1804 Poem, James Orr, 'The Spae-Wife'
Author: James Orr
Date: 1804
Source: Poem (Song): ‘The Spae-Wife’, from Poems, on Various Subjects, by James Orr (Belfast: Printed by Smyth & Lyons, 1804).
Comments: James Orr (1770-1816), a weaver from Ballycarry in East Antrim, is sometimes regarded as the best Ulster-Scots ‘rhyming weaver’ of his generation. A close friend and associate of Samuel Thomson, he penned over 150 poems in his lifetime and became firmly established as the Bard of the common people. An account of his life and poetry can be found in the ‘Introduction’ to The Country Rhymes of James Orr by Philip Robinson (Belfast, 1992).
Doc. ref. no.: USLS/TB/Poetry/1800-1899/011
THE SPAE-WIFE
Tune — “Come under my Plaidy”
Ye frien’s o’ deep knowledge, if wise ye wad be,
Creep into my cave an’ a’ secrets ye’ll see;
If maiden, or mother, uncertainty bother,
Frae doubt an’ frae darkness, their min’s I can free:
Ilk lass, no tald lees on, wha deems, an’ wi’ reason,
The youth she oblig’t frae her fond arms will flee,
An’ wife, in a fear ay, that jilts meet her dearie,
May learn the hale truth by applyin’ to me.
Gif Chanticlear’s ta’en frae the roost whare he craw’t;
Or horse, key, or sheep, frae the pasture-fiel’ ca’t,
My head I’ll bestow ye, if I dinna shew ye
The leuks in a glass, o’ the loun that’s in faut:
Or else if ye cleek up, an’ toss my delft tea cup,
If danger, or death’s near, the gruns plain will shaw’t:
By cuttin’ o’ cartes folk, an’ no’ by black arts, folk,
O past, present, future, I’ll read ye a claut.
A spunkie reply’t, wha oureheard the dark dame —
“Guid wife! they wha trust ye defeat their ain aim;
“The henpecket taupie, wha’d wiss to be happy,
“Sud ax nane wha ken - what the wife does at hame:
“Ilk sport-lovin’ weary, might dread to come near ye,
“Wha ken’st the dark neuk whare she try’t the blythe game —
“The grand plan of Nature’s conceal’d frae a’ creatures;
“Nor cud their skill chang’t gif they kent the hale scheme.
“Ye promise promotion, an’ sin’ frae the mead
“The shepherd to sea, whare some shark soon he’ll feed;
“The young thing, sae bonie, weds some canker’t clownie,
“Because ye’ve presag’d that nae ither’s decreed —
“While dupes trust the sybil far mair than the bible,
“An’ change the last sixpence that ye may be fee’d,
“I’ll scorn the to-morrow, an’ banishin’ sorrow,
“Learn mair light frae whiskey than e’er fill’t your head.
