Poem by Robert Nicoll

Our Auld Gudeman

HE was a carle in his day,
    And siccar bargains he could mak',
When o'er a bicker he was set,
    And deep in a twa-handed crack.
He fought horse-coupers at the tryst,
    The smith and miller aft did ban;
For, whether be it at wark or play,
    The gree was wi' our auld Gudeman!

At kirk and preachin's duly he
    The sermons sleepit—drank his gill—
He cured disease in man and beast—
    And had o' Brown and Erskine skill.
The trysts and markets kent him weel,—
In quarrel, bargain, cog or can,
    He took and paid an equal share
Wi' friend and fae—our auld Gudeman.

Three wives he had, and bairns sax,
    And, 'tween the Scripture and the taws,
He gart them a' behave and work,
    And mak' nae mony hums and haws.
Now wi' a staff, about the dykes,
    He stoiters, auld, and beld, and wan;
And what he's been he'll ever be—
    A ranting, dainty, auld Gudeman!

1. The Battle Word
2. Menie
3. My Hame
4. We'll A' Go Pu' the Heather
5. The Bailie

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