Ye're like a sow—ye'll neither lead nor drive.
Ye're like Brackley's tup—ye follow the lave.
Ye're like laird Moodie's greyhounds—unco hungry like about the pouch lids.
Ye're like me, and I'm nae sma' drink.
Ye're like Piper Bennet's bitch—ye lick till ye burst.
Ye're like the cooper o' Fogo, ye drive aff better girs than ye ca' on.
"Said of those who attempt to reform anything, but who, instead of that, make matters worse."—G. Henderson.
Ye're like the corbie messenger—ye come wi' neither alms nor answer.
"He send furth Corbie Messingeir,
Into the air to espy
Gif he saw ony mountains dry.
Sum sayis the Rauin did furth remane,
And com nocht to the ark agane."