Grim Grizzle – [Grim Grizzle]

GRIM Grizzel was a mighty Dame
Weel kend on Cluden-side:
Grim Grizzel was a mighty Dame
O’ meikle fame and pride.

When gentle met in gentle bowers
And nobles in the ha’,
Grim Grizzel was a mighty Dame
The loudest o’ them a’.

Where lawless Riot rag’d the night
And Beauty durst na gang,
Grim Grizzel was a mighty Dame
Wham nae man e’er wad wrang.

Nor had Grim Grizzel skill alane
What bower and ha’ require;
But she had skill, and meikle skill,
In barn and eke in byre.

Ae day as Grim Grizzel walked forth,
As she was wont to do,
Alang the banks o’ Cluden fair,
Her cattle for to view.

The cattle shat o’er hill and dale
As cattle will incline,
And sair it grieved Grim Grizzel’s heart
Sae muckle muck to tine.

And she has ca’d on John o’ Clods,
Of her herdsmen the chief,
And she has ca’d on John o’ Clods,
And tell’d him a’ her grief:----

“Now wae betide thee, John o’ Clods!
I gie thee meal and fee,
And yet saae muckle muck ye tine
Might a’ be gear to me!

Ye claut my byre, ye sweep my byre,
The like was never seen;
The very chamber I lie in
Was never half sae clean.

Ye ca’ my kye adown the loan
And there they a’ discharge:
My Tammy’s hat, wig, head and a’
Was never half sae large!

But mind my words now John o’ Clods,
And tent me what I say:
My kye shall shite ere they gae out,
That shall they ilka day.

And mind my words now, John o’ Clods,
And tent now wha ye serve;
Or back ye ‘se to the Colonel gang,
Either to steal or starve.”

Then John o’ Clods he looked up
And syne he looked down;
He looked east, he looked west,
He looked roun’ and roun’.

His bonnet and his rowantree club
Fra either hand did fa’;
Wi’ lifted een and open mouth
He naething said at a’.

At length he found his trembling tongue,
Within his mouth was fauld:----------
“Ae silly word frae me, madam,
Gin I daur be sae bauld.

Your kye will at nae bidding shite,
Let me do what I can;
Your kye will at nae bidding shite
Of onie earthly man.

Tho’ ye are great Lady Glaur-hole,
Fo a’ your power and art
Tho’ ye are great Lady Glaur-hole,
They winna let a fart.”

“Now wae betide thee, John o’ Clods!
An ill death may ye die!
My kye shall at my bidding shite,
And that ye soon shall see.”

The she ‘s ta’en Hawkie by the tail,
And wrung it wi’ might and main,
Till Hawkie rowted through the woods
Wi’ agonising pain.

“shite, shite, ye bitch,” Grim Grizzel roar’d,
Till hill and valley rang;
“And shite, ye bitch,” the echoes roar’d
Lincluden wa’s amang.