Explore "The Beadle O' Drumlee" by Violet Jacob on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Them that's as highly placed as me / (Wha am the beadle o' Drumlee) / Should na be prood, nor yet owre free.
Me an' the meenister, ye ken, / Are no the same as a' thae men / We hae for neebours i' the glen.
The Lord gie'd him some lairnin' sma' / An me guid sense abune them a', / An them nae wuts to ken wha's wha.
Ye'd think, to hear the lees they tell, / The Sawbath day could mind itsel' / Withoot a hand to rug the bell,
Ye'd think the Reverend Paitrick Broun / Could ca' the Bible up an' doon / An' loup his lane in till his goon.
Whiles, gin he didna get frae me / The wicelike wird I weel can gie, / Whaur wad the puir bit callant be?
The elders, Ross an' Weellum Aird, / An' fowk like Alexander Caird, / That think they're cocks o' ilka yaird,
Fegs aye! they'd na be sweir to rule / A lad sae newly frae the schule / Gin "my" auld bonnet crooned a fule!
But oh! Jehovah's unco' kind! / Whaur wad this doited pairish find / A man wi' sic a powerfu' mind?
Sae, let the pairish sleep at nicht / Blind wi' the elders' shinin' licht, / Nor ken wha's hand keeps a' things richt.
It's what they canna understan' / That brains hae ruled since time began, / An' that the beadle is the man!