The Hawk And The Weazle
To town ae morn, as Lizie hie’d
To seel a pickle yarn,
A wanton Whiteret she espy’d,
A sportin at a cairn.
Alang the heath beskirted green,
It play’d wi’ monie a wheel:
She stood and dighted baith her een,
An’ thought it was the Diel
She saw at freaks!
But soon her doubts were a’ dismis’t
A gled cam whist’ling by,
And seiz’d the weazle:- ere it wist,
‘Twas halfway at the sky.
But soon the goss grew feeble like,
And syne began to fa’,
Till down he daded on a dyke,
His thrapple ate in twa;
Let him snuff that.
The weazle aff in triumph walks,
An’ left the bloodless glutton,
A warning sad to future hawks
That grien for weazle’s mutton.
So reprobates, that spitefu’ cross,
Decree their nibour’s ruin,
Are aften forc’d, like foolish goss,
To drink o’ their ain brewin’,
Wha says its wrang.