The Book of Humorous Verse
Chapter 143 : THE LAIRD O' c.o.c.kPEN The last two stanzas were added by Miss Ferrier.The Laird

THE LAIRD O' c.o.c.kPEN

The last two stanzas were added by Miss Ferrier.

The Laird o' c.o.c.kpen, he's proud and he's great; His mind is ta'en up wi' the things o' the state; He wanted a wife his braw house to keep; But favour wi' wooin' was fas.h.i.+ous to seek.

Doun by the d.y.k.e-side a lady did dwell, At his table-head he thought she'd look well M'Clish's ae daughter o' Claverse-ha' Lee-- A pennyless la.s.s wi' a lang pedigree.

His wig was well-pouther'd, as guid as when new, His waistcoat was white, his coat it was blue: He put on a ring, a sword, and c.o.c.k'd hat-- And wha could refuse the Laird wi' a' that?

He took the grey mare, and rade cannilie-- And rapped at the yett o' Claverse-ha' Lee; "Gae tell mistress Jean to come speedily ben: She's wanted to speak wi' the Laird o' c.o.c.kpen."

Mistress Jean she was makin' the elder-flower wine; "And what brings the Laird at sic a like time?"

She put off her ap.r.o.n, and on her silk gown, Her mutch wi' red ribbons, and gaed awa' down.

And when she cam' ben, he boued fu' low; And what was his errand he soon let her know, Amazed was the Laird when the lady said, Na, And wi' a laigh curtsie she turned awa'.

Dumfounder'd he was, but nae sigh did he gi'e; He mounted his mare, and rade cannilie; And aften he thought, as he gaed through the glen, "She's daft to refuse the Laird o' c.o.c.kpen."

And now that the Laird his exit had made, Mistress Jean she reflected on what she had said; "Oh! for ane I'll get better, it's waur I'll get ten-- I was daft to refuse the Laird o' c.o.c.kpen."

Neist time that the Laird and the Lady were seen, They were gaun arm and arm to the kirk on the green; Now she sits in the ha' like a weel-tappit hen, But as yet there's nae chickens appeared at c.o.c.kpen.

_Lady Nairne._

A WEDDING

I tell thee, d.i.c.k, where I have been; Where I the rarest things have seen; Oh, things without compare!

Such sights again can not be found In any place on English ground, Be it at wake or fair.

At Charing Cross, hard by the way Where we (thou know'st) do sell our hay, There is a house with stairs; And there did I see coming down Such folks as are not in our town; Vorty at least, in pairs.

Amongst the rest one pest'lent fine (His beard no bigger tho' than thine) Walk'd on before the rest; Our landlord looks like nothing to him; The King (G.o.d bless him!) 'twould undo him Should he go still so drest.

At Course-a-park, without all doubt, He should have first been taken out By all the maids i' th' town: Though l.u.s.ty Roger there had been, Or little George upon the green, Or Vincent of the crown.

But wot you what? The youth was going To make an end of all his woing; The parson for him staid: Yet by his leave, for all his haste, He did not so much wish all past, Perchance as did the maid.

The maid (and thereby hangs a tale) For such a maid no Whitson-ale Could ever yet produce; No grape that's kindly ripe, could be So round, so plump, so soft, as she Nor half so full of juyce.

Her finger was so small, the ring Would not stay on which they did bring; It was too wide a peck: And, to say truth (for out it must), It look'd like the great collar (just) About our young colt's neck.

Her feet beneath her petticoat, Like little mice, stole in and out, As if they fear'd the light: But oh! she dances such a way; No sun upon an Easter day Is half so fine a sight.

Her cheeks so rare a white was on, No daisie makes comparison (Who sees them is undone); For streaks of red were mingled there, Such as are on a Cath'rine pear, The side that's next the Sun.

Her lips were red; and one was thin, Compared to that was next her chin (Some bee had stung it newly); But, d.i.c.k, her eyes so guard her face, I durst no more upon them gaze, Than on a Sun in July.

Her mouth so small, when she does speak, Thou'dst swear her teeth her words did break, That they might pa.s.sage get; But she so handled still the matter, They came as good as ours, or better, And are not spent a whit.

Pa.s.sion, oh me! how I run on!

There's that that would be thought upon, I trow, besides the bride.

The business of the kitchen's great; For it is fit that men should eat, Nor was it there denied.

Just in the nick the Cook knock'd thrice, And all the waiters in a trice His summons did obey; Each serving man, with dish in hand, March'd boldly up like our train'd band, Presented, and away.

When all the meat was on the table, What man of knife, or teeth, was able To stay to be entreated?

And this the very reason was, Before the parson could say grace The company was seated.

Now hats fly off, and youths carouse; Healths first go round, and then the house, The bride's came thick and thick; And when 'twas named another's health, Perhaps he made it hers by stealth, (And who could help it, d.i.c.k?)

O' th' sudden, up they rise and dance; Then sit again, and sigh, and glance: Then dance again, and kiss: Thus sev'ral ways the time did pa.s.s, Till ev'ry woman wish'd her place, And ev'ry man wish'd his.

By this time all were stol'n aside To counsel and undress the bride; But that he must not know: But yet 'twas thought he guest her mind, And did not mean to stay behind Above an hour or so.

_Sir John Suckling._

XI

TRIBUTE

THE AHKOND OF SWAT

Who, or why, or which, or _what_, Is the Ahkond of Swat?

Is he tall or short, or dark or fair?

Does he sit on a stool or sofa or chair, or Squat, The Ahkond of Swat?

Is he wise or foolish, young or old?

Does he drink his soup and his coffee cold, or Hot, The Ahkond of Swat?

Does he sing or whistle, jabber or talk, And when riding abroad does he gallop or walk, or Trot, The Ahkond of Swat?