Classic Poem

God and Saint Peter was gangand be the way
Heich up in Argyll where their gait lay.
Saint Peter said to God, in ane sport word--
"Can ye nocht mak a Hielandman of this horse turd?'
God turned owre the horse turd with his pykit staff,
And up start a Hielandman black as ony draff.
Quod God to the Hielandman, "Where wilt thou now?'
"I will doun in the Lawland, Lord, and there steal a cow.'
"And thou steal a cow, carle, there they will hang thee.'
"What reck, Lord, of that, for anis mon I die.'
God then he leuch and owre the dyke lap,
And out of his sheath his gully outgat.
Saint Peter socht the gully fast up and doun,
Yet could not find it in all that braid roun.
"Now,' quod God, "here a marvell, how can this be,
That I suld want my gully, and we here bot three.'
"Humf,' quod the Hielandman, and turned him about,
And at his plaid neuk the gully fell out.
"Fy,' quod Saint Peter, "thou will never do weill;
And thou bot new made and sa soon gais to steal.'
"Humf,' quod the Hielandman, and sware be yon kirk,
"Sa lang as I may gear get to steal, I will never wirk.'