The Waesome Carl

There cam a man to oor toon-en',And a waesome carl was he,Snipie-nebbit, and crookit-mou'd,And gleyt o' a blinterin ee.Muckle he spied, and muckle he spak,But the owercome o' his sang,Whatever it said, was aye the same:--There's nane o' ye a' but's wrang!Ye're a' wrang, and a' wrang,And a'thegither a' wrang:There's no a man aboot the toonBut's a'thegither a' wrang.

That's no the gait to fire the breid,Nor yet to brew the yill;That's no the gait to haud the pleuch,Nor yet to ca the mill;That's no the gait to milk the coo,Nor yet to spean the calf,Nor yet to tramp the girnel-meal--Ye kenna yer wark by half!Ye're a' wrang, &c.

The minister wasna fit to prayAnd lat alane to preach;He nowther had the gift o' graceNor yet the gift o' speech!He mind't him o' Balaaem's ass,Wi' a differ we micht ken:The Lord he opened the ass's mou,The minister opened's ain!He was a' wrang, and a' wrang,And a'thegither a' wrang;There wasna a man aboot the toonBut was a'thegither a' wrang!

The puir precentor couldna sing,He gruntit like a swine;The verra elders couldna passThe ladles til his min'.And for the rulin' elder's graceIt wasna worth a horn;He didna half uncurse the meat,Nor pray for mair the morn!He was a' wrang, &c.

And aye he gied his nose a thraw,And aye he crook't his mou;And aye he cockit up his eeAnd said, Tak tent the noo!We snichert hint oor loof, my man,But never said him nay;As gien he had been a prophet, man,We loot him say his say:Ye're a' wrang, &c.

Quo oor gudeman: The crater's daft!Heard ye ever sic a claik?Lat's see gien he can turn a ban',Or only luik and craik!It's true we maunna lippin til him--He's fairly crack wi' pride,But he maun live--we canna kill him!Gien he can work, he s' bide.He was a' wrang, and a' wrang,And a'thegither a' wrang;There, troth, the gudeman o' the toonWas a'thegither a' wrang!

Quo he, It's but a laddie's turn,But best the first be a sma' thing:There's a' thae weyds to gether and burn,And he's the man for a' thing!--We yokit for the far hill-moss,There was peats to cast and ca;O' 's company we thoucht na loss,'Twas peace till gloamin-fa'!We war a' wrang, and a' wrang,And a'thegither a' wrang;There wasna man aboot the toonBut was a'thegither a' wrang!

For, losh, or it was denner-timeThe toon was in a low!The reek rase up as it had beenFrae Sodom-flames, I vow.We lowst and rade like mad, for byreAnd ruck bleezt a' thegither,As gien the deil had broucht the fireFrae's hell to mak anither!'Twas a' wrang, and a' wrang,And a'thegither a' wrang,Stick and strae aboot the placeWas a'thegither a' wrang!

And luikin on, ban's neth his tails,The waesome carl stude;To see him wagglin at thae tails'Maist drave 's a' fairly wud.Ain wite! he cried; I tauld ye sae!Ye're a' wrang to the last:What gart ye burn thae deevilich weydsWhan the win' blew frae the wast!Ye're a' wrang, and a' wrang,And a'thegither a' wrang;There's no a man i' this fule warlBut's a'thegither a' wrang!