The
tinkler's cuddie took the strunts
An'
deil an inch would steer;
His
hurdies tholed baith skelps an' dunts,
His lugs
were deeved by sic affronts
It
scunnered him to hear.
But he kicked an' flang
An' wouldna gang,
Was
ever beast sae sweer?
The
tinkler was an angry man,
An'
ill could thole defeat;
He
banged the brute wi' pot an' pan,
He
thocht on ilka cruel plan --
For,
O' revenge is sweet,
His brats o' weans,
They pu'ed the reins,
His wife
was like to greet.
Auld,
hirplin' tinkler granny said,
"That's no' the wey ava,
He'll no
be driven or be led,
This
tirrivee that's ta'en oor Ned,
It
whiles comes ower us a'.
Nae licks or dunts
Can cure the strunts
When
brutes or buddies thraw".
Fornenst
his neb a carrot held,
Syne
garred the cuddie gang;
His
thrawn, rebellious he'rt was quelled,
The
offerin' o' peace he smelled,
Nor
could resist it lang.
Kindness is aye
The better wey
When
beasts or folk gang wrang.
