Tuesday, 24 June 2014

Cannae Thole Ye!

Cannae Thole Ye!

Hello aul freens. Hoo ir ye daein? This week A'd laik tae taak tae ye aboot yin o ma favourite Ulster-Scots wurds, thole. Tae aa thon wha hadnae tha benefit o bein brocht up wae tha hamely tongue, thole means tae endure oor suffer bit laik aa guid Ulster-Scots wurds it can bae employt in wheen o different wyes.
Gin thurs a creeter ye cannae stan, weel ye cud tell him that ye cannae thole him, tha mair it micht earn ye a clash roon tha heid. Whuch leads me oan tae tha nixt use o thole, haein tae suffer a bit o a hurt. Ay, gin ye hae an injury o sim sort ye micht bae toul tae thole it tae its better.

Oor ye micht cum acroass a carnaptious aul bessom thats sae crabbit, shae cud hardly thole hersel. An then thurs tha cretter whas that jealous he cudnae thole tha thocht o anither bodie haein mair nor him. Ay, tholes a richt handy wurd tae ken. Bit afore ye mak up yer mine ye cannae thole oany mair o ma bletherin All stap an lee yes wae a poem scrived by tha Coonty Doon writer an poet George Francis Savage Armstrong caad, A Cannae Thole Ye!

Ye may be clivver, may hae won
A wheen o' honour 'nayth the sun
But, whatsaee'er ye've earn'd or done,
A cannae thole ye!

Ye may be genial noo and then
Wi' helpless waens an' humble men;
But, though ye'd gilt auld Poortith's den,
A cannae thole ye!

Ye may be guid; ye may be great;
Ye may be born tae rule the State;
But, though ye rowl'd the wheels o' Fate,
A cannae thole ye!

Ye may hae drawn yer watery bluid
Frae Noe's sel' that sail'd the Flood;
But, though in Noe's breeks ye stud,
A cannae thole ye!

Ye may be lord o' mony a rood;
Yer smile may mak' a monarch prood;
But, though the De'il afore ye boo'd,
A cannae thole ye!

It's nae that ye hae din me wrang;
It's nae A feel a jealous pang;
It's jist that, be ye short or lang,

A cannae thole ye!