A THOUGHT
A learned fox grown stiff with eild,
Unable now in open field,
By speed of foot and clever stends,
To seize and worry lambs and hens.
But Lowry never wants a shift
To help him out at a dead lift.
He cleath'd himsel in reverend dress,
And turn'd a preacher. Nathing less!
Held forth wi' birr, 'gainst wier unjust,
'Gainst theft and gormondizing lust.
Clear was his voice, his tone was sweet,
In zeal and mien he seem'd complete.
Sae grave and humble was his air,
His character shin'd wide and fair.
'Tis said the lyon had a mind
To hear him. But Mess Fox declin'd
That honour. Reasons on his side
Said that might snare him into pride.
But sheep and powtry, geese and ducks,
Came to his meeting-hole in flocks.
Of being his prey they had nae fear,
His text the contrary made clear.
"CURST be that animal voracious,"
Cry'd he, "sae cruel and ungracious,
That chuses flesh to be his food,
And takes delight in waughting blood.
What? live by murder! Horrid deed,
While we have trees and ilka mead
Finely enrich'd with herbs and fruits,
To serve and please the nicest brutes.
We shou'd respect, dearly belov'd,
What e'er by breath of life is mov'd.
First, 'tis unjust, and secondly,
'Tis cruel, and a cruelty
By which we are expos'd — O sad! —
To eat perhaps our lucky-dad.
For ken, my friend, the saul ne'er dies,
But frae the failing body flies,
Leaves it to rot, and seeks anither.
Thus young Miss Goose may be my mither.
The bloody wowf, seeking his prey,
His father in a sheep may slay.
And I, in worrying lambs or cocks,
Might choak my gransire Doctor Fox.
Ah! Heaven protect me frae sic crimes:
I'd rather die a thousand times."
THUS our bob-tail'd Pythagoras preach'd,
And with loud cant, his lungs out-stretch'd.
His sermon sounded o'er the dale,
While thus he moraliz'd with zeal.
His glass spun out. He ceast, admir'd
By all, who joyfully retir'd.
BUT after a' the lave was gane
Some geese, twa chickens and a hen
Thought fit to stay a little space
To tawk about some kittle case.
The Doctor hem'd and in he drew them,
Then quiet and decently he slew them,
On whom he fed the good auld way.
These who wan aff, thrice happy they.
A lairned fox growen stieve wi eild,
Unable noo in appen field,
Bi speed o fit an cliver stends,
Ti seize an worry lambs an hens.
But Lowrie niver wants a shift
Ti help him oot at a deidlift.
He claethed himsel in reverend dress,
An turned a preacher. Naething less!
Held furth wi birr 'gin weir unjuist,
'Gainst thift an gormondizin lust.
Clear wes his voice, his tone wes sweet,
In zeil an mien he seemed complete.
Sae grave an humble wes his air,
His chairacter sheend wide an fair.
'Tis sayd the lyon haed a mind
Ti hear him. But Mess Fox declined
That honor. Reasons on his side
Sayd "That micht snare him intae pride."
But sheep an pootrie, gace an jocks,
Cam til his meeting-hole in flocks.
O bein his prey thay haed nae fear,
His text the contrary made clear.
"Curst be that ainimal voracious,"
Cried he, "sae cruel an ungracious,
That chuises flesh ti be his fuid,
An teks delyte in wauchtin bluid.
What? leeve bi murther! Horrid deed,
While we have trees an ilka mead
Feenly enriched wi yerbs an fruits,
Ti ser an pleise the nicest bruits.
We shoud respeck, dearly beleuved,
What e'er bi braith o life is meuved.
First, 'tis unjuist, an secondly,
'Tis cruel, an a cruelty
Bi whilk we err exposed, oh sad!
Ti eat perhaps oor lucky-dad.
For ken, ma freens, the saul neer dees,
But frae the failin body flees,
Leaves it ti rot, an seeks anither.
Thus young Miss Guse may be ma mither.
The bluidy oof, seekin his prey,
His faither in a sheep may slay.
An I, in worryin lambs or cocks,
Micht chowk ma gransire Doctor Fox.
Ah! Heiven pertect me frae sic crimes:
Ah'd raither dee a thousan times."
Thus oor bob-tailed Pythagras preached,
An wi lood cant, his lungs ootstretched.
His sermon soondit ower the dale,
While thus he moralized wi zeil.
His gless spun oot. He ceast, admired
Bi aw, wha joyfully retired.
But efter aw the lave wes gaen
Some gace, twa chickens an a hen
Thocht fit ti stay a little space
Ti tauk aboot some kittle case.
The Doctor hemmed an in he drue thaim,
Than quate an daecently he slew thaim,
On wham he fed the guid auld wey.
These wha wan aff, thrice happy thay.