TWA books, near neighbours in a shop,
The tane a guilded Turky fop,
The tither's face was weather-beaten
And caf-skin jacket sair worm-eaten.
The corky, proud of his braw suit,
Curl'd up his nose and thus cry'd out:
"Ah! place me on some fresher binks,
Figh! how this mouldy creature stinks!
How can a gentle book like me
Endure sic scoundrel company?
What may fowk say to see me cling
Sae close to this auld ugly thing;
But that I'm of a simple spirit,
And disregard my proper merit?"
QUOTH Gray-baird: "Whisht, sir, with your din!
For a' your meritorious skin
I doubt if you be worth within.
For as auld fashion'd as I look,
May be I am the better book."
"O heavens! I canna thole the clash
Of this impertinent auld hash.
I winna stay ae moment langer."
"My Lord, please to command your anger;
"Pray only let me tell you that…"
"What wad this insolent be at!
Rot out your tongue. Pray, Master Symmer,
Remove me frae this dinsome rhimer.
If you regard your reputation,
And us of a distinguish'd station,
Hence frae this beast let me be hurried,
For with his stour and stink I'm worried."
SCARCE had he shook his paughty crap,
When in a customer did pap;
He up douse Stanza lifts, and ey's him,
Turns o'er his leaves, admires, and buys him.
"This book," said he, "is good and scarce,
The saul of sence in sweetest verse."
But reading title of gilt cleathing
Cries, "Gods! wha buys this bonny naithing?
Nought duller e'er was put in print!
Wow! what a deal of Turky's tint!"
NOW, sir, t'apply what we've invented,
You are the buyer represented
And may your servant hope
My lays shall merit your regard,
I'll thank the gods for my reward
And smile at ilka fop.
Twa beuks, near neibours in a shop,
The tane a guiltit Turkie fop,
The tither's face wes wather-baitten
An cauf-skin jaiket sair wirm-etten.
The corkie, prood o his braw suit,
Curled up his nose an thus cryed oot:
"Ah! place me on some fresher binks,
Feich! hoo this mooldie craitur stinks!
Hoo can a gentle beuk like me
Endure sic scoondrel company?
What may fowk say ti see me cling
Sae close ti this auld ooglie thing,
But that Ah'm of a simple speerit,
An disregaird ma proper meerit?"
Quoth Gray-baird: "Whist, sir, wi yer din!
For aw yer meeritorious skin
Ah doot yif ye be worth wi'in.
For as auld fashioned as Ah leuk,
May be Ah am the better beuk."
"O heivens! Ah canna thole the clash
O this impertinent auld hash.
Ah winna stay ae maument langer."
"Ma Lord, pleise ti command yer anger,
Pray anely let me tell ye that --"
"What wad this insolent be at!
Rot oot yer tung. Pray, Master Symmer,
Remuive me frae this dinsome rhymer.
Yif ye regaird yer reputation,
An us of a distinguished station,
Hyne frae this beast let me be hurried,
For wi his stoor an stink Ah'm worried."
Scarce haed he shook his pauchtie crap
Whan in a customer did pap.
He up douss Stanza lifts, an ees him,
Turns ower his leaves, admires, an bees him.
"This beuk," sayd he, "is guid an scarce,
The saul o sense in sweetest verse."
But readin teetle o gilt claethin
Crys, "Gods! wha bees this bonnie naethin?
Nocht duller e'er wes pit in print!
Wow! what a deal o Turky's tint!"