The Great Ones

Ae morn aside the road frae Bray
I wrocht my squad to mend the track;
A feck o’ sodgers passed that way
And garred me often straucht my back.

By cam a General on a horse,
A jinglin’ lad on either side.
I gie’d my best salute of course,
Weel pleased to see sic honest pride.

And syne twae Frenchmmen in a cawr –
Yon are the lads to speel the braes;
They speldered me inch-deep wi’ glaur
And verra near ran ower my taes.

And last the pipes, and at their tail
Oor gaucy lads in martial line.
I stopped my wark and cried them hail,
And wished them weel for auld lang syne.

. . . . . .

An auld chap plooin’ on the muir
Ne’er jee’d his heid nor held his han’,
But drave his furrow straucht and fair, –
Thinks I, “But ye’re the biggest man.”