A GUID New-year I wish thee, Maggie!
Hae, theres a ripp to thy auld baggie:
Tho thous howe-backit now, an knaggie,
Ive seen the day
Thou could hae gaen like ony staggie,
Out-owre the lay.
Tho now thous dowie, stiff, an crazy,
An thy auld hide as whites a daisie,
Ive seen thee dapplt, sleek an glaizie,
A bonie gray:
He should been tight that daurt 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 eer tread yird;
An could hae flown out-owre a stank,
Like ony bird.
Its now some nine-an-twenty year,
Sin thou was my guid-fathers mear;
He gied me thee, o tocher clear,
An fifty mark;
Tho it was sma, twas weel-won 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 neer was donsie;
But hamely, tawie, quiet, an cannie,
An unco sonsie.
That day, ye prancd wi muckle pride,
When ye bure hame my bonie bride:
An sweet an gracefu she did ride,
Wi maiden air!
Kyle-Stewart 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 stable-meals at fairs were dreigh,
How thou wad prance, and snore, an skreigh
An tak the road!
Towns-bodies ran, an stood abeigh,
An cat thee mad.
When thou was cornt, an I was mellow,
We took the road aye like a swallow:
At brooses thou had neer a fellow,
For pith an speed;
But evry tail thou payt them hollow,
Whareer thou gaed.
The sma, droop-rumplt, hunter cattle
Might aiblins waurt thee for a brattle;
But sax Scotch mile, thou tryt their mettle,
An gart them whaizle:
Nae whip nor spur, but just a wattle
O saugh or hazel.
Thou was a noble fittie-lan,
As eer in tug or tow was drawn!
Aft thee an I, in aught hours gaun,
In guid March-weather,
Hae turnd sax rood beside our han,
For days thegither.
Thou never braingt, an fetcht, an fliskit;
But thy auld tail thou wad hae whiskit,
An spread abreed thy weel-filld brisket,
Wi pith an power;
Till sprittie knowes wad rairt an riskit
An slypet owre.
When frosts lay lang, an snaws were deep,
An threatend labour back to keep,
I gied thy cog a wee bit heap
Aboon the timmer:
I kend my Maggie wad na sleep,
For that, or simmer.
In cart or car thou never reestit;
The steyest brae thou wad hae fact it;
Thou never lap, an stent, and breastit,
Then stood to blaw;
But just thy step a wee thing hastit,
Thou snoovt awa.
My pleugh is now thy bairn-time a,
Four gallant brutes as eer did draw;
Forbye sax mae Ive sellt 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 were brought,
Wi something yet.
An think na, my auld trusty servan,
That now perhaps thous less deservin,
An thy auld days may end in starvin;
For my last fow,
A heapit stimpart, Ill reserve ane
Laid by for you.
Weve worn to crazy years thegither;
Well toyte about wi ane anither;
Wi tentie care Ill flit thy tether
To some haind rig,
Whare ye may nobly rax your leather,
Wi sma fatigue.