We have a stane o' meal a week, / An' five big bowes o' hummel corn; / Potatoes, coals, lint, a'thing free, / A soo, an' hens—a gude coo's grass— / There's little, to be sure, for tea, / But mony honest folk hae less.

These days I'm an armchair detective.

[…] such was their desire for greater rhythmic freedom that composers began to use red notes as well. […] Their value was […] restricted at first, for redness implies the imperfecting of a note which is perfect if black […]

Wits and miniaturists have applied their talents to rendering languages, perhaps more crucially now as direct ethnic derogation is no longer salonfähig.