THE PHILOSOPHY OF THE DITCH

Aweel, I'm couped. But wha’ could tell

The road wad rin sae sair?

I couldna gang yon pace mysel’,

An’ I winna try nae mair!

There's them wad coonsel me to stan’,

But this is what I say:

When Natur's forces fecht wi’ man,

Dod, he maun just give way!

If man's nae framed to lift his fit

Agin’ a nat'ral law,

I winna’ lift my heid, for it

Wad dae nae guid ava’.

Puir worms are we; the poo'pit rings

Ilk Sawbath wi’ the same,

Gin airth's the place for sic-like things,

I'm no sae far frae hame!

Yon's guid plain raes'nin’; an’ forby,

This pairish has nae sense,

There's mony traiv'lin wad deny

Natur and Providence;

For loud an’ bauld the leears wage

On men like me their war,

Elected saints to thole their rage

Is what they're seekin’ for.

But tho’ a man wha's drink's his tea

Their malice maun despise,

It's no for naething, div ye see,

That I'm sae sweir to rise!