M. Poetae Scoti

Weil ich es bis zum 25. Januar sicher vergessen haben werde, poste ich den in meiner Ablage wiederentdeckten Text einfach heute schon mal:

Tony Blair is being shown around a hospital in Scotland. At one point, he is shown into a ward with a number of people with no obvious signs of injury. He goes to greet the first who replies: "Fair fa your honest sonsie face, Great chieftain o' 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."

Tony, being somewhat confused goes to the next patient and greets him. He replies: "Some hae meat, and canna eat, And some wad eat that want it, But we hae meat and we can eat, Sae let the Lord be thankit."

The third starts rattling off as follows: "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 rin an chase thee, Wi murdering pattle!"

Tony turns to the doctor accompanying him and asks what sort of ward this is - A mental ward?
"No," replies the doctor "It's the Burns unit".