Caie, J.M.
Said the flech tae the flee,
'Isn't gran' tae be me,
Tae be swack an' that bonny tae leuk at;
Aye tae loop up an' doon
In a great muckle toon,
Wi' the lords o' creation tae sook at?'
Said the flee tae the flech
'Peer wee cratur ye'd pech
Gin ye ettled wi' me tae come traivellin'.
I jalouse a' that bleed
Has gane fair tae your heid,
An' your fushionless wits is a' raivellin' -
'Ye may sook, ye may loup,
But ye'll get a gey coup
Gin ye dinna tak' tent tae keep hidden.
Ye feel gowk, see at me
Bumin' bonny an' free,
Wi' a banquet in ilka bit midden.'
Quo' the goloch, 'It's sair
Tae be deaved wi' that pair
An' their daft argy-bargy, for raelly
It be'et tae be clear
I'm th' finest ane here
Wi' my legs an' my braw forky-taily'
'Mercy me!' cried the wife,
'I've a terrible life,
For tae trachle an' clean is my duty.'
Sae she sattled the three
An' their argyment tee
Wi' twa dabs an' a dicht o' her clooty.