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THE TWA DOGS,
"TWAS in that place o' Scotland's isle,
When wearing thro' the afternoon,
The first I'll name, they ca'd him Cæsar,
His locked, letter'd, braw brass collar, Shew'd him the gentleman and scholar; But though he was o' high degree, The fient a pride nae pride had he;
But wad hae spent an hour caressin,
Was made lang syne-Lord knows how lang.
Nae doubt but they were fain o' ither,
Wi' social nose whyles snuff'd and snowkit;
Until wi' daffin weary grown,
Upon a knowe they sat them down,
About the lords o' the creation.
I've aften wonder'd, honest Luath, What sort o' life poor dogs like you have;