The Puddock by J.M.Caie

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 through 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 th' truth I maun tell
I believe I'm th' 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 peer thing,' quo' he
'But - puddocks is nae fat they eesed tae be.'

The Sair Finger by Walter Wingate

You've hurt your finger? Puir wee man!
Your pinkie? Deary me!
Noo, juist you haud it that wey till
I get my specs and see!

My, so it is - and there's the skelf!
Noo, dinna greet nae mair
See there - my needle's gotten't out!
I'm sure that wasna sair?

And noo, to make it hale the morn
Put on a wee bit saw
And tie a bonnie hankie roun't
Noo, there na - rin awa'!

Your finger sair ana'? Ye rogue,
Ye're only lettin' on!
Weel, weel, then - see noo, there ye are,
Row'd up the same as John!