Explore "The Counterblast Ironical" by Robert Louis Stevenson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
IT'S strange that God should fash to frame / The yearth and lift sae hie, / An' clean forget to explain the same / To a gentleman like me.
They gutsy, donnered ither folk, / Their weird they weel may dree; / But why present a pig in a poke / To a gentleman like me?
They ither folk their parritch eat / An' sup their sugared tea; / But the mind is no to be wyled wi' meat / Wi' a gentleman like me.
They ither folk, they court their joes / At gloamin' on the lea; / But they're made of a commoner clay, I suppose, / Than a gentleman like me.
They ither folk, for richt or wrang, / They suffer, bleed, or dee; / But a' thir things are an emp'y sang / To a gentleman like me.
It's a different thing that I demand, / Tho' humble as can be- / A statement fair in my Maker's hand / To a gentleman like me:
A clear account writ fair an' broad, / An' a plain apologie; / Or the deevil a ceevil word to God / From a gentleman like me.