Explore "The Cynic" by David Rorie on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
/ Cauld blew the blast frae East to Wast, / A blast wi' a smirr o' snaw, / An' it took the doctor's guid lum hat / Richt owre the kirk-yaird wa'. / When he sichtit it he dichtit it, / An' he glowred wi' an angry e'e- / For says auld Jock Smairt, wha was passin' wi' his cairt: / "Ye've a gey gude crap," says he.
Cauld blew the blast frae East to Wast, / A blast baith snell an' keen, / An' the washin' o' the clarty wife / Sailed aff the washin' green, / An' it landit on the midden-heid, / Whaur nae washin' ought to be- / An' says auld jock Smairt, wha was passin' wi' his cairt: / "Weel, hame's aye hame," says he.
Cauld blew the blast frae East to Wast, / An' it gart the deid leaves loup, / An' it set the shoothers heicher yet / O' the gaithrin' at the roup; / An' stour filled the een o' the unctioneer, / Till the cratur' couldna see; / An' says auld Jock Smairt, wha was passin' wi' his cairt: / "Turn aboot's fair play," says he.
Cauld blew the blast frae East to Wast, / An' the rein catched the grey mear's tail, / An' her heels to save her hin'er en' / Gaed lashin' like a flail. / An' the haill apotheck lay in spails, / As the grey mear warsled free; / An' when auld Jock Smairt saw the fashion o' his cairt: / "Wha's seekin' ony spunks?" says he.