The Poetical Works of George MacDonald (Parables)
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There was John Gordon an' Archibold, An' a yerl's twin sons war they; Quhan they war are an' twenty year auld They fell oot on their ae birthday.
"Turn ye, John Gordon, nae brither to me!
Turn ye, fause an' fell!
Or doon ye s' gang, as black as a lee,
To the muckle deevil o' hell."
"An' quhat for that, Archie Gordon, I pray? Quhat ill hae I dune to thee?" "Twa-faced loon, ye sail rue this day The answer I'm gauin to gie!
"For it'll be roucher nor lady Janet's, An' loud i' the braid daylicht; An' the wa' to speil is my iron mail, No her castle-wa' by nicht!"
"I speilt the wa' o' her castle braw I' the roarin win' yestreen; An' I sat in her bower till the gloamin sta' Licht-fittit ahint the mune."
"Turn ye, John Gordon--the twasum we s' twin!
Turn ye, an' haud yer ain;
For ane sall lie on a cauld weet bed--
An' I downa curse again!"
"O Archie, Janet is my true love-- notna speir leave o' thee!" "Gien that be true, the deevil's a sanct, An' ye are no tellin a lee!"
Their suerds they drew, an' the fire-flauchts flew,
An' they shiftit wi' fendin feet; An' the blude ran doon, till the grun a' roun
Like a verra bog was weet.
"O Archie, I hae gotten a cauld supper--
O' steel, but shortest grace! Ae grip o' yer han' afore ye gang!
An' turn me upo' my face."
But he's turnit himsel upon his heel,
An' wordless awa he's gane; An' the corbie-craw i' the aik abune
Is roupin for his ain.