Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, RODGERSON'S DOUG, by WILLIAM AITKEN

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RODGERSON'S DOUG, by            
First Line: In oor famed sugar city o' tierces and bags
Last Line: Had some men the judgment o' rodgerson's doug.
Subject(s): Animals; Dogs; Labor & Laborers; Work; Workers

IN oor famed sugar city o' tierces and bags,
Wi' its rich folk in satins and puir folk in rags,
Where it's mud to the ankles frae July to June,
Where the rain only stops for the snaw to begin,
Where the sailors prepare for the weather in store
Wi' a dip in the sea as they're comin' ashore,
If ye've time for a meenit to len' me yer lug,
Ye will hear o' a dweller in't -- Rodgerson's doug.

Since the new Ayrshire line to the West End was made,
He's been yin o' the great railway's little "unpaid;"
His hale heart and min' seem sae fix'd on the wark
That he scarce can get time for a freen'ly bit bark.
Nae maiter what pairt o' the yaird ye may be,
If yer gaun up the hill or awa roun' the quay,
Jist point to the break-bogie, up gangs each lug,
And he's in't in a twinklin' -- Rodgerson's doug.

Though he's no up to muckle wi' pencil or pen,
Nor yet shown on the pay-sheet alang with the men,
No a haun' in the wark's half sae constant as he,
He's as shairp as a razor in baith ear and e'e.
He can staun' like a man, he can jump, he can sklim,
'Twad be tellin' us a' were we active like him;
No a shift o' the wagons, or shunt wi' the pug,
But what's seen and taen note o' by Rodgerson's doug.

He's oot like a lark at the break o' daylicht,
And he never leaves off till the latest at nicht;
He's no like a wheen o' yer sleepy-heid folk,
He's as shairp to the hour as the haun o' a clock.
It's a quite common thing wi' the best workin' men,
For a yairdsman or guard to sleep-in noo and then;
Till the breakfast bell rings they the blankets may hug,
But we ne'er kent him sleepin' in -- Rodgerson's doug.

Nae maiter what happens, he hears and sees a',
Could he speak, he could tell us a story or twa;
He could tell when the "bothy" was burned, and the hoo,
Where the whisky cam' frae that fill'd Gaffer Gibb fou';
Hoo the casks o' molasses were knockit agee,
And hoo the goods wagons got into the sea.
Nae amount o' rough shuntin', nae quick stop or rug
E'er knock'd oot o' the break-bogie Rodgerson's doug.

O' the men's dinner pieces he'll eat a' ye bring,
But he wadna taste drink gin ye made him a king;
Na, faith! he kens better than pree siccan stuff;
Wi' the food God provides he's contented enough.
When I look at the dougie I think noo and then
That he's gifted wi' wisdom far mair than some men,
And the world wad hae less o' turmoil and humbug
Had some men the judgment o' Rodgerson's doug.

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