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George MacDonald - The Waesome Carl
Work rating: Low

There cam a man to oor toon-en`,
And a waesome carl was he,
Snipie-nebbit, and crookit-mou`d,
And gleyt o` a blinterin ee.
Muckle he spied, and muckle he spak,
But the owercome o` his sang,
Whatever it said, was aye the same:—
There`s nane o` ye a` but`s wrang!
Ye`re a` wrang, and a` wrang,
And a`thegither a` wrang:
There`s no a man aboot the toon
But`s a`thegither a` wrang.

That`s no the gait to fire the breid,
Nor yet to brew the yill;
That`s no the gait to haud the pleuch,
Nor yet to ca the mill;
That`s no the gait to milk the coo,
Nor yet to spean the calf,
Nor yet to tramp the girnel-meal—
Ye kenna yer wark by half!
Ye`re a` wrang, &c.

The minister wasna fit to pray
And lat alane to preach;
He nowther had the gift o` grace
Nor yet the gift o` speech!
He mind`t him o` Bala䭧s ass,
Wi` a differ we micht ken:
The Lord he opened the ass`s mou,
The minister opened`s ain!
He was a` wrang, and a` wrang,
And a`thegither a` wrang;
There wasna a man aboot the toon
But was a`thegither a` wrang!

The puir precentor couldna sing,
He gruntit like a swine;
The verra elders couldna pass
The ladles til his min`.
And for the rulin` elder`s grace
It wasna worth a horn;
He didna half uncurse the meat,
Nor pray for mair the morn!
He was a` wrang, &c.

And aye he gied his nose a thraw,
And aye he crook`t his mou;
And aye he cockit up his ee
And said, Tak tent the noo!
We snichert hint oor loof, my man,
But never said him nay;
As gien he had been a prophet, man,
We loot him say his say:
Ye`re a` wrang, &c.

Quo oor gudeman: The crater`s daft!
Heard ye ever sic a claik?
Lat`s see gien he can turn a ban`,
Or only luik and craik!
It`s true we maunna lippin til him—
He`s fairly crack wi` pride,
But he maun live—we canna kill him!
Gien he can work, he s` bide.
He was a` wrang, and a` wrang,
And a`thegither a` wrang;
There, troth, the gudeman o` the toon
Was a`thegither a` wrang!

Quo he, It`s but a laddie`s turn,
But best the first be a sma` thing:
There`s a` thae weyds to gether and burn,
And he`s the man for a` thing!—
We yokit for the far hill-moss,
There was peats to cast and ca;
O` `s company we thoucht na loss,
`Twas peace till gloamin-fa`!
We war a` wrang, and a` wrang,
And a`thegither a` wrang;
There wasna man aboot the toon
But was a`thegither a` wrang!

For, losh, or it was denner-time
The toon was in a low!
The reek rase up as it had been
Frae Sodom-flames, I vow.
We lowst and rade like mad, for byre
And ruck bleezt a` thegither,
As gien the deil had broucht the fire
Frae`s hell to mak anither!
`Twas a` wrang, and a` wrang,
And a`thegither a` wrang,
Stick and strae aboot the place
Was a`thegither a` wrang!

And luikin on, ban`s neth his tails,
The waesome carl stude;
To see him wagglin at thae tails
`Maist drave `s a` fairly wud.
Ain wite! he cried; I tauld ye sae!
Ye`re a` wrang to the last:
What gart ye burn thae deevilich weyds
Whan the win` blew frae the wast!
Ye`re a` wrang, and a` wrang,
And a`thegither a` wrang;
There`s no a man i` this fule warl
But`s a`thegither a` wrang!
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