The Rime of the Auncient Waggonere

David Macbeth Moir

(also attrib. William Maginn)

Blackwood's Magazine, IV, Feb. 1819

	PART FIRST.
An auncient wag- gonere stoppeth ane tailore going to a wedding, whereat he hath been ap- pointed to be best manne, and to take a hand in the casting of the slippere. The waggonere in mood for chat, and admits of no excuse. The tailore seized with the ague.	IT is an auncient Waggonere, And hee stoppeth one of nine:— ‘Now wherefore dost thou grip me soe With that horny fist of thine? ‘The bridegroom’s doors are opened wide, And thither I must walke; Soe, by youre leave, I must be gone, I have noe time for talke!’ Hee holds him with his horny fist— ‘There was a wain,’ quothe hee, ‘Hold offe, thou raggamouffine tykke.’ Eftsoones his fist dropped hee.
He listeneth like a three years and a half child.	Hee satte him downe upon a stone, With ruefulle looks of feare; And thus began this tippsye manne, The red-nosed waggonere.
The appetite of the tailore whetted by the smell of cabbage.	‘The waine is fulle, the horses pulle, Merrilye did we trotte Alonge the bridge, alonge the road, A jolly crewe, I wotte;’— And here the tailore smotte his breaste, He smelte the cabbage potte!
The waggonere in talking anent Boreas, maketh bad orthographye.	‘The night was darke, like Noe’s arke, Oure waggone moved alonge; The hail pour’d faste, loude roared the blaste, Yet stille we moved alonge; And sung in chorus, “Cease, loud Borus,” A very charminge songe.
Their mirth in- terrupted.	‘“Bravoe, bravissimoe,” I cried, The sounde was quite elatinge; But, in a trice, upon the ice, We hearde the horses skaitinge.
And the passengers exercise themselves in the pleasant art of swimminge, as dooth also their prog, to witte, great store of colde roas- ted beef; item, ane beef-stake pye: item, viii choppines of usquebaugh.	‘The ice was here, the ice was there, It was a dismale mattere, To see the cargoe, one by one, Flounderinge in the wattere! ‘With rout and roare, we reached the shore, And never a soul did sinke; But in the rivere, gone for evere, Swum our meate and drinke.
The waggonere hailethe ane goose with ane novel salutatione	‘At lengthe we spied a goode grey goose, Thorough the snow it came; And with the butte ende of my whippe, I hailed it in Goddhis name. ‘It staggered as it had been drunke, So dexterous was it hitte; Of brokene boughs we made a fire, Thomme Loncheone roasted itte.’—
The tailore im- patient to be gone, but is forcibly per- suaded to remain.	‘Be done, thou tipsye waggonere, To the feaste I must awaye.’— The waggonore seized him bye the coatte, And forced him there to staye, Begginge, in gentlemanlie style, Butte halfe ane hour’s delaye.

	PART SECOND.
The waggonere’s bowels yearn to- wards the sunne.	‘The crimson sunne was rising o’ere The verge of the horizon; Upon my worde, as faire a sunne As ever I clapped eyes onne.
The passengers throwe the blame of the goose mass- acre on the inno- cent waggonere.	‘“’Twill bee ane comfortable thinge,” The mutinous crewe ’gan crye; “’Twill be ane comfortable thinge, Within the jaile to lye; Ah! execrable wretche,” saide they, “Thatte caused the goose to die!”
The sunne suf- feres ane artificial eclipse, and horror follows, the same not being mentioned in the Belfaste Al- manacke. Various hypo- theses on the sub- ject, frome which the passengeres draw wronge conclusions.	‘The day was drawing near itte’s close, The sunne was well nighe settinge; When lo! it seemed as iffe his face Was veiled with fringe-warke-nettinge. ‘Somme saide itte was ane apple tree, Laden with goodlye fruite, Somme swore itte was ane foreigne birde, Some said it was ane brute; Alas! it was ane bumbailiffe Riding in pursuite!
Ane lovelye sound ariseth; ittes ef- fects described.	Ane hue and crye sterte uppe behind, Whilke smote our ears like thunder. Within the waggone there was drede, Astonishmente and wonder.
The passengers throw somersets.	‘One after one, the rascalls rann, And from the carre did jump; One after one, one after one, They felle with heavy thump. ‘Six miles ane houre theye offe did scoure; Like shippes on ane stormye ocean, Theire garments flappinge in the winde, With ane shorte uneasy motion.
The waggonere complimenteth the bumbailifie with ane Mendoza.	‘Their bodies with their legs did flye, Theye fled with feare and glyffe; Why star’st thoue soe?—With one goode blow, I felled the bumbailiffe!’

	PART THIRD.
The tailore meet- eth Corporal Feare.	‘I feare thee, auncient waggonere, I feare thy hornye fiste, For itte is stained with goose’s gore, And bailiffe’s blood, I wist. ‘I fear to gette ane fisticuffe From thy leathern knuckles brown’; With that the tailore strove to ryse— The waggonere thrusts him down. ‘Thou craven, if thou mov’st a limbe, I’ll give thee cause for feare;’ And thus went on that tipsye man, The red-billed waggonere.
The bailiffe com- plaineth of con- siderable derange- ment of his animal economye.	‘The bumbailiffe so beautiful Declared itte was no joke, For, to his knowledge, both his legs And fifteen ribbes were broke.
Policemen with their lanthornes pursue the wag- gonere.	‘The lighte was gone, the nighte came on, Ane hundrede lantherns’ sheen Glimmerred upon the kinge’s highwaye— Ane lovelye sighte, I ween. ‘“Is it he,” quoth one, “is this the manne? I’ll laye the rascalle stiffe;”— With cruel stroke the beak he broke Of the harmless bumbailiffe.
Steppeth twenty feete in imitatione of the Admirable Crichtovn.	‘The threatening of the saucye rogue No more I coulde abide; Advancing forthe my goode right legge Three paces and a stride, I sent my lefte foot dexterously Seven inches thro’ his side.
Complaineth of foul play and falleth down in ane trance.	‘Up came the seconde from the vanne; We had scarcely fought a round, When someone smote me from behinde, And I fell down in a swound:
One acteth the parte of Job’s com- fortere.	‘And when my head began to clear, I heard the yemering crew— Quoth one, “this man hath penance done, And penance more shall do.”’

	PART FOURTH.
The waggonere maketh ane shrewd observation.	‘O Freedom is a glorious thing!— And, tailore, by the by, I’d rather in a halter swing, Than in a dungeon lie.
The waggonere tickleth the spleen of the jailer, who daunces ane Fan- dango.	‘The jailere came to bring me foode, Forget it will I never, How he turned up the white o’ his eye When I stuck him in the liver.
Rejoicethe in the fragrance of the aire.	‘His threade of life was snapt: once more I reached the open streete; The people sung out “Gardyloo” As I ran down the streete. Methought the blessed air of heaven Never smelte so sweete.
Dreadeth Shoan Dhu, the corporal of the guarde.	‘Once more upon the broad highwaye, I walked with feare and drede; And every fifteen steppes I tooke I turned about my heade, For feare the corporal of the guarde Might close behind me trede! ‘Behold, upon the western wave Setteth the broad bright sunne; So I must onward, as I have Full fifteen miles to runne;—
The waggonere taketh leave of the tailore,	‘And should the bailiffes hither come To aske whilke way I’ve gone, Tell them I took the othere road,’ Said hee, and trotted onne.
to whome ane small accidente happeneth. Whereupon follow - eth the morale very proper to be had in minde by all members of the Dilettanti Society when they come over the bridge at these houres. Wherefore let them take heed and not lay blame where it lyeth nott.	The tailore rushed into the roome, O’erturning three or foure; Fractured his skulle against the walle, And worde spake never more!! MORALE. Such is the fate of foolish men, The danger all may see, Of those, who list to waggonere, And keepe bad companye.

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