Page:Traditional Tales of the English and Scottish Peasantry - 1887.djvu/141

Rh heathy hills of Durisdeer. And so thou thinkest a drunkard's fall on the earth has given thee possession of it? Plague take me, if I give my consent to such a dangerous monopoly.' The perverse being to whom this speech was addressed made light of its irony, and seizing a large two-eared quaigh, stooped his face into it till nothing remained above the brim save a fleece of sooty uncombed locks, and drained out the liquor at a breath. He hurled the empty cup to the figure before the fire, and, though opposed by violent hiccupings, exclaimed, 'More! bring me more! that was delicious. Jock, Jenny Mason's Jock, fill that cog, my man, and hear ye me: come hither and haud it to my head, for I am no sae sicker as I should be, and that whin-stone rock seems as if it would whomble aboon me. And d'ye hear me, Jock Laggengird, let me have none of the dyke-water additions which Mungo Macubin makes to the prime spirit which he drinks. Taxes and stents have made Scotland's crowdie thin, and turned her warm brose into cauld steerie. If ye covet the present length of your lugs, let me have none of your penitential potations.'

"While Jenny Mason's descendant crawled to a cask, and turned a pin from which a pure liquid dribbled drop by drop into the cup, Mungo Macubin took down his fiddle, arranged the disordered strings, played a pleasant air, and accompanied it by singing the following rustic verses, which I have since learned were of his own composition.

Come toom the stoup! Let the merry sun shine

On sculptured cups and the merry man's wine;

Come toom the stoup! From the bearded bear,

And the heart of corn, comes this life-drink dear.

The reap-hook, the sheaf, and the flail for me;

Away with the drink of the slave's vine tree.

The spirit of malt sae free and sae frank,

Is my minted money and bonds in the bank.

Come toom up the stoup! What must be must,

I'm cauld and cankered, and dry as dust;

A simmering stoup of this glorious weet

Gives soaring plumes to Time's leaden feet.

Let yon stately madam, so mim and so shy,

Arch her white neck proud, and sail prouder by;

The spirit of maut, so frank and so free,

Is daintier than midnight madam to me.