A GROAN FROM A GILLIE

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Lasses shouldna' gang to shoot,

Na, na!

Gillies canna' help but hoot,

Ha, ha!

Yon douce bodies arena' fittin'

Wi' the gudeman's to be pittin',

Bide at hame and mind yere knittin'!

Hoot, awa'!

"Wimmen's Rechts" is vara weel,

Ooh, aye!

For hizzies wha've nae hearts to feel;

Forbye

Wimmen's Rechts is aiblins Wrang

When nat'ral weak maun ape the strang,

An' chaney cups wi' cau'drons gang,

Auch, fie!

Hennies shouldna' try to craw

Sae fast—

Their westlin' thrapples canna' blair

Sic a blast.

Leave to men-folk bogs and ferns,

An' pairtricks, muircocks, braes, and cairns;

And lasses! ye may mind the bairns—

That's best!

Tonalt (X) his mark.


A PRECISIAN

A PRECISIAN

Artist (affably). "Fine morning." Native. "No' bad ava'."

Artist. "Pretty scenery." Native. "Gey an' good."

Artist (pointing to St. Bannoch's, in the distance). "What place is that down at the bottom of the loch?"

Native. "It's no at the bottom—it's at the fut!"

Artist (to himself). "You past-participled Highlander!"

[Drops the subject!


                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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