A wee Scottish poem about a domestic argument

BOWL ABOOT
By Alexander Anderson

Lang Jock McLean the toozie loon,
Was ken'd an' noted roon' an' roon'
As ane wha couldna let abee
The drink when signboards took his e'e;

But in wid bang wi richt guidwill,
Cryin'"Landlady bring in a gill"
Then if some drouthie frien's cam' in,
The glasses roon' an' roon' wid spin
Till ilka ane began to feel,
His nodddle spinnin' like a wheel,

But Jock is noo fu snod an' douce,
An' never heeds a public hoose,
An' how this cam tae be wrocht oot,
Was simply done by "bowl aboot",

Ae nicht as jock cam fae the toon,
As usual wi' a dizzy croon,
He staucher'd on fu' gruff an' grim
For a' things had gone wrang wi him,

So he resolved tae lay the blame,
O' a' if ever he got safely hame,
On Jean wha sat alane puir body,
Cursin' late hours an' steamin' toddy,

At length she heard him at the sneck
But never jee'd or turned her neck
Then in he cam' wi' ae lang stagger
An' looked roon' him wi a swagger,

Roared oot as he tried tae be steady,
"Jean, where's my supper? get it ready"
But aye she sat upon the stule,
Nor spak' a sentence guid or ill,

Then wi' an oath that wasna made,
For print, Jock tae the dresser gaed,
Took up a bowl an ' turnin' roon',
He heaved it up abune his croon,
An crash! It gaed upon the flair,
In fifty different bits an' mair,



Then Jean as mad as mad could be,
Sprang up sic spitefu' wark tae see,
Ran tae the dresser took anither,
An crashed it doon withoot a swither,
Then turned tae Jock, half skriechin' oot,
"Come on, ye deevil, Bowl aboot"

Then mercy me what wark began-
Bowl after bowl in flinners span,
An' aye as Jock himsel' took ane,
Jean seized its mate an' made it spin,
Baith wrocht as if for life an death,
Not stoppit tae recruit their breath,

But crash an' crash went bowl an' plate,
Till Jock half-ruein' at their fate,
Began to parley for cessation,
O' siccan dreid exclamantion,
"Haud Jean" he cried wi savage broo
"Own that this ploy began wi you,
An' no ither bowl by token,
This nicht between us will be broken,"

"Na faith I, Jock" Jean cried ""Ower lang,
I've listened to the same auld sang,
Hae borne yer bickerin' smash an' talk,
Nor gied ye an ill answer back,

Hae sat up many a weary nicht,
My heart up in my throat wi' fricht,
Thinkin' ye micht fa' ower the brig,
When rains had made the water big,

But come what may be't guid or ill,
This nicht I'll let ye hae yer fill,
So bowl aboot an' see wha's the winner,
Ye guid-fur-naethin' drunkin' sinner,

There's mine" - an' ere he was aware,
Jean smashed her bowl upon the flair
An ' Jock (his peaceful thochts in vain),
Swore an' fell to his wark again,


Till ashets, bowls, broth plates an a',
That looked sae nicely in a raw,
Lay on the flair - a broken harl,
The ruins o a crockery warl,

Next mornin' when Jock rase an saw,
The awful smash he scarce could draw,
His trooser on, but glowered to see't,
Until he nearly cut his feet,

Among the broken skelps that lay,
Like snowflakes on a winter's day,
Then wi' a scairt at his braid croon,
He gied a grum'le an sat doon,
To sup his parritch oot a pot,
For nae hale plate was in the lot,

But just afore he daun'ered oot,
He gied a boast an' turned aboot,
Flung doon his purse upon a chair,
Then pointed to the dresser bare,
Sic action said to Jean fu' plain,
"There, get the dresser fill'd again,"

That nicht when Jock fae wark cam' hame,
The fire shot oot a cheerfu' flame,
As far's the dresser where new delf
Was nicely ranged upon each shelf,

The table sat afore the fire,
An oan it was a' that ane could desire,
An' by it sat Jean a' the while,
Upon her face a cheerfu' smile,

Jock glowered an wonner'd when he saw,
His hoose sae snod, an' trig, an' braw,
At length when he had ate his fill,
He sat but keepit thinkin' still,

Until at last he turned to Jean,
An said, the big tears in his een,
"Wife, I hae thocht an' still I think,
I've been ower lang the fule o' drink,
But here this very nicht I voo,
To be a better man to you,
An leave gill stoops an' a' their mirth,
For purer joys beside the hearth,

For here's my han' t'ye as a proof,"
Jean rase an took his honest loof,
Kiss'd him an' ca'd him John an' grat,
Wi joy that it had come to that,

Blessin' sic was her happy state,
The breakin o' each bowl an' plate,
For plainly it was that brocht on,
The wish'd for happy change in John,

Frae that to this, as far's I've heard,
Jock aye has stick't to his word,
Comes home fu' sober, ticht an' square,
At nicht frae big Drumshauchle fair,

An' Jean since he has left the drappie,
Is noo fu' cheerful bien an' happy,
But aye when Jock prepares to gang,
To fairs an' roups an' sic like thrang,

She snods him up wi' great respeck,
Twines a big gravit roon' his neck,
Convoys him halfway doon the green,
Then wi' a smile aboot her een,
Stops, pu's his beard, an whispers oot-
"Noo Jock keep min' or bowl aboot!"