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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=506533" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Twa Dogs</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">A Tale</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Twas in that place o' Scotland's isle,<br>That bears the name o' auld King Coil,<br>Upon a bonie day in June,<br>When wearin' thro' the afternoon,<br>Twa dogs, that were na thrang at hame,<br>Forgather'd ance upon a time.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The first I'll name, they ca'd him Caesar,<br>Was keepit for His Honor's pleasure:<br>His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs,<br>Shew'd he was nane o' Scotland's dogs;<br>But whalpit some place far abroad,<br>Whare sailors gang to fish for cod.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">His locked, letter'd, braw brass collar<br>Shew'd him the gentleman an' scholar;<br>But though he was o' high degree,<br>The fient a pride, nae pride had he;<br>But wad hae spent an hour caressin,<br>Ev'n wi' al tinkler-gipsy's messin:<br>At kirk or market, mill or smiddie,<br>Nae tawted tyke, tho' e'er sae duddie,<br>But he wad stan't, as glad to see him,<br>An' stroan't on stanes an' hillocks wi' him.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The tither was a ploughman's collie-<br>A rhyming, ranting, raving billie,<br>Wha for his friend an' comrade had him,<br>And in freak had Luath ca'd him,<br>After some dog in Highland Sang,<br>Was made lang syne,-Lord knows how lang.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He was a gash an' faithfu' tyke,<br>As ever lap a sheugh or dyke.<br>His honest, sonsie, baws'nt face<br>Aye gat him friends in ilka place;<br>His breast was white, his touzie back<br>Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black;<br>His gawsie tail, wi' upward curl,<br>Hung owre his hurdie's wi' a swirl.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Nae doubt but they were fain o' ither,<br>And unco pack an' thick thegither;<br>Wi' social nose whiles snuff'd an' snowkit;<br>Whiles mice an' moudieworts they howkit;<br>Whiles scour'd awa' in lang excursion,<br>An' worry'd ither in diversion;<br>Until wi' daffin' weary grown<br>Upon a knowe they set them down.<br>An' there began a lang digression.<br>About the 'lords o' the creation.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Caesar</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I've aften wonder'd, honest Luath,<br>What sort o' life poor dogs like you have;<br>An' when the gentry's life I saw,<br>What way poor bodies liv'd ava.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Our laird gets in his racked rents,<br>His coals, his kane, an' a' his stents:<br>He rises when he likes himsel';<br>His flunkies answer at the bell;<br>He ca's his coach; he ca's his horse;<br>He draws a bonie silken purse,<br>As lang's my tail, where, thro' the steeks,<br>The yellow letter'd Geordie keeks.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Frae morn to e'en, it's nought but toiling<br>At baking, roasting, frying, boiling;<br>An' tho' the gentry first are stechin,<br>Yet ev'n the ha' folk fill their pechan<br>Wi' sauce, ragouts, an' sic like trashtrie,<br>That's little short o' downright wastrie.<br>Our whipper-in, wee, blasted wonner,<br>Poor, worthless elf, it eats a dinner,<br>Better than ony tenant-man<br>His Honour has in a' the lan':<br>An' what poor cot-folk pit their painch in,<br>I own it's past my comprehension.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Luath</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Trowth, Caesar, whiles they're fash't eneugh:<br>A cottar howkin in a sheugh,<br>Wi' dirty stanes biggin a dyke,<br>Baring a quarry, an' sic like;<br>Himsel', a wife, he thus sustains,<br>A smytrie o' wee duddie weans,<br>An' nought but his han'-daurk, to keep<br>Them right an' tight in thack an' rape.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">An' when they meet wi' sair disasters,<br>Like loss o' health or want o' masters,<br>Ye maist wad think, a wee touch langer,<br>An' they maun starve o' cauld an' hunger:<br>But how it comes, I never kent yet,<br>They're maistly wonderfu' contented;<br>An' buirdly chiels, an' clever hizzies,<br>Are bred in sic a way as this is.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Caesar</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But then to see how ye're negleckit,<br>How huff'd, an' cuff'd, an' disrespeckit!<br>Lord man, our gentry care as little<br>For delvers, ditchers, an' sic cattle;<br>They gang as saucy by poor folk,<br>As I wad by a stinkin brock.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I've notic'd, on our laird's court-day, -<br>An' mony a time my heart's been wae, -<br>Poor tenant bodies, scant o'cash,<br>How they maun thole a factor's snash;<br>He'll stamp an' threaten, curse an' swear<br>He'll apprehend them, poind their gear;<br>While they maun stan', wi' aspect humble,<br>An' hear it a', an' fear an' tremble!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I see how folk live that hae riches;<br>But surely poor-folk maun be wretches!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Luath</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They're no sae wretched's ane wad think.<br>Tho' constantly on poortith's brink,<br>They're sae accustom'd wi' the sight,<br>The view o't gives them little fright.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then chance and fortune are sae guided,<br>They're aye in less or mair provided:<br>An' tho' fatigued wi' close employment,<br>A blink o' rest's a sweet enjoyment.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The dearest comfort o' their lives,<br>Their grushie weans an' faithfu' wives;<br>The prattling things are just their pride,<br>That sweetens a' their fire-side.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">An' whiles twalpennie worth o' nappy<br>Can mak the bodies unco happy:<br>They lay aside their private cares,<br>To mind the Kirk and State affairs;<br>They'll talk o' patronage an' priests,<br>Wi' kindling fury i' their breasts,<br>Or tell what new taxation's comin,<br>An' ferlie at the folk in Lon'on.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">As bleak-fac'd Hallowmass returns,<br>They get the jovial, rantin kirns,<br>When rural life, of ev'ry station,<br>Unite in common recreation;<br>Love blinks, Wit slaps, an' social Mirth<br>Forgets there's Care upo' the earth.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">That merry day the year begins,<br>They bar the door on frosty win's;<br>The nappy reeks wi' mantling ream,<br>An' sheds a heart-inspiring steam;<br>The luntin pipe, an' sneeshin mill,<br>Are handed round wi' right guid will;<br>The cantie auld folks crackin crouse,<br>The young anes rantin thro' the house-<br>My heart has been sae fain to see them,<br>That I for joy hae barkit wi' them.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Still it's owre true that ye hae said,<br>Sic game is now owre aften play'd;<br>There's mony a creditable stock<br>O' decent, honest, fawsont folk,<br>Are riven out baith root an' branch,<br>Some rascal's pridefu' greed to quench,<br>Wha thinks to knit himsel the faster<br>In favour wi' some gentle master,<br>Wha, aiblins, thrang a parliamentin,<br>For Britain's guid his saul indentin-</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Caesar</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Haith, lad, ye little ken about it:<br>For Britain's guid! guid faith! I doubt it.<br>Say rather, gaun as Premiers lead him:<br>An' saying ay or no's they bid him:<br>At operas an' plays parading,<br>Mortgaging, gambling, masquerading:<br>Or maybe, in a frolic daft,<br>To Hague or Calais takes a waft,<br>To mak a tour an' tak a whirl,<br>To learn bon ton, an' see the worl'.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There, at Vienna, or Versailles,<br>He rives his father's auld entails;<br>Or by Madrid he takes the rout,<br>To thrum guitars an' fecht wi' nowt;<br>Or down Italian vista startles,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Whore-hunting amang groves o' myrtles:<br>Then bowses drumlie German-water,<br>To mak himsel look fair an' fatter,<br>An' clear the consequential sorrows,<br>Love-gifts of Carnival signoras.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For Britain's guid! for her destruction!<br>Wi' dissipation, feud, an' faction.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Luath</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hech, man! dear sirs! is that the gate<br>They waste sae mony a braw estate!<br>Are we sae foughten an' harass'd<br>For gear to gang that gate at last?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O would they stay aback frae courts,<br>An' please themsels wi' country sports,<br>It wad for ev'ry ane be better,<br>The laird, the tenant, an' the cotter!<br>For thae frank, rantin, ramblin billies,<br>Feint haet o' them's ill-hearted fellows;<br>Except for breakin o' their timmer,<br>Or speakin lightly o' their limmer,<br>Or shootin of a hare or moor-cock,<br>The ne'er-a-bit they're ill to poor folk,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But will ye tell me, Master Caesar,<br>Sure great folk's life's a life o' pleasure?<br>Nae cauld nor hunger e'er can steer them,<br>The very thought o't need na fear them.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Caesar</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Lord, man, were ye but whiles whare I am,<br>The gentles, ye wad ne'er envy them!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It's true, they need na starve or sweat,<br>Thro' winter's cauld, or simmer's heat:<br>They've nae sair wark to craze their banes,<br>An' fill auld age wi' grips an' granes:<br>But human bodies are sic fools,<br>For a' their colleges an' schools,<br>That when nae real ills perplex them,<br>They mak enow themsel's to vex them;<br>An' aye the less they hae to sturt them,<br>In like proportion, less will hurt them.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A country fellow at the pleugh,<br>His acre's till'd, he's right eneugh;<br>A country girl at her wheel,<br>Her dizzen's dune, she's unco weel;<br>But gentlemen, an' ladies warst,<br>Wi' ev'n-down want o' wark are curst.<br>They loiter, lounging, lank an' lazy;<br>Tho' deil-haet ails them, yet uneasy;<br>Their days insipid, dull, an' tasteless;<br>Their nights unquiet, lang, an' restless.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">An'ev'n their sports, their balls an' races,<br>Their galloping through public places,<br>There's sic parade, sic pomp, an' art,<br>The joy can scarcely reach the heart.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The men cast out in party-matches,<br>Then sowther a' in deep debauches.<br>Ae night they're mad wi' drink an' whoring,<br>Niest day their life is past enduring.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The ladies arm-in-arm in clusters,<br>As great an' gracious a' as sisters;<br>But hear their absent thoughts o' ither,<br>They're a' run-deils an' jads thegither.<br>Whiles, owre the wee bit cup an' platie,<br>They sip the scandal-potion pretty;<br>Or lee-lang nights, wi' crabbit leuks<br>Pore owre the devil's pictur'd beuks;<br>Stake on a chance a farmer's stackyard,<br>An' cheat like ony unhanged blackguard.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There's some exceptions, man an' woman;<br>But this is gentry's life in common.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">By this, the sun was out of sight,<br>An' darker gloamin brought the night;<br>The bum-clock humm'd wi' lazy drone;<br>The kye stood rowtin i' the loan;<br>When up they gat an' shook their lugs,<br>Rejoic'd they werena men but dogs;<br>An' each took aff his several way,<br>Resolv'd to meet some ither day.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Robert+Burns">Robert Burns</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=506533" data-title="The Twa Dogs de Robert Burns" data-description="A Tale

'Twas in that place o' Scotland's isle,
That bears the name o' auld King Coil,
Upon a bonie day in June,
When wearin' thro' the afternoon,
Twa dogs, that were na thrang at hame,
Forgather'd ance upon a time.

The first I'll name, they ca'd..."></div>
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