They gutsy, donnered ither folk,
Their weird they weel may dree;
But why present a pig in a poke
To a gentleman like me?
They ither folk their parritch eat
An’ sup their sugared tea;
But the mind is no to be wyled wi’ meat
Wi’ a gentleman like me.
They ither folk, they court their joes
At gloamin’ on the lea;
But they’re made of a commoner clay, I suppose,
Than a gentleman like me.
They ither folk, for richt or wrang,
They suffer, bleed, or dee;
But a’ thir things are an emp’y sang
To a gentleman like me.
It’s a different thing that I demand,
Tho’ humble as can be—
A statement fair in my Maker’s hand
To a gentleman like me:
A clear account writ fair an’ broad,
An’ a plain apologie;
Or the deevil a ceevil word to God
From a gentleman like me.
X—THEIR LAUREATE TO AN ACADEMY CLASS DINNER CLUB
Dear Thamson class, whaure’er I gang
It aye comes ower me wi’ a spang:
“Lordsake! they Thamson lads—(deil hang
Or else Lord mend them!)—
An’ that wanchancy annual sang
I ne’er can send them!”
Straucht, at the name, a trusty tyke,
My conscience girrs ahint the dyke;
Straucht on my hinderlands I fyke
To find a rhyme t’ ye;
Pleased—although mebbe no pleased-like—
To gie my time t’ye.
“Weel,” an’ says you, wi’ heavin’ breist,
“Sae far, sae guid, but what’s the neist?
Yearly we gaither to the feast,
A’ hopefü’ men—
Yearly we skelloch ‘Hang the beast—
Nae sang again!’”