Classic Poem

TOM KNOTT , leyke monny mair in leyfe,
Was pester'd with an illgien weyfe,
Frae mworn till neeght her millclack tongue
Dirl'd in his lugs and loudly rung;
The clangour of her squeel peype thrwoat,
Tho' ey 'twas tuon'd in mischiefs nwote:
Whate'er he did, whate'er transacted,
Or whether ill or weel he acted
Was a' as yen, for nowght was reeght,
An' Tib misca'd him day and neeght,
Which meade him wish his spouse uncivil,
Full monny a teyme was at the devil;
Bit this he ay keep'd till his sell,
And tho' agriev'd durst never tell,
Because he knew reeghtweel sud he
Set up his gob, directly she
Wad kick'd up hell's deleyght i'th' house,
Which meade him mum as onny mouse,
An' snuol leyke, yield a fworc'd submission,
To what he deem'd a de'il's condition;
Bit tho' to keep a whyat leyfe,
Tom teamly knockled till his wife,
Yet now and then he'd raise a durdum,
Sea loud 'at hauf o'th' town meeght heard him;
Bit this was oft at the blue Bell,
When met wid haufthicks leyke his sell,
Owr some o' Nanny Newton's yell,
Tom then wad tell a parlish teale,
Wad rive and rwore and raise a rumpus,
Ay someteymes swear by jing to thump us.
For frae experience oft we see,
When fwoaks yence teaste of Liberty,
At hev befwore oppression fun',
Still to some daft extreme mun run,
And slaves the meast oppress'd still wou'd
Be th' greatest tyrants if they cou'd:
Thus he a sackless when at heame,
Nowght of guodman but just the neame,
Wad when he reach'd a public house,
Unkend to Tib turn deevlish cruose,
An' domineer owr fwoaks as vain,
As if the town was a' his ain.

It chanc'd ae halloween that Tom,
Wi' Harry, Jack, an' Seymie com,
An' monny jafflers leyke his sell,
To swlote awheyle at th' auld blue Bell,
Ae whart fast after tother follow'd,
They smuik'd, they drank, they sang, they hollo'd,
An' lang befwore the midneeght hour,
War a' as drunk as they end glwore,
Loud noise by some caw'd disputation,
For want of better conversation
Employ'd this open throppl'd crew,
An' nonsense frae a' quarters flew,
An' things were said as reason ended,
Unmeaning and as unintended;
Tom umbrage took at winkin' Wat,
Whe something said, he knew not what,
Ne'er ak, it matter'd not a fardin,
Tom goister'd, Watty begg'd his pardin,
It was a' yen, no dam thy snout,
Ise here, if thou's a man turn out,
Thou's monny teyme run th' rig o' me,
For leyle or nought, bit now let's see
What mak o' stuff thou is when try'd,
Thou needent gleyme, I'll yark thy hide,
I'll larn thee to cock-mantle will I,
And teach thee better manners Billy:
The room was full of noise and racket,
Tom doff'd his neckloth, hat, and jacket,
An' leyke a madman stamp'd the fleer,
When wicked luck the entry deer
Just at that instant gev a creek,
In bang'd Tom's weyfe. She cuddent speak,
Rage ty'd her tongue, or else she would,
Tom petrified with horror stood;
A beesom shank her hand furst met,
Wi' which she leyke a vengeance set
Upon his reddy bare mead back,
An' dealt him monny a wordie smack,
Owr seydes an' shoulders, craig an' crown,
Until the bluid ran spurtlan down,
At last her yammer outgeat fan',
And thus this rantipow began:—
Thou nasty guod-for-neathing dog,
Here is thou drunk as onny hog,
Wheyleth bairns, a bonny speech indeed,
Mun sit without a beyte of bread;
O thou's a menceless urlin ista,
Weel thou desarves thy pakes at dista:
And you, 'od wheyte leeght on you a',
A set o' dow for noughts to draw
Fwoaks men away to' th' public houses,
And here to haud your midneeght bouses,
O leytle stops me, bit I'd jaup,
This whart o' yell about your scope—
Sea said, she cleck'd wi' baith her neeves
The glass an' stoup, an' on the thieves
Them shower'd—'at Seymie's chafts she clash'd
The whart, the glass at Jack she dash'd,
An' when nea mair to throw she had,
She clapp'd her han's an' skirl'd for mad.
Tom saw the storm was louder getheran,
An' flait o' gittan tudder letheran,
Thought it was prudent to retire,
As stan' and feace a second fire:
Sea thro' the snow stark neak'd he pot,
Widout yence speeran for his shot;
Tib leyke a fury cursan efter,
An' he tho' swift, had ne bouk left her,
For beath gat nearly heame togither,
As speyte sped yen, an' freeght the ither;
Here was a fearfu' altercation,
Wi' illfar'd neames, noise and vexation,
Tho' Tom, peer man, nit mickle said,
But slipp'd off whiately to bed,
Yet Tib you meight hev heard a mile hence,
Till sleep had stuok'd her gob in silence:—
Oh, man! oh, man! what pity 'tis,
That what we whop our heeghest bliss,
Sud disappoint us, nay what's worse,
Sea oft turns out a real curse,
It shews man's want o' fworeseeght truly,
In not consideran matters duely,
And gives him monny illfar'd cowps,
Whea gowk leyke luiks not or he loups;
But shaugh! what signifies reflection,
To streyfe let's never add dejection:
Tom had eneugh o' this at heame,
When th' meagrims tuok his stingy deame,
But what o' that? he now and than,
Cud be a middlin happy man,
Which shews that human disposition,
Is seldom fixt in yae condition.
Tho' leately Tom hed sec a bruoly,
An' hey bey wi' his weyfc unhuoly,
When to avoid her elamourous jaw,
He skelp'd stark neak'd amang the snow;
Yet scarce a month was owr or mair,
When Tom returnin' frae the fair,
Met his three crwonies on the rwoad,
An' he, a silly sackless pwoad,
God kens smaw invitation sarra'd,
When thus wi' teypors sea weel marrow'd;
To gang an' pree anudder bicker,
Of Nanny Newton's nappy liquor—
In bang'd our neybors helter shelter,
For each was at a slwote a smelter,
An' he 'at fworemost cud advance,
Ay thought he hed a double chance,
Yence set, whart follow'd whart as fast,
As if each yen hed been their last,
An' a' the foursome gat as merry,
As tho' they'd drunken sack or cherry:
Teyme they begeyl'd wi' clish-ma-clatters,
An' crack'd on many diff'rent matters,
Someteymes on trade, someteymes on war,
Someteymes on country's god kens whar;
When Seymie, that auld fashion'd hanniel,
Whea was as slee as onny Danniel,
Declar'd to him 'twas parlish strange,
That yell sud work sea mickle change,
In fwoaks especially, says he,
As we've beheld frien' Tom in thee,
For generally we mun allow,
In brwolliments thou art nea cow,
Nay, for a pinch wad risk thy life,
Bit when a rumpus wi' thy weyfe
Breks out, 'tis then a chang'd affair,
Thou has not hauf a word to spare,
Why man she kelk'd thee leyke a log,
And chess'd thee leyke a cwoley dog,
An' than sic illfar'd neames she ca'd tha,
Thou wad be vex'd, Tom, I'll upho'd tha:
Dam me, I'd try to mend this matter,
An' breydle her infernal clatter.
Tho' Tom a buzzard was at heame,
Was not at every pleace the seame,
His stomach ne'er cud brook adveyce,
Especially in points sea neyce,
His weyfe the subject, feigh upon her!
But then yon see it touch'd his honour,
Ay there's the thing that rais'd the racket;
Agean off flew cwoat, sark, and jacket,
Widout a why or wherefore speeran,
He rwose leyke onny deevil sweeran;
His thumps at random dealt pell mell,
Beneath his strokes a' threesome fell,
A' three he beat, threyce risk'd his leyfe,
Weant heame—was paick'd agean by th' weyfe.