UPON a time a solemn ass
Was dand'ring throw a narrow pass,
Where he forgether'd with a brock,
Wha him saluted frae a rock.
Speer'd how he did, how markets gade.
"What's a' ye'r news, and how is trade?
How does Jock Stot and Lucky Yad,
Tam Tup and Bucky honest lad?"
Reply'd the ass, and made a heel,
"E'en a' the better that ye 'r weel.
But Jackanapes and snarling Fitty
Are grown sae wicked (some ca's 't witty)
That we, wha solid are and grave,
Nae peace on our ain howms can have.
While we are bisy gathering gear
Upon a brae they'll sit and sneer.
If ane shou'd chance to breathe behin'
Or ha'e some slaver at his chin,
Or 'gainst a tree shou'd rub his arse,
That's subject for a winsome farce.
There draw they me as void of thinking,
And you, my dear, famous for stinking,
And the bauld birsy bair, your frien',
A glutton dirty to the een.
By laughing dogs and apes abus'd,
Wha is 't can thole to be sae us'd?"
"DEAR me! heh! wow! and say ye sae!"
Return'd the brock. "I'm unko wae
To see this flood of wit break in.
O scour about, and ca' 't a sin.
Stout are your lungs, your voice is loud
And ought will pass upon the crowd."
THE ass thought this advice was right,
And bang'd away with a' his might.
Stood on a know amang the cattle
And furiously 'gainst wit did rattle.
Pour'd out a deluge of dull phrases
While dogs and apes leugh and made faces.
Thus a' the angry ass held forth
Serv'd only to augment their mirth.
Upon a time a solemn ass
Wes dand'rin throwe a nairrae pass,
Whair he forgethered wi a brock,
Wha him saluted frae a rock.
Speered hoo he did, hoo mercats gaed.
"What's aw yer news, an hoo is trade,
Hoo daes Jock Stot an Luckie Yad,
Tam Tup an Buckie honest lad?"
Replied the ass, an made a heel,
"E'en aw the better that ye're weel.
But Jackanawps an snarlin Fitty
Err growen sae wickit (some caws't witty)
That we, wha solid err an grave,
Nae pace on oor ain howms can have.
While we err bisy gaitherin gear
Upon a brae thay'll sit an sneer.
Yif ane shoud chance ti braithe ahin
Or hae some sclaver at his chin,
Or 'gin a tree shoud rub his erse,
That's subjeck for a winsome ferse.
Thare draw thay me as void o thinkin,
An ye, ma dear, famous for stinkin,
An the bauld birsie bair, yer freen,
A glutton dirty til the een.
Bi lauchin dugs an awps abuised,
Wha is't can thole ti be sae yuised?"
"Dear me! heh! wow! an say ye sae!"
Returned the brock. "Ah'm unco wae
Ti see this flude o wut brek in.
O scoor aboot, an caw't a sin.
Stoot err yer lungs, yer vyce is lood
An ocht wull pass upon the crood."
The ass thocht this advice wes richt,
An bangt awa wi aw his micht.
Stuid on a knoo amang the cattle
An furiously 'gin wut did rattle.
Puired oot a deluge o dull phrases
While dugs an awps leuch an made faces.
Thus aw the angrie ass held furth
Sert anely ti augment thair mirth.