An Englishman is being shown around a Scottish hospital.
At the end of his visit, he is shown into a ward with a
number of patients who show no obvious signs of injury. He
goes to examine the first man he sees, and the man
proclaims: "Fair fa' yer honest, sonsie face, Great
chieftain e' the puddin' race! Aboon them a' ye tak your
place, painch tripe or thairm: Weel are ye wordy o' a grace
as lang's my arm." The Englishman, somewhat taken aback,
goes to the next patient, and immediately the patient
launches into: "Some hae meat, and canna eat, And some wad
eat that want it, But we hae meat and we can eat, And sae
the Lord be thankit." This continues with the next patient:
"Wee sleekit cow'rin tim'rous beastie, O what a panic's in
thy breastie! Thou need na start awa sae hasty, Wi bickering
brattle. I wad be laith to run and chase thee, Wi murdering
prattle!" "Well," the Englishman mutters to his Scottish
colleague, "I see you saved the psychiatric ward for the
last." "Nay, nay," the Scottish doctor corrected him, "this
is the Serious Burns unit."
(via Rampant Scotland
Today's birthday: Robert Burns (January 25 1759 – July 21 1796)
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