Date: Sun, 2 Apr 2000 15:49:26 +0100 To: Scots List
From: Tom Hall Subject: [scots-l] Humour
The Queen had come to open a new surgical clinic at the local hospital. The ceremony finishing slightly early, she decided to visit some patients in other parts of the hospital.
She walked into the next ward and went up to the first bed. "Why are you in hospital?" she asked. The man looked at her and said, " Fair fa' yer honest sonsie face, Great chieftain o' the puddin' race! Aboon them a' ye tak your place, painch tripe or thairm: Weel are ye worthy o' a grace as lang's my arm."
Somewhat taken aback, she moved on to the next bed. "And why are you here?" she asked. "Oh, wert thou in the cauld blast, on yonder lea, on yonder lea, My plaidie to the angry airt, I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee," came the reply.
Really confused now, the Queen tried once more. She moved on to the next bed. "Why are you in hospital?" she asked. "Wee, sleeket, cowran 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!" was the answer.
The Queen turned to the hospital manager. "Is this the psychiatric ward?" she asked.
"No, it's the Burns Unit."