This thing has got over thirty verses. As I am entering it on a public library guest computer, whose browser has a time-out, rarely does a long post clear through intact. So, chopped into several posts.
Author: George MacIndoe, 1771 - 1848 lifelong Glaswegian: born in Partick, died in Paisley
JOHN DUBS AND THE LAIRD; or, A MILLION OF POTATOES
Last Martinmas thro' rain and sleet, At Cambernau'd the laird to meet On his auld spavied beast, Out o'er the hirst, and cross the bent To pay the bygane towmont's rent, John Dubs hotchan east.
The laird sat noofan o'er his glass Baith rum and brandy, naething less, Stood sparkling on the table: -- John come awa, how's a' at hame? Is Janet weel? the mare't was lame For wark is she now able?
What feck o' stirks an' milk cows hae ye? Your ploughman Tam is he still wi' ye? Good craps o' corn and bear, Pease, beans, potatoes, wheat, an' rye. Plenty o' clover for the ky I hope ye've had this year? --
I thank ye sir, quo' John, for speering, Tho' weel I wat scarce worth shearing was either corn or wheat; But saebins this is auld term day The rent nae doubt ye'll gar us pay Whether or no we hae't.
John chirted out his hairy purse, Made frae the back o' some dead horse, As rough as ony spluchan; And while he counted o'er the cash The laird gar'd fill the stoup afresh And in his sleeve was laughan.
John paid his rent, tho' wi' a grudge, The laird let grab, and gied a fidge, -- I hope ye'll never miss't; Here's to you John, I wish ye health May you an' yours wi' wit an' wealth O' warlds gier be blest: --
Syne routed up a glass for John, Who ne'er the less was thinking on A trap he had prepar'd, Upon the road, tho' cauld and wet, Nought troubled John but how to get Advantage o' the laird.