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Cuddy Clew.
3
He wad at the thrapple hing,
Hoffat lug or ony thing,
While his een wad five-flaughts fling,
Cappy wish'd the folks had strung him.
Hoffat lug or ony thing,
While his een wad five-flaughts fling,
Cappy wish'd the folks had strung him.
Leaving these twa tikes to grumble,
Round an' round wi' birsy backs,
Or in deadly tulzie tumble,
Eiry o' the coming thwacks;
Let us list wi' patient seeming,
Our twa herds wi' wisdom teeming,
In their blaming or esteeming,
Nature's loveliest work the women,
What sae grand as shepherd's cracks.
Round an' round wi' birsy backs,
Or in deadly tulzie tumble,
Eiry o' the coming thwacks;
Let us list wi' patient seeming,
Our twa herds wi' wisdom teeming,
In their blaming or esteeming,
Nature's loveliest work the women,
What sae grand as shepherd's cracks.
ROBIN.
Good-morrow, honest Cuddy Clew,
What for looks your nose sae blue?
Say, has your spirit been in pain,
Or ha'ye been dead an' risen again,
For something has befa'n uncommon?
Ah! 'tis woman! woman! woman!
Good-morrow, honest Cuddy Clew,
What for looks your nose sae blue?
Say, has your spirit been in pain,
Or ha'ye been dead an' risen again,
For something has befa'n uncommon?
Ah! 'tis woman! woman! woman!
CUDDY.
I'll tell you Robin what I think,
Your hame surmise I winna blink;
I think that a' fate's pranks an' peals,
That a' the gods an' a' the deils,
Hae not the power sic grief to gie men,
As hae these curs'd confoundit women.
I'll tell you Robin what I think,
Your hame surmise I winna blink;
I think that a' fate's pranks an' peals,
That a' the gods an' a' the deils,
Hae not the power sic grief to gie men,
As hae these curs'd confoundit women.
ROBIN.
Now by—that thing the maist endearing—
(An' Gude forgive me for 'maist swearing)
There's nought sae blasphemous to me,
As such a sweeping calumny;
Ah, lovely woman! Thou wast sent,
For man's delight, and temperament;
Without thy beauty, and thy grace,
This world had been a dreary place;
Without thy smile an' angel mein,
What savages had mankind been!
Now by—that thing the maist endearing—
(An' Gude forgive me for 'maist swearing)
There's nought sae blasphemous to me,
As such a sweeping calumny;
Ah, lovely woman! Thou wast sent,
For man's delight, and temperament;
Without thy beauty, and thy grace,
This world had been a dreary place;
Without thy smile an' angel mein,
What savages had mankind been!
CUDDY.
Stop Robin, stop, if but for shame,
An' tak' some reason wi' your rhame;
Answer these questions if you can:
Wha was't lost Paradise to man,
And all our race to ruin hurl'd?
Wha lost Mark Anthony the world?
Wha was't the capital betray'd?
And ancient Troy, in ashes laid?
An' wha has led the way to crime
An' error, since the birth o' time.
Stop Robin, stop, if but for shame,
An' tak' some reason wi' your rhame;
Answer these questions if you can:
Wha was't lost Paradise to man,
And all our race to ruin hurl'd?
Wha lost Mark Anthony the world?
Wha was't the capital betray'd?
And ancient Troy, in ashes laid?
An' wha has led the way to crime
An' error, since the birth o' time.
ROBIN.
'Tis most ungenerous, Cuddy Clew,
To rake up chances, far and few;
An' blame the flower of nature's reign,
For mankind's faults an' crimes profane.
You should remember, she's our own,
'Tis most ungenerous, Cuddy Clew,
To rake up chances, far and few;
An' blame the flower of nature's reign,
For mankind's faults an' crimes profane.
You should remember, she's our own,