Then she reelt out o the door in a jig,
Wi auld Rabbie hip-steppin behint her;
But the daunert bodie's gran'faither's wig
Was pu't aff on the door by a splinter.
Rab reached hame saft an sair out o breath ;
Through a hole at the foot o his steadin,
Crying— “Annie, fix the latch—I fear scaith ;
I've been bothert for days 'bout our beddin.”
Annie creept intae her bed like a lamb,
An was saftly asleep in a twinklin;
Tremblin, Rab ahint the door took his stan,
Lest the rascals shoud burst up the fastn'in.
Wi peep o day, Ann flew up like a lark,
Fried twa eggs wi the ham she had skirlin.
“Is a breakfast tae be first o your wark,
Ye young, wasterfu jade ? Rab cried, snarlin.
“Hear ye,” says Ann, “I'll tak nane o your snash;”
“Deed,” quoth Rab, “I’ll hae nane o yours either.”
“Daft coof,—as sure's I'm a maid an a lass,
I'll gae scamperin hame tae my faither.
Ye silly Bouk, I think mair o mysel
Than be deevt the day lang wi your havers,
For your baul heid's aye covered wi kell,
An your birsie beard's dreepin wi slavers.”
But noo, the racket frae less gaed tae mair ;
Auld Rab liftet his hauns for correction,
Whan young Ann whamelt him owre on the flair,
An flew hame for her faither's protection.
Noo, the haill toun resoun's wi the clish-clash,
Tauk that's bad baith for Rabbie an Annie ;
Tongue ne'er telit, if, instead o the young lass,
Rab had cocket his wig for her grannie.
The original manuscript of this piece could not be found. It is taken down from memory.—Ed.
[1] Plunkin,—the vulgar name of Orchard Street in the days of Tannahill, and is understood to have arisen from the many pools of water in the street, which made a “plunking” sound when persons stepped or fell into them. “Plunk,” says Jamieson, the Scottish lexicographer, “is a sound made by a heavy body falling into water.” The name Plunkin is associated with the following anecdote of the wife of a weaver in Gordon's Lone, whose husband subsequently became a successful manufacturer in “Plunkin,” wore gold buttons on its clothes, and ultimately owner of Mountblow, near Kilpatrick. She was shrewd and active ; but her education had been neglected. In relating or listening to gossip, she invented a new mode of grammatical comparison. At the commencement of the story, she used the exclamation or positive degree—“Gordon's Lone!” on becoming more excited, the comparative degree of—“Gordon's Lone and Prussia Street!!” and, on arriving at the sensational part, the superlative degree of—“Gordon's Lone and Prussia Street, and Plunkin at the end o't!!!” These places are near each other, and these exclamations of comparison used by that plain guidwife of the weaver, manufacturer, and landed proprietor, have been retained to the present day. “Plunkin at the end o't” was made into a spacious square in 1866.
[2] Dippin.—Along the banks of Cart, there were several stairs down to the river for the burgesses' wives and daughters to draw water and rinse clothes, which were designated “dippings.” The march of improvement swept these dippings away. In 1860, it was resolved to erect an iron railing on the river walk or terrace for protection of the lieges, when several churlish residents threatened opposition to the removal of the “Marshall's Lane dippin;” but on the morning of 3rd October that year, some kind fairy bore it away, and the oppositionists, thinking there was something supernatural in the event, quietly acquiesced.—Ed.
[3] Symington.—A cloth merchant at the “Plain stanes” or public promenade at the Cross, in the end of the last century and beginning of the present.—Ed.
[4] Want.—The opening or passage on the east side of “Plunkin” leading down to Cart.—Ed.
[5] Rev. Robert Boog, D.D., Minister of the First Charge of the Abbey Church, who died on 24th July, 1823, in the 78th year of his age, and 30th year of his ministry.—Ed.
[6] The names in this verse were well known at the time.—Ed.
[Semple 176]