And sall a Belgian pit it into words
And sing a sang to’t syne, and no’ a Scot?
Oors is a wilder thistle, and Ramaekers
Canna bear aff the gree—avaunt the thocht!
To meddle wi’ the thistle and to pluck
The figs frae’t is my metier, I think.
Awak’, my muse, and gin you’re in puir fettle,
We aye can blame it on th’ inferior drink.
T. S. Eliot—it’s a Scottish name—
Afore he wrote ‘The Waste Land’ s’ud ha’e come