A Scottish Storyteller

An English doctor, being shown around a Scottish hospital, is taken into a ward with a number of patients who show no visible signs of injury.

He goes to examine the first man he sees, and the man proclaims “Fair fa’ yer sonsie face, Great chieftain e’ the puddin’ race!” The Englishman, somewhat taken aback, goes to the next patient, who immediately 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 Laird be thankit.”

The next patient sits up and declaims: “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,” says the Englishman to his Scottish colleague. “I see you saved the psychiatric ward for last.”

“Nay, nay,” the Scottish doctor corrects him, “This is the Burns Unit...”

Labels: burns, joke