Mr Noone
Croí na hÉireann
- Joined
- Oct 16, 2005
- Posts
- 11,833
Queen Elizabeth opened a new hospital in Glasgow and after the formalities and speeches went on a tour of the building. She saw the cardiac unit and the NICU and turning a corner, said "What's in here?" Before the Director could answer, she walked in and the first patient she saw said
"O my Luve's like a red, red rose
That's newly sprung in June;
O my Luve's like the melodie
That's sweetly play'd in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I:
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry:"
"Well," said the Queen. "Quite interesting". She moved along the ward and a glassy-eyed young woman said:
"Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o' the pudding-race!
Aboon them a' yet tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy o'a grace
As lang's my arm.
The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin was help to mend a mill
In time o'need,
While thro' your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead."
"How very interesting," Her Majesty said with great aplomb, but somewhat unnerved. At the next bed a calm, bespectacled man said:
"Wee, sleekit, 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 rin an' chase thee,
Wi' murd'ring pattle!
I'm truly sorry Man's dominion
Has broken Nature's social union,
An' justifies that ill opinion,
Which makes thee startle,
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,
An' fellow-mortal!"
The Queen turned to the director and ask, "Is this a psychiatric ward?"
"No, Ma'am," he said. "This is the Burns Unit".
"O my Luve's like a red, red rose
That's newly sprung in June;
O my Luve's like the melodie
That's sweetly play'd in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I:
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry:"
"Well," said the Queen. "Quite interesting". She moved along the ward and a glassy-eyed young woman said:
"Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o' the pudding-race!
Aboon them a' yet tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy o'a grace
As lang's my arm.
The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin was help to mend a mill
In time o'need,
While thro' your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead."
"How very interesting," Her Majesty said with great aplomb, but somewhat unnerved. At the next bed a calm, bespectacled man said:
"Wee, sleekit, 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 rin an' chase thee,
Wi' murd'ring pattle!
I'm truly sorry Man's dominion
Has broken Nature's social union,
An' justifies that ill opinion,
Which makes thee startle,
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,
An' fellow-mortal!"
The Queen turned to the director and ask, "Is this a psychiatric ward?"
"No, Ma'am," he said. "This is the Burns Unit".
