Cockie-Roosie-Ride Poem by Alexander Anderson

Pit the bairn on mammy's back,
Ow'r her shuiders pit his feet;
Let me grup his wee fat legs,
While his brithers laugh to see't.
Pit the stules anaith the chairs,
Clear the hoose on ilka side;
Maunna fa' when mammy gies
Her bairn a cockie-roosie-ride.


Is he ready? Here we gang,
Jumpin' roun' the hoose wi' glee;
Stoppin' whiles afore the glass
To let the lauchin' laddie see.
Losh me, hoo he gecks an' goos,
An' shogs an' sweys frae side to side;
Is his heid, like some we ken,
Turn'd wi' his cockie-roosie-ride.


No ae minute can I stan',
Roun' the hoose we gang again,
While the rascal tries to mak'
My mutch-strings ser' him for a rein.
Hoo he kicks an' tries to spur,
An' thraws his face wi' very pride;
Gudesake! has he min' o' men
When at his cockie-roosie-ride.


What's the matter wi' him noo,
That he's takin' sic a grup,
Signin' wi' the ither han'
For Jock to han' him up his whup?
Wad the sorra really strike—
Bairns are unco ill to guide—
Strike his mammy, on whase back
He tak's his cockie-roosie-ride?


There, noo, juist as I had thocht,
Struck the wa' press wi' his croon;
Whup an' strings are a' let gae,
As I boo to set him doon.
What a greetin' bairn, an' yet
Siccan knocks are ill to bide;
Bless him, he'll get waur, I doot,
In life's cockie-roosie-ride.


Dinna greet, but cuddle doon
Safe an' snug on mammy's knee;
Cuddle, an' she'll clap his heid,
An' mak' it better in a wee.
See, he's sabbit into sleep,
Thinkin' nae what may betide
When he turns a man, an' tak's
Anither cockie-roosie-ride.


A' this warl's naething mair
But a ride to rich an' poor;
Up an' doon we ride oor day
Gettin' mony a fa' an' cloor;
Then at last, when tir'd an' sair
Wi' wan'erin' unco far an' wide,
Quately are we slippit doon
Frae oor cockie-roosie-ride.