Sentence The Fivehundredandeighteenth 

"Arr," said Hamish, high on the hill,

"arr," said his brother, Bill,

"div ye think if a sheep-shagger cossets a lamb,

the Lord gives a damn?"

and Bill stood and thunk,

then asked, "wizzee drunk?"

"not I," declared Hamish, now down in the glen.

"arr," said his brother, "amen!"

"an it weren't no sow? nor cow? nor bitch?"

"oh Heaven forfend," said Hamish, "that's kitsch!"

"and deep in the wood, there wiz happen a fog?"

"Tha's richt!" exclaimed Hamish and clasped his hands as in prayer, and shining eyes bright, upraised as he praised the innocence tendered that night, and so ends this rustic eclogue!

He should have gone to Specsavers!

 

(suggested by Teri, who is unwell, and written on her behalf by WPC Isa Urquhart)