The Muckle Mou’
When ye are auld an’ pitten past,Ye’ll whiles be sittin’ wi’ a freen’And crackin’, as ye hear the blastRage i’ the lum, o’ fowk ye’ve seen.There’s some gangs whingein’, singin’ sma’,An’ some that taks a baulder tune,But ae thing’s aye the same wi’ a’--Their mou’s owre muckle for their spune.
Ye’ll see a lad--his hoose the best,A thrivin’ swine in till his yaird,His gairden fu’--he winna rest,He’s wud because he’s no a laird!He coorts a lass; she’ll tak’ her aithHe isna fit to dicht her shune,What’s wrang wi’ ane is wrang wi’ baith--Their mou’s owre muckle for their spune.
O’ tinkler-fowk, an’ fowk wi’ meansYe’ll scarcely hae the time to speak,Men, wives an’ widdies, lords an’ weans,The mair they get, the mair they’ll seek.Ye’d think the vera warld was deav’dWi’ them that’s roarin’ for the mune,Nae maitter what they’ve a’ receiv’dTheir mou’s owre muckle for their spune.
But when ye’ve lookit mony a yearUpon yersel’ and ither men,Although to lairn ye’ve whiles been sweir,There’s twa-three things ye’re like to ken;Ye winna need to mak’ adoAn’ warstle wi’ the powers abune,Yer spune’s the measure o’ yer mou’,Gin ane is wrang, it’s no the spune!
Words in this poem
- auld a.
- Old; as, Auld Reekie (old smoky), i. e., Edinburgh. [See Old.]
- whiles conj.
- During the time that; while. Chaucer. Fuller.
- laird n.
- A lord; a landholder, esp. one who holds land directly of the crown. [See Lord.]
- lass n.
- A youth woman; a girl; a sweetheart. [OE. lasse; prob. of Celtic origin; cf. W. llodes girl, fem. of llawd lad. (Lad a youth.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
The Muckle Mou’ is in the public domain. This text is taken from Bonnie Joann, and other poems, Project Gutenberg ebook #69484; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Violet Jacob, The Muckle Mou’, in Bonnie Joann, and Other Poems (1921), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #69484, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/jacob-bonnie-joann/the-muckle-mou.html, id L21946.
Form and metre
The Muckle Mou’ is 32 lines in 4 stanzas of 8 lines each. The rhyme scheme is ABABCDCD, complete in 3 of its 4 stanzas. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 85%).
See other poems in iambic tetrameter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 ABAB-C-C pastA · freenB · blastA · seenB · sma · tuneC · a · spuneC
- 2 ABABCDCD bestA · yairdB · restA · lairdB · aithC · shuneD · baithC · spuneD
- 3 ABABCDCD meansA · speakB · weansA · seekB · deav'dC · muneD · receiv'dC · spuneD
- 4 ABABCDCD yearA · menB · sweirA · kenB · adoC · abuneD · mouC · spuneD
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic tetrameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| When ye are auld an’ pitten past, | 8 | ········ |
| Ye’ll whiles be sittin’ wi’ a freen’ | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| And crackin’, as ye hear the blast | 8 | ········ |
| Rage i’ the lum, o’ fowk ye’ve seen. | 8 | ········ |
| There’s some gangs whingein’, singin’ sma’, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| An’ some that taks a baulder tune, | 8 | ········ |
| But ae thing’s aye the same wi’ a’-- | 8 | ········ |
| Their mou’s owre muckle for their spune. | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Ye’ll see a lad--his hoose the best, | 8 | ········ |
| A thrivin’ swine in till his yaird, | 8 | ········ |
| His gairden fu’--he winna rest, | 8 | ········ |
| He’s wud because he’s no a laird! | 8 | ········ |
| He coorts a lass; she’ll tak’ her aith | 8 | ········ |
| He isna fit to dicht her shune, | 8 | ········ |
| What’s wrang wi’ ane is wrang wi’ baith-- | 8 | ········ |
| Their mou’s owre muckle for their spune. | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| O’ tinkler-fowk, an’ fowk wi’ means | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Ye’ll scarcely hae the time to speak, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Men, wives an’ widdies, lords an’ weans, | 7 | ······· |
| The mair they get, the mair they’ll seek. | 8 | ········ |
| Ye’d think the vera warld was deav’d | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Wi’ them that’s roarin’ for the mune, | 8 | ········ |
| Nae maitter what they’ve a’ receiv’d | 8 | ······˘/ |
| Their mou’s owre muckle for their spune. | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| But when ye’ve lookit mony a year | 9 | ···/˘/˘·· |
| Upon yersel’ and ither men, | 8 | ········ |
| Although to lairn ye’ve whiles been sweir, | 8 | ········ |
| There’s twa-three things ye’re like to ken; | 8 | ········ |
| Ye winna need to mak’ ado | 8 | ······˘/ |
| An’ warstle wi’ the powers abune, | 8 | ·····/·· |
| Yer spune’s the measure o’ yer mou’, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Gin ane is wrang, it’s no the spune! | 8 | ········ |
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