Thomas Humphry Ward, ed. The English Poets. 1880–1918.rnVol. V. Browning to Rupert Brooke

Robert Louis Stevenson (1850–1894)

The Counterblast Ironical

IT’S strange that God should fash to frame

The yearth and lift sae hie,

An’ clean forget to explain the same

To a gentleman like me.

Thae gusty, donnered ither folk,

Their weird they weel may dree;

But why present a pig in a poke

To a gentleman like me?

Thae ither folk their parritch eat

An’ sup their sugared tea;

But the mind is no’ to be wyled wi’ meat

Wi’ a gentleman like me.

Thae ither folk, they court their joes

At gloamin’ on the lea;

But they’re made of a commoner clay, I suppose,

Than a gentleman like me.

Thae ither folk, for richt or wrang,

They suffer, bleed, or dee;

But a’ thir things are an emp’y sang

To a gentleman like me.

It’s a different thing that I demand,

Tho’ humble as can be—

A statement fair in my maker’s hand

To a gentleman like me.

A clear account writ fair an broad

An’ a plain apologie;

Or the deevil a ceevil word to God

From a gentleman like me.