From the Scots Skald: Battle of the Burn

Wi' thair stoatin' win ower th' Vikin' scrotes o' th' land o' aice, 
Tavish McTavish, Laird o' all th' Noarth 
Teuket aisy in hi' stoatin' loaby 
Wi' a richt banquit o' braw Aislandic baifsteake, 
A-washed doon wi' hunners lairge o' mead 
N' cratur, o' coorse. 

Whin a' o' a' sudd'n thare wis a fairtin' blast 
O'win beneath th' kilts o' a' the noo 
Es th' door wur flung waide 
N' yin o' his scoots boalt'd in, all a-hollerin': 
"M'laird, thare ur mair Vikin' readers aff th' coost!"

Th' clan cheif turn'd tae Ewen Mea 'n' curs'd, 
Thain staun 'n' shoot'd tae a': 
"Mair o' they blowdy heairy, howfin Vikin's 
Aantae learn Scots manaers! 
Wae shell le'rn thaim howfur thay sae 
'Awright' in Glescae toon!"

S'oan th' neist pure wide bricht sunlit marnin' 
Tavish 'n' his main, ilk wi' a heid stowed oot 
O' rampaigin' beasties wi' maetal hamm'rs, 
Set aff o'er th' moars.
"Thair's a wee burn neart th' sea, 
Whaur we wull stoap thaim. 
Waill cetch wi` thaim thare 
N' gie thaim wha' thay'r deu.
Th' burn wull run rid wi' Vikin' blud by th'aind o' th' dae” 
Tavish grinn'd thro' hais theck rid fluff.

N' soon th' braive Scots, 
Th'sporrans a-swingin' wi' th' spaid o' thair mairch, 
Hud raich'd th' bonnie banks o' th' burn. 
Wi' warriors tae th' richt 
N' his picked main tae th' laift, 
Thay gawked 'n' weet'd. 

N' twas nae lang afair th' bastad Ubbas'n, 
Nabut a wee upstairt Viking 
Wi' a baird na hearier thain Tavish's knee-fluff 
Arraiv'd wi' his mangy excuise fur a warbaind. 
Th' hearthguard wa facin' th' Scots warriars, 
Ai' feartie-cat archers a-lurkin' in th' raucle beyon. 
Wi' warriars oan th' ither flaink, 
Th' Jimmy his-sel stoad wi' th' berserks, 
Skulkin' behin'.

Tavish, wi' his boaws, 
Staun fairless in th' centur o' his main 
As a true wairlord shuid.

Intae th' waetair th' Vikin' hearthguard charged, 
Shoutin' abuse 'n' insults 
Ain a forn taung thet th' Scots dingyed, 
Tho' yin Jimmy faell tae th'nmy arraes a-flaein' o'erheed. 
Meatin' th' Scots oan th' aither baink, 
Drookit wi' waetair maex'd wi' Vikin' blud, 
A' wur pat tae th' soard 
Whail bit twa braive Scotsmen faell.
Whail oan th' ither flaenk, 
Th' Vikin's charg'd, tae be met in th' burn by Tavish's maen, 
Kilts a-flyin' waild. 

Th' Vikin' hud nae nae plaice tae gae, 
Nae th' taime tae reas thair shiels 
Afore th' Scots wur amoang thaim, 
N' unprepair'd, thae tae faell,
Fur it steals a brave Jimmy 
Tae fend aff a Scotsman's waip'n so! 

As th' burn bolted wi' thair blud, 
Th' lest o' they Vikin's faell awae.
At lest Ubbason th' bas, 
Ainraig'd, roar'd his greet 
N' charg'd hissael thro' th' wataer, 
Hais berserks, wi' na arm'r 'n' sportin' bit a stitch, basaide. 

They brave maen faill tae haird Scots stael, 
N' Ubbason, aloane, 
Wis stabb'd up th' jacksie 
Sae baid thet he cuid dae na mair bit tae stammle awa', 
Yin haun pokin' twa fing'rs a-defiance, 
Th' ither cauvrin' his wound'd bahookie.

N' as th' lest o' th' enmy wur slean, 
Tavish 'n' Ewen gawked th' dregs 
Run beck tae thair boets 'n' slink awa' hame, 
Smilin' at th' thaught o' Ubbason, 
Roawin' his ain boet hame sittin' oan hi' ain bluidin erse.

N' th' burn bolted rid wi' Viking blud.