A Golfing Idyll; Or, The Skipper's Round with the Deil On the Links of St. AndrewsFlint, Violet
General
A Golfing Idyll; Or, The Skipper's Round with the Deil On the Links of St. Andrews
Flint, Violet
Golf -- Poetry
'Pardon,' said I,--I felt quite nettled,--
'I do not think you've fairly settled
The nature of my strange distraction,
At least not to my simple satisfaction.
To clear myself, my honour tells me,
A stern necessity compels me,
Against your most injurious explanations
I have strong proof in bodily sensations.
For obvious reasons, I would fain refrain
From reference to the region of my pain.
The cause I've in my story tell't ye,
The skelp wi' tail Auld Hooky dealt me;
Further, my breeks, or I'm mistaen,
Will furnish proof both strong and plain.
Bring forth the breeks; as sure as leeks is leeks
You'll find the proof upon the breeks.'
The breeks they brought, o' good grey tweed,
And laid them oot upon the bed.
It was indeed a solemn moment,
Mysel', six worthy women present,--
A wise, discreet, respectable sederunt.
Auld Meg Kilgour, a clever howdie;
That virtuous woman, Jenny Braidie,
As dink and braw as ony lady;
The aged clack wife, Nelly Gourlay;
Good Jeanie Tosh, and stout Bell Lonie;
And last, the wisest o' the crew,
My worthy nurse, Miss Killiegrew.
The carlines they put on their specs,
Six pair o' een bore on the breeks;
Awe-struck they saw upon the seat,
Brunt black and deep, the mark complete
Of Clootie's tail, like the broad arrow,
Clear and distinct as tooth o' harrow!
The sicht o't caused great consternation,
Hech sirs! Gudesake! and sic-like exclamation.
Jean Tosh she gat as white's a sheet;
And Nell and Bell began to greet,
But Meg had nae sic trepidation,
And wanted mair investigation.
'Cummers,' says she, 'let's see his sark,
Aiblins it likewise bears the mark.'
'Fie!' Jenny cried, wi' blushing cheeks,
'Eneugh! we've seen the Skipper's breeks,
Sic zeal may weel become a howdie,
I draw the line at breeks,' quo' Jenny Braidie.
'What!' Meg rejoined, 'you pented jade,
You dare to scorn my honest trade!
'Tis ill for you to mak' reflection,
Your ain will scarcely stand inspection.'
And snorting red, on mischief bent,
She turned to me for my consent.
I saw that things were getting serious,
And feared they jauds so keen and curious.
Meg's birse was up and no mistake,
Her match she had in Jean the rake.
'Twas time to still the wordy clatter,
And pour the ile on troubled water.
'Leddies,' said I, 'your sympathy is precious,
To me you've been most kind and gracious,
With all your care I'm deeply gratified,
And as to proof, completely satisfied.'
[Illustration]
Nurse heard me, saw the cummer's zeal,
And looked as if diverted weel.
She laughed, amused at the sensation,
But flat refused the explanation,
And chaffed and scoffed in huge derision,
Declaring they had lost their reason.
'You doited women, don't you see
What is so evident,' says she,
'This good-for-nothing drunken wight
Has sat upon his pipe alight,
No doubt the cause of mark and pain.
To me it is as porridge plain.'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account