The Twa Dogs（2 / 9）

  he was a gash an' faithfu' tyke,
  as ever lap a sheugh or dyke.
  his honest, sonsie, baws'nt face
  aye gat him friends in ilka place;
  his breast was white, his touzie back
  weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black;
  his gawsie tail, wi' upward curl,
  hung owre his hurdie's wi' a swirl.
  nae doubt but they were fain o' ither,
  and unco pack an' thick thegither;
  wi' social nose whiles snuff'd an' snowkit;
  whiles mice an' moudieworts they howkit;
  whiles scour'd awa' in lang excursion,
  an' worry'd ither in diversion;
  until wi' daffin' weary grown
  upon a knowe they set them down.
  an' there began a lang digression.
  about the “lords o' the creation.”
  caesar
  i've aften wonder'd, honest luath,
  what sort o' life poor dogs like you have;
  an' when the gentry's life i saw,
  what way poor bodies liv'd ava.
  our laird gets in his racked rents,
  his coals, his kane, an' a' his stents:
  he rises when he likes himsel';
  his flunkies answer at the bell;
  he ca's his coach; he ca's his horse;
  he draws a bonie silken purse,
  as lang's my tail, where, thro' the steeks, ↑返回顶部↑