IN se'enteen hunder'n forty-nine, <br />The deil gat stuff to mak a swine, <br />An' coost it in a corner; <br />But wilily he chang'd his plan, <br />An' shap'd it something like a man, <br />An' ca'd it Andrew Turner.<br /><br />Robert Burns<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/epigram-on-andrew-turner/
