The Twa Dogs

’Twas in that place o’ Scotland’s Isle, That bears the name o’ auld King Coil, Upon a bonnie day in June, When wearin’ through the afternoon, Twa dogs, that werena thrang at hame, Forgather’d ance upon a time.

The first I’ll name, they ca’d him Caesar, Was keepit for his Honour’s pleasure; His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs, Show’d he was nane o’ Scotland’s dogs, But whalpit some place far abroad, Where sailors gang to fish for cod. His lockèd, letter’d, braw brass collar, Shew’d him the gentleman and scholar; But though he was o’ high degree, The fient a pride, nae pride had he; But wad hae spent ane hour caressin’ E’en wi’ a tinkler-gipsy’s messan: At kirk or market, mill or smiddie, Nae tawted tyke, though e’er sae duddie, But he wad stand as glad to see him, An’ stroan’d on stanes an’ hillocks wi’ him.

The tither was a ploughman’s collie, A rhyming, ranting, raving billie; Wha for his friend and comrade had him, And in his freaks had Luath ca’d him, After some dog in Highland sang, Was made lang syne—Lord knows how lang.

He was a gash an’ faithfu’ tyke, As ever lap a sheugh or dyke; His honest, sonsie, bawsent face Aye gat him friends in ilka place. His breast was white, his tousie back Weel clad wi’ coat o’ glossy black; His gawsie tail, wi’ upward curl, Hung o’er his hurdies wi’ a swirl.

Nae doubt but they were fain o’ ither, And unco pack and thick thegither; Wi’ social nose whyles snuff’d and snowkit; Whyles mice and moudieworts they howkit; Whyles scour’d awa in lang excursion, And worried ither in diversion; Until wi’ daffin’ weary grown, Upon a knowe they sat them down, And there began a lang digression About the lords of the creation.