Blyth is the darger in his Sabbath claes!
Wi fauchie coat, prink weskit, rantert taes,
An hat on heid, it's tae the kirk he gaes;
He aft, wi conscious pride, a sklent assays,
Dounleukin on the muckle plettit straes
That's buskit his tap button-hole for days,
No thinkin on thae Lunnon louns' bouquets.
He taks his seat amang his freends an faes,
An offers in thon haly steid his ruise,
Likes best the prayers, tho orra wirds bumbaze,
Hearkens the sermon in a saftenin daze,
An blythsome wauks tae feel again sun's rays.
Jane Austen (1775-1817)
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