You vegetable cat’s melody!
Your Concert Miaulant is
A triumph o’ discord shairly,
And suits my fancy fairly
—I’m shair that Scott’ll agree
He canna vie wi’ this….

Said my body to my mind,
“I’ve been startled whiles to find,
When Jean has been in bed wi’ me,
A kind o’ Christianity!”

To my body said my mind,
“But your benmaist thocht you’ll find
Was ‘Bother what I think I feel
—Jean kens the set o’ my bluid owre weel,
And lauchs to see me in the creel
O’ my courage-bag confined.’”…

I wish I kent the physical basis
O’ a’ life’s seemin’ airs and graces.

It’s queer the thochts a kittled cull
Can lowse or splairgin’ glit annul.

Man’s spreit is wi’ his ingangs twined
In ways that he can ne’er unwind.

A wumman whiles a bawaw gi’es
That clean abaws him gin he sees.

Or wi’ a movement o’ a leg
Shows’m his mind is juist a geg.

I’se warrant Jean ’ud no’ be lang
In findin’ whence this thistle sprang.

Mebbe it’s juist because I’m no’
Beddit wi’ her that gars it grow!…

from A Drunk Man Looks at Throbbing Thistle