# Elegy on the year eighty-eight/Colin Clout. A Pastoral

COLIN CLOUT.
a pastoral.
Chanticleer, wi' noisy whistle, Bids the housewife rise in haste; Colin Clout begins to hirsle Slawly free his sleepless nest.
Love, that raises sic a clamour, Driving lads an’ laſſes mad, Wae’s my heart! had coost his glamour O’er poor Colin, luckless lad!
Cruel Jenny, lack-a-daisy! Lang had gart him greet an’ grane; Colin’s pate was haflins crazy— Jenny laugh’d at Colin’s pain!
Slawly up his duds he gathers, Slawly slawly trudges out; Frae the fauld he drives his weathers, —Happier far than Colin Clout.
Now the sun, rais’d frae his nappie, Set the Orient in a low, Drinkin’ ilka glancin’ drappie, I’ the field and o’ the know!
Mony a birdie, sweetly singin’, Flaffer'd briskly round about; ​Mony a dainty flowerie springin’— A’ war blyth but Colin Clout!
Thrice he thuds his tawny bosom, Thrice he scratch’d his ravell’d pow, Syne, despairing, down he throws him, Gasping on the flow’ry know.
E’en his sheep, wi’ plaintive crying, Seem’d to mourn a love sae true; "Ah!" cries Colin, "sure I’m dying"— "Baa!" cries ilka bruicket ewe!
"What is this!" cries Colin glowrin’ Glaiket-like a’ round about— "Jenny, this is past endurin’— "Death maun ease poor Colin Clout!
"Careless, see, my sheep they wander, "How they fare, I canna tell; "And while like a ghaist I dander, "Scarcely do I ken mysell.
"Anes I was baith stout and strappin’, "Brisk an’ blyth as lad cou’d be; "O’ the green, or o’er a chappin, "Nane cou’d laugh an’ sing like me.
"In a reel at penny weddin’s, "Wha like me cou’d fling about?— ​"Syne for daffin' wi' the maidens, "Wha cou'd brag wi' Colin Clout?
"Now my dancing days are over, "Nought am I but skin an' bane; "Late an' ear, a luckless lover, "I can only sigh an' grane!
"A' the night I toss an' tum'le; "Never can I close an ee; "A' the day I grane an' grum'le— "Jenny, this is a' for thee.
"Ye'll ha'e nane but farmer Patie, "'Cause the fallow's rich, I trow; "Aiblins, tho' he shou'd na cheat ye, "Jenny ye'll ha'e cause to rue.
"Tho' the coof wad fain be dashin', "Wi' his bannet set a-jee, "Cocket up in Highland fashin- "Was he e'er sae tight as me?
"Auld, an' glee'd, an' crooket backet— "Siller, bought at sic a price, "Jenny, gin ye loot to tak it, "Fouk will say ye're nae o'er nice!
"Jenny, Jenny, scornfu' hizzy! "Will ye be poor Colin's death?— ​"See, I'm doitet, daft, an' dizzy, "Lack-a-day! I scarce ha'e breath!”
Colin now, wi' sorrow laiden, Laid him down to get a nap, Whan a rosy-cheeked maiden Glinted o'er the hillock tap.
'Twas his Jenny, blyth an' pretty, She unseen had heard his plaint, Constant Colin's doolfu' ditty Gart the fickle lass relent.
"Cheer thee," cries the lassie, "cheer thee— "Farmer Pate was ne'er like thee— "A' his pelf, lad, needs na fear thee— "Colin Clout's the lad for me!"
Colin started up wi' wonder, Jenny's een dispell'd his doubt— Soon he threw his arms around her— Happy, happy Colin Clout!
Mony a smack the laddie laid on Blushing Jenny's bonny mou'.— Colin prov'd—sae did the maiden— Constant ever, ever true!
W. B.
Dundee 1788.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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