BAUDRONS AND THE HEN-BIRD. A FABLE. __ SOME fo’ks there are of such behaviour, They’ll cringe themselves into your favour, And when you think their
friendship staunch is, They’ll tear your character
to inches: T’ enforce this truth, as
weel’s I’m able, Please reader to peruse a fable. Deborah, an
auld wealthy maiden, Wi’ spleen, remorse, an’
scandal laden, Sought out a solitary spat, To live in quiet with her cat, A meikle, sonsy, tabby she ane, (For Deborah abhor’d a he ane,) And in the house to be a third, She gat a wee hen chucky
bird. Soon as our slee nocturnal ranger, Beheld the wee bit timid
stranger, She thus began, wi’ frien’ly
fraise, “Come ben poor thing, an’ warm
your taes; “This weather’s cauld, an’ wet,
an dreary, “I’m wae to see you look sae
eerie, “Sirs! how your tail, an’ wings are
dreeping! “We’ve surely been in piteous
keeping; “See, here’s my dish, come tak’
a pick o’t, “But, deed I fear there’s
scarce a lick o’t.” Sic sympathizing words o’ sense, Soon gain’d poor chucky’s confidence,
Auld baudrons sits an’ croodle’ thrums: In short, the twa soon grew sae
pack, Chuck roosted upon pussie’s back! But ere sax wee short days war’ gane, When baith left i’ the house
alane, Then thinks the hypocritic sinner, Now, now’s my time to hae a dinner, Sae, wi’ a squat, a spring, an’
squal, She tore poor chucky spawl frae spawl. Then mind this maxim,--Rash acquaintance, Oft leads to ruin and
repentance. |