The Puddock
A Puddock sat by the lochan's brim,
An' he thocht there was never a puddock like him.
He sat on his hurdies; he waggled his legs,
An' cockit his heid as he glowered throu' the seggs
The bigsy wee cratur' was feelin' that prood,
He gapit his mou' an' he croakit oot lood
"Gin ye'd a' like tae see a richt puddock," quo' he,
" Ye'll never, I'll sweer, get a better nor me.
I've fem'lies an' wives an' a weel-plenished hame,
Wi' drink for my thrapple an' meat for my wame.
The lasses aye thocht me a fine strappin' chiel,
An' I ken I'm a rale bonny singer as weel.
I'm nae gaun tae blaw, but the truth I maun tell-
I believe I'm the verra MacPuddock himsel'!"
A heron was hungry an' needin' tae sup,
Sae he nabbit th' puddock and gollup't him up;
Syne 'runkled his, feathers:
"A queer thing," quo' he,
"But-puddocks is nae as fat as they yist tae be!"
The Frog
A frog sat by the little pond’s rim
And he thought there‘d ne'er been such a great frog as him.
He sat on his haunches and waggled his legs
And he cocked up his head as he stared through the sedges.
The conceited little creature was feeling so proud
That he opened his mouth and croaked out loud.
“If you want to see a real frog,” said he,
You will, never, I swear, find a better than me.
I’ve families and wives and a well furnished home,
With drink for my throat and food for my stomach.
The girls always thought me a fine strapping chap,
And I know I’m a really good singer as well.
I’m not going to boast, but the truth I must tell
I believe that the frog of all frogs is myself!”
A heron was hungry and needed to sup,
So he caught the frog and gobbled him up,
Then he ruffled his feathers:
“A queer thing,” said he,
But frogs’ aren’t as fat as they used to be!”
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