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TAM O' SHANTER.
A TALE.
When chapman billies leave the street,And drouthy neebors, neebors meet,As market days are wearing late,An' folk begin to tak the gate;While we fit bousing at the nappy,An' getting fou and unco happy,We think na on the lang Scots miles,The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles,That lie between us and our hame,Whare fits our sulky sullen dame,Gath'ring her brows like gath’ring form,Nursing her wrath to keep it warm
This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter,As he frae Air ae night did canter,(Auld Air wham ne'er a town surpasses,For honest men and bonny lasses.)
O Tam! hadst thou but been sae wise,As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice!She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum,A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum;That frae November till October,
