# The comical stories of Thrummy Cap and the Ghaist (NLS104185773)/The Comic Tale of Margaret and the Minister

the
COMIC TALE
of
MARGARET and the MINISTER.
A douse, religious, kintry wife, That liv’d a quiet contented life, To show respect unto the priest, Whom she esteem’d within her breast, Catch’d twa fat hens, baith big an’ plump. An’ butter she pack’d up a lump, Which she a present meant to gi’e him, And wi’ them aff she gaed to see him. Dress’d in her ain auld kintry fas’on, Wi’ brown stuff' gown, an’ braw white bussin, A dark blue cloak an’ hood co’er’d a’, Sae lade, sae clad, she march’d awa; Thus trudg’d alang—an’ hence belyve, At the manse door she did arrive— Rapp’t, was admitted by the maid; Ben to the kitchen wi’ her gade— Syne for the Minister inquir’d, Who soon came butt, as she desir’d, When she to him a curtchie made, An’ he to her thus smiling said.
​Min. O ! my dear Margret, is this you: I’m glad to see you; how d’ye do? How’s Tamos, my auld worthy frien’? How’s Jock your son, an’ daughter Jean? Mar. They’re gaily, Sir, we’re a’ meat heal— Tho’ Tamie’s e’en but craz’d an’ frail; But here’s some butter, I present ye. Which wi’ thir hens I compliment ye. Min. Howt, Margret! this speaks t’ expense But thanks ye’se get for recompence: Wi’ gratefu’ heart, I freely tell Ye’re ever kind an’ like yoursel. Mar. Whisht, Sir ! wi’ thanks—nae thanks ava; Ye’re worthy mair—the gift’s but sma’; But this acknowledgment from us, Means ye’re beloved by me and Tamos. Min. Sic favours, sure, I ne’er expected; Yet blythe am I, I’m sae respected; Fling aff your cloak and follow me; Come ben, an’ rest, an’ crack awee: ’Tis no sae aft ye come to see us; Ye’ll wait, and tak’ your dinner wi us— It’s ready, waiting on my comin’; Com ben, then, Margret, honest woman. Mar. Na, na. Sir ! dinna speak o’ that, I’ll tak’ nae dinner weel I wat; Wi’ gentle manner's (ye will grant it) I’ve ever yet been unacquaintit. Min. The manners that ye use at hame— Use here, an’ banish fear an’ shame. The company’s but few, they’re wholly My wife, a preacher, Jess, and Polly: Ye’se tak’ your dinner or ye gang, Just do like me, we’ll no gae wrang ​To dine, at length she was advised; Grade gtowrin* hen like ane surprised; Spread wide her gown, her head ereckted, Confus’d and awkwardly she hecked; While rev’rend Mess John, kind and fair Conducted her unto a chair; An’ told them wi’ a knacky sentence, She was an intimate acquaintance. Rlate like, aroun’ them a’ she gaz’d; But at the table was amaz’d, She ne’er before saw siken fairlies, Sae mony antic tirly-whirlies, How to behave, while she was eating, In sic a nicy, gentle meeting, She had great fears—her heart was beating Her legs did shake—her face was sweating But still she was resolved anon, To do in a’ things like Mess John. ’A ready sitting face to face, His rev’rence, gravely, said the grace; Then, wi’ a frank an’ open air, Bade them fa’ on, an’ lih’ral share, But he being with the palsy troubl’d, In lifting spoonfu’s often dribbl’d, Sae to prevent the draps o’ broth, He prin’d to’s breast the table cloth. Now’ Margret's settled resolution, Was quickly put in execution; For, as was said already, she did. Resolve to do whatever he did, She therefore also like the priest, Prin’d the cloth firmly to her breast, (Wi’ a prin two inches long at least;) Which smiles frae them at table drew, As far’s gude breeding wad allow. ​Sae soon as they the kail had supp’d, To glancin’ knives an’ forks they gripp’d Wi’ them to weel fill’d plates fell keenly; Ate—took a drink—an’ crackit frien’ly. But Margret only was a hearer, She was sae blate; nought seem’d to cheer her, Sae mony things appearing new, Cam’ ilka minute iu her view, And fill’d her mind sae fa’ o’ dread, Cracking was clean out o’ her head. In course, the Pastor, her example, That brought her there to feed her ample, She notic’d twa or thi’ee times take Out o’ a’ dish slaik after slaik O’ MUSTARD; which she judg’d to be Gravie, or some delicious brie; For Margret ne’er did peruse it, Kenn’d na’ its name, nor how to use it; But now determin’d to partake o’t, She wi’ a tea spoon took; a slaik o’t, Heedless she supped up the whole, Then instantly she looked droll. Dung doited in a moment’s space, She hung her head and threw her face! Threw down her knife an’ fork displeas’d, Syne wi’ haith hands her nose she seiz’d, While it did bite an’ him’ her een; The like o’t sure was never seen; For startin’ up as fast as able; The haill grear tumbl’d aff the table! The crash o’ crock’ry ware resounded, Plates trantlin’—ilka ane confounded. Straight to the door she frantic flew, An’ after her Mess John she drew; ​Which drave the company a’ throuther, As they were tippled baith thegither. But in a crack, the prins brak loose, An’ Margret, ravin’ left the house, Hameward, in haste, she hobbl’d sweating Tell’d Tamos the disaster greeting, Wrung baith her ban’s an’ solemn sware. To dine wi’ gentle folk nae mair.
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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