Poem by Isabel Pagan

The Putting Begins

Tune -- Bright Phoebus.

Now the putting begins, if the weather holds clear,
I hope C -- ng -- n will shortly come here,
With dogs and attendants the muirfowl to try,
I wish they catch many that they be not shy.
		Haste away, haste away, haste away,
		It is far more for pleasure than gain;
		May friendship and bravery,
		And freedom from slavery,
		Their Honours maintain.

The brave Sir J -- n M -- ll, last year with him came,
A man of great honour, that well loves the game;
They took up their lodging here at Hunter’s hall,
Their generous conduct is well known to all.
		Haste away, &c.

Likewise Captain M -- ll was with them last year,
But I fear he’ll be absent, there is now such a steer
With both King and Country, at present, you know,
Which makes many a brave Captain abroad for to go.
		Haste away, &c.

The brave Sir J -- n M -- ll, a knight of great fame,
Could get plenty of game on his estates at hame;
But yet he delights to Muirkirk for to come,
Himself to amuse with his dog and his gun.
		Haste away, &c.

C -- ng -- n has lands where the covey more strong,
On Duckken and Karnsmuir as you walk along;
Much more he possesses on his large estate,
Tho’ he is humble and kind, yet his honour is great.
		Haste away, &c.

But to his lands in Muirkirk he delights for to come,
To hunt the young muirfowl, and enjoy the fun;
I know little of hunting, but this I am told,
The game is but dull when the feathers are old.
		Haste away, &c.

But I wish they may a’ get such birds as they want,
For in Muirkirk I doubt they be but very scant,
For there’s so many poachers, that how can they shun,
But to spoil the whole game, and hurt gentlemen’s fun.
		Haste away, &c.

But I hope Captain M -- ll he will come good speed,
For he’s a fierce shooter, and shoots without dread,
And loves aye to range where he thinks the game best;
I’m sorry he catch’d some that was in the nest.
		Haste away, &c.

I wish that my judgment could clearly express
These gentlemen’s bravery, I can do no less;
They’re humorous and humble in every degree,
And every man’s honour is humility.
		Haste away, &c.

My name is Pagan, I liv’d at Muir-mill,
My learning’s so weak, how can I speak with skill?
But yet I take pleasure these verses to sing,
Success to the hunting, and God save the King.
		Haste away, &c.

1. Account of the Author’s Lifetime
2. Muirkirk Light Weights
3. The Crook and Plaid
4. Skit on an Old Huntsman
5. Ca’ the Yowes to the Knowes

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