Classic Poem

I like my gray suit, its sae coothie, saft, and warm;
It does for ony weather, be it sunshine, be it shour;
In sleety winter-time its the colour o' the storm;
On breezy simmer days its the colour o' the stour.
At ony time o' year, on ony kind o' day,
I never can be wrang in my suit o' hoddin-gray.

I like my gray suit, its sae like the things I like;
It aye seems sae in keepin' wi' the woodlands and the hills;
It seems at hame by loch, and burn, and whinstane-dyke,
And looks as if't had grown upon the muirland-fells: —
The heath-cock sits him still, nor starts out o' my way,
Sae friendly do I look in my suit o' hoddin-gray.

I like my gray suit, for it looks sae snod and clean:
To keep it decent-like, needs neither fyke nor fash:
If it tak' on dirt ava, the fient a speck is seen;
It never looks the waur, and never needs a brush
It mayna be sae braw as black or blue; but they
Could never stand the wear sae weel as hoddin-gray.

I like my gray suit, though a puirish look it has: —
The man should be ashamed to borrow frae the coat;
And, seen aricht, our claes and hooses are but glass, —
For clear een look clean through them — its the man inside they note
Folk needna mind the moty een, whase dust-bedizzen'd ray
Sees naething but the puirish look that's in the hoddin-gray.

I like my gray suit for reasons monifauld, —
But maist of a', because my Peggie likes it too:
She ca's me " Robin Gray " — but keeps awa' the " Auld " —
And dauts my shuither kindly when I come to woo.
Her heart beams in her een, whilk, sparklin', seem to say,
" Ah, weel I like to see ye in your suit o' hoddin-gray! "