Bewick and Graham (1840s)/Margaret and the minister

THE

COMIC TALE

OF

MARGARET AND THE MINISTER.

---

A douse, religious, kintry wife,
That liv'd a quiet contented life,
To show respect unto the priest,
Whom she esteem'd within her breast,
Catch'd twa fat hens, baith big an' plump,
An' butter sho pack'd up a lump,
Which she a present meant to gi'e him,
And wi' them aff sho gaed to see him.
Dress'd in her ain auld kintry fas'on,
Wi' brown stuff gown, an' braw white bussin,
A dark blue cloak an' hood co'er'd a',
Sae lade, sae clad, she march'd awa;
Thus trudg'd alang-an' hence belyvo,
At tho manse door sho did arrive--
Rapp't, was admitted by the maid;
Ben to tho kitchen wi' her gade--
Syne for the Minister inquir'd,
Who soon came butt, as she desir'd,
When she to him a curtchie made,
An' ho to her thus smiling said,
Min. O! my dear Margaret, is this you:
I'm glad to see you; how d'ye do?
How's Tamos, my auld worthy frien'!
How's Jock your son, an' daughter Jean?
Mar. They're gaily Sir, we'ro a' meat hale--
Tho' Tamie's o'en but craz'd an' frail
But here's some butter, I present ye,
Which wi' thir hens I compliment ye.
Min. Howt, Margret! this speaks t'expence
But thanks ye'se get for recompence:
Wi' gratefu' heart, I freely tell
Ye're ever kind an' like yoursel'
Mar. Whish, Sir! wi' thanks--nae thanks ava;
Ye're worthy mair—the gift's but sma';
But this acknowledgment from us,
Means ye're beloved by me and Tamos.
Min. Sic favours, sure, I ne'er expected;
Yet blytho am I, I'm sae respected;
Fling aff your cloak and follow me;
Come ben, an' rest, an' crack awee:
'Tis no sae aft ye come to see us;
Ye'll wait, and tak' your dinner wi' us-
It's ready, waiting on my comin';'
Como ben, then, Margret, honest woman.
Mar. Na, na, Sir! dinna speak o' that,
I'll tak' nae dinner weel I wat;
Wi' gentle manners (ye will grant it)
I've over yet been unaquantit.
Min. The manners that ye use at hame-
Use here, an' banish fear an' shame,
The company's but few, they're wholly
My wife, a preacher, Jess, and Polly:
Ye'se tak' your dinner or ye gang,
Just do like me, ye'll no gae wrang.
To dine at length she was advised;
Gade glowrin' ben like ane surprised;
Spread wide her gown, her head erecked,
Confus'd and awkwardly she becked:
While rev'rend Mess John, kind and fair
Conducted her unto a chair;
An' told them wi' a knacky sentene,
She was an intimato acqaintance.
Blate like, aroun' them a' she gaz'd;
But at the table was amaz'd.
She ne'er before saw siken fairlies,
Sae mony antic tirly-whirlies,
How to behave while she was eating,
In sic a nicy, gentle meeting,
She had great fears--her heart was beating,
Her legs did shake--her face was sweating,
But still she was resolved anon,
To do in a' things like Mess John.
A' ready sitting face to face,
His rev'rence, gravely, said the grace;
Then, wi' a frank an open air,
Bid them fa' on, an' lib'ral share.
But he, being with the palsy troubl'd,
In lifting spoonfu's often dribbl'd,
Sae to prevent the draps o' broth,
He prin'd to's breast the table cloth.
Now Margret's settled resolution,
Was quickly put in execution;
For, as was said already, she did
Resolve to do whatever he did,
Sho therefore also like the priest,
Prin'd the cloth firmly to her breast,
(Wi' a prin twa inches lang at least;)
Which smiles frae them at table drew,
As far's gude breeding wad allow.
Sae soon as they the kail had supp d,
To glancin' knives and forks they gripp'd,
Wi' them to weel fill'd plates fell keenly;
Ate--took a drink--an' crackit frien'ly.
But Margret only was a hearer,
She was sae blate; nought seem'd to cheer her,
Sae mony things appearing new,
Cam' ilka minute in her view,
And fill'd her mind sae fu' o' dread,
Cracking was clean out o' her head.
In course, the Pastor, her example,
That brought her there to feed her ample,
She notic'd twa or three times take
Out o'a dish slaik after slaik
O' MUSTARD; which she judg'd to be
Gravie, or some delicious brie;
For Margret ne'er did peruse it,
Kenn'd na' its name, nor how to use it;
But now determin'd to partake o't,
She wi' a tea spoon took a slaik o't,
Heedless she supped up the whole,
Then instantly she looked droll,
Dung doited in a moment's space,
She hung her head and throw her faco!
Throw down her knife an' fork displeas'd,
Syne wi' baith hands her nose she seiz'd,
While it did bite an' blin' her een;
Tho like o't sure was never seen;
For startin' up as fast as able;
The haill gear tumbl'd aff the table!
Tho crash o' crock'ry ware resounded,
Plates truntlin'--ilka ane confounded.
Straight to tho door she frantic flew,
An' after her Mess John sho drew;
Which drave tho company a' throuther,
As they were kippled baith thegither.
But in a crack, the prins brak looso,
An' Margret, ravin' left the house,
Hameward, in haste, sho hobbl'd sweating,
Tell'd Tamos the disaster greeting,
Wrung baith her han's an' solemn sware,
To dine wi' gentle folks nae mair.

THE END.