The Auld Farmers New-Year-Morning Saluta

    1786
    the auld farmer's newyearmorning salutation to his auld mare, maggie
    on giving her the accustomed ripp of corn to hansel in the new year.
    a guid newyear i wish thee, maggie!
    hae, there's a ripp to thy auld baggie:
    tho' thou's howebackit now, an' knaggie,
    i've seen the day
    thou could hae gaen like ony staggie,
    outowre the lay.
    tho' now thou's dowie, stiff, an' crazy,
    an' thy auld hide as white's a daisie,
    i've seen thee dappl't, sleek an' glaizie,
    a bonie gray:
    he should been tight that daur't to raize thee,
    ance in a day.
    thou ance was i' the foremost rank,
    a filly buirdly, steeve, an' swank;
    an' set weel down a shapely shank,
    as e'er tread yird;
    an' could hae flown outowre a stank,
    like ony bird.
    it's now some ninean'twenty year,
    sin' thou was my guidfather's mear;
    he gied me thee, o' tocher clear,
    an' fifty mark;
    tho' it was sma', 'twas weelwon gear,
    an' thou was stark.
    when first i gaed to woo my jenny,
    ye then was trotting wi' your minnie:
    tho' ye was trickie, slee, an' funnie,
    ye ne'er was donsie;
    but hamely, tawie, quiet, an' cannie,
    an' unco sonsie.
    that day, ye pranc'd wi' muckle pride,
    when ye bure hame my bonie bride:
    an' sweet an' gracefu' she did ride,
    wi' maiden air!
    kylestewart i could bragged wide
    for sic a pair.
    tho' now ye dow but hoyte and hobble,
    an' wintle like a saumont coble,
    that day, ye was a jinker noble,
    for heels an' win'!
    an' ran them till they a' did wauble,
    far, far, behin'!
    when thou an' i were young an' skeigh,
    an' stablemeals at fairs were dreigh,
    how thou wad prance, and snore, an' skreigh
    an' tak the road!
    town'sbodies ran, an' stood abeigh,
    an' ca't thee mad.
    when thou was corn't, an' i was mellow,
    we took the road aye like a swallow:
    at brooses thou had ne'er a fellow,
    for pith an' speed;
    but ev'ry tail thou pay't them hollowm
    whare'er thou gaed.
    the sma', drooprumpl't, hunter cattle
    might aiblins waur't thee for a brattle;
    but sax scotch mile, thou try't their mettle,
    an' gar't them whaizle:
    nae whip nor spur, but just a wattle
    o' saugh or hazel.
    thou was a noble fittielan',
    as e'er in tug or tow was drawn!
    aft thee an' i, in aught hours' gaun,
    in guid marchweather,
    hae turn'd sax rood beside our han',
    for days thegither.
    thou never braing't, an' fetch't, an' fliskit;
    but thy auld tail thou wad hae whiskit,
    an' spread abreed thy weelfill'd brisket,
    wi' pith an' power;
    till sprittie knowes wad rair't an' riskit
    an' slypet owre.
    when frosts lay lang, an' snaws were deep,
    an' threaten'd labour back to keep,
    i gied thy cog a wee bit heap
    aboon the timmer:
    i ken'd my maggie wad na sleep,
    for that, or simmer.
    in cart or car thou never reestit;
    the steyest brae thou wad hae fac't it;
    thou never lap, an' sten't, and breastit,
    then stood to blaw;
    but just thy step a wee thing hastit,
    thou snoov't awa.
    my pleugh is now thy bairntime a',
    four gallant brutes as e'er did draw;
    forbye sax mae i've sell't awa,
    that thou hast nurst:
    they drew me thretteen pund an' twa,
    the vera warst.
    mony a sair daurk we twa hae wrought,
    an' wi' the weary warl' fought!
    an' mony an anxious day, i thought
    we wad be beat!
    yet here to crazy age we're brought,
    wi' something yet.
    an' think na', my auld trusty servan',
    that now perhaps thou's less deservin,
    an' thy auld days may end in starvin;
    for my last fow,
    a heapit stimpart, i'll reserve ane
    laid by for you.
    we've worn to crazy years thegither;
    we'll toyte about wi' ane anither;
    wi' tentie care i'll flit thy tether
    to some hain'd rig,
    whare ye may nobly rax your leather,
    wi' sma' fatigue.