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Title: The Deil's Forhooit His Ain
Author: George MacDonald [
More Titles by MacDonald]
_The Deil's forhooit his ain, his ain!
The Deil's forhooit his ain!
His bairns are greitin in ilka neuk,
For the Deil's forhooit his ain._
The Deil he tuik his stick and his hat,
And his yallow gluves on he drew:
"The coal's sae dear, and the preachin sae flat.
And I canna be aye wi' you!"
_The Deil's, &c._
"But I'll gie ye my blessin afore I gang,
Wi' jist ae word o' advice;
And gien onything efter that gaes wrang
It'll be yer ain wull and ch'ice!
"Noo hark: There's diseases gaein aboot,
Whiles are, and whiles a' thegither!
Ane's ca'd Repentance--haith, hand it oot!
It comes wi' a change o' weather.
"For that, see aye 'at ye're gude at the spune
And tak yer fair share o' the drink;
Gien ye dinna, I wadna won'er but sune
Ye micht 'maist begin to think!
"Neist, luik efter yer liver; that's the place
Whaur Conscience gars ye fin'!
Some fowk has mair o' 't, and some has less--
It comes o' breedin in.
"But there's waur nor diseases gaein aboot,
There's a heap o' fair-spoken lees;
And there's naething i' natur, in or oot,
'At waur with the health agrees.
"There's what they ca' Faith, 'at wad aye be fain;
And Houp that glowers, and tynes a';
And Love, that never yet faund its ain,
But aye turnt its face to the wa'.
"And Trouth--the sough o' a sickly win';
And Richt--what needna be;
And Beauty--nae deeper nor the skin;
And Blude--that's naething but bree.
"But there's ae gran' doctor for a' and mair--
For diseases and lees in a breath:--
My bairns, I lea' ye wi'oot a care
To yer best freen, Doctor Death.
"He'll no distress ye: as quaiet's a cat
He grips ye, and a'thing's ower;
There's naething mair 'at ye wad be at,
There's never a sweet nor sour!
"They ca' 't a sleep, but it's better bliss,
For ye wauken up no more;
They ca' 't a mansion--and sae it is,
And the coffin-lid's the door!
"Jist ae word mair---and it's _verbum sat_--
I hae preacht it mony's the year:
Whaur there's naething ava to be frictit at
There's naething ava to fear.
"I dinna say 'at there isna a hell--
To lee wad be a disgrace!
I bide there whan I'm at hame mysel,
And it's no sic a byous ill place!
"Ye see yon blue thing they ca' the lift?
It's but hell turnt upside doun,
A whummilt bossie, whiles fou o' drift,
And whiles o' a rumlin soun!
"Lat auld wives tell their tales i' the reek,
Men hae to du wi' fac's:
There's naebody there to watch, and keek
Intil yer wee mistaks.
"But nor ben there's naebody there
Frae the yird to the farthest spark;
Ye'll rub the knees o' yer breeks to the bare
Afore ye'll pray ye a sark!
"Sae fare ye weel, my bonny men,
And weel may ye thrive and the!
Gien I dinna see ye some time again
It'll be 'at ye're no to see."
He cockit his hat ower ane o' his cheeks,
And awa wi' a halt and a spang--
For his tail was doun ae leg o' his breeks,
And his butes war a half ower lang.
_The Deil's forhooit his ain, his ain!
The Deil's forhooit his ain!
His bairns are greitin in ilka neuk,
For the Deil's forhooit his ain._
[The end]
George MacDonald's poem: Deil's Forhooit His Ain
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