A puckle affcast crockery wid news,
Jined b' Adversity, grown fell compatible,
Voicin their sair predicament, their views
Set doon their worries, cairds upon the table.

The trimmlin tea cup only hoped her hame
Wid haud a dash o dignity an grace.
(She wis a sheltered craitur, gey genteel)

The sturdy ashet, feelin ooto place
(Mair eesed wi parridge-bree than soiree sweel)
 Declared fit e'er befell, she widna mind
As lang's the fowk she sattled wi, were kind.

The glaiss decanter cocked a lordly lug,
Cauld-showderin a common soor-milk jug,
An in a haughty, hubberin, hiatus,
Avowed he'd thole nae drap in social status.

A couthie open-moued communion cup
(Whaur aa the warld micht stop, tae tak a sup)
Telt stories riotous an roch,
An ill-befittin sic a holy troch;
Syne, bein censured, silenced aa complaints
He'd lipped wi deils as aften as wi. saints.

The boozy pint pot, pickled tae the brim,
Averred that Fate made little odds tae him.
As lang as he'd a dram, his drouth tae slocken
For Destiny, he didna gie a docken.