'Twas nine o'clock he stapt in-bye,
Relieved to hear nae waesome cry.
"Well, well, Macphail!" the doctor says,
"My treatment's worthy of all praise!
I left you-why 'twas like a riot!
I see you now, contented, quiet.
Far, very far, our knowledge reaches!
How did you get on with the leeches?"
Tam ne'er replied, but turn'd his back,
Wi' tearful een 'twas Jean wha spak,
"Eh, Doctor! -Sic an awfu' cure
I ne'er saw gi'en to rich or puir,
For when we saw the ugsome beasts
It gart the herts rise in our breists!
But Tam, wha tak's your word for law,
Juist swalla'd doon the first pair raw!
Yet try's he micht, an' sair he tried,
He had to hae the last four fried!"
The doctor turn'd him on his heel,
An' though puir Tam looked rale no-weel,
He couldna trust himsel' to speak,
The tears were rinnin' doon his cheek,
An' a' that day was sair forfaughen
Wi' tryin' to haud himsel' frae lauchin'!
VIII.
Whate'er wi' Tam ye chance to crack on,
There's ae thing ye maun ne'er gang back on.
Freely he'll talk on politics,
The weather an' its dirty tricks,
On wages an' the price o' coal
Or things conneckit wi' the soul,
On hoo the meenister's a leear
An' medical advice owre dear,
But if the crack warks roond to leeches,
Puir Tam pits doon his pipe an' retches!
THE HOWDIE.
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