Stevenson, Robert Louis (1850–1894). A Child’s Garden of Verses and Underwoods. 1913.

IX. The Counterblast Ironical

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.