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Charles Kingsley - The Oubit
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It was an hairy oubit, sae proud he crept alang,
A feckless hairy oubit, and merrily he sang—
`My Minnie bad me bide at hame until I won my wings;
I show her soon my soul`s aboon the warks o` creeping things.`

This feckless hairy oubit cam` hirpling by the linn,
A swirl o` wind cam` doun the glen, and blew that oubit in:
Oh when he took the water, the saumon fry they rose,
And tigg`d him a` to pieces sma`, by head and tail and toes.

Tak` warning then, young poets a`, by this poor oubit`s shame;
Though Pegasus may nicher loud, keep Pegasus at hame.
Oh haud your hands frae inkhorns, though a` the Muses woo;
For critics lie, like saumon fry, to mak` their meals o` you.

Eversley, 1851.
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