Thought bubble: William McGonagall or ChatGPT?

William Topaz McGonagall achieved fame as soon as his “Poetic Gems” were published in 1879, as the worst poet in the English language. He published more than 200 poems. He was particularly famous for his poems about disasters.

ChatGPT achieved fame as soon as it was released, as the best large language model available to the general public. It has written innumerable poems, but none has yet been published. GPT is famous because it could cause a terrible disaster.

“A chatbot who looks like a Scottish Victorian poet”, by Stable Diffusion.

All prompts were one-shot with no cherry-picking, except for the traditional song in praise of whisky. Some spelling has been modernized, and McGonagall’s poems have been excerpted.

The Tay Bridge disaster

In 1879 there was a terrible railway disaster on the Tay Bridge. A violent storm weakened the bridge. It then fell down while a train was passing over it. More than 60 people were killed with no survivors. Please write an epic poem about this tragic event.

McGonagall or ChatGPT?

As the storm raged on that fateful night,
A train set off across the Tay Bridge with all its might.
But little did they know, the bridge was weak,
For the winds had battered it for hours, making it creak.

The train rumbled on, its passengers unaware,
Of the danger that lurked just ahead, in the howling air.
But as it reached the middle of the bridge, disaster struck,
The bridge could no longer bear the weight, and down it fell with a sickening thud.

The train plummeted into the dark and icy river below,
And all on board were lost, their fate sealed with a blow.
Sixty souls were taken that night, with not a single survivor,
Leaving families and loved ones to mourn and grieve forevermore.

The tragedy shook the nation to its very core,
And the tale of the fallen Tay Bridge was forevermore known.
A reminder to us all of the dangers we must face,
And the fragility of life in the midst of nature's rage.

McGonagall or ChatGPT?

So the train sped on with all its might,
And Bonnie Dundee soon hove in sight,
And the passengers’ hearts felt light,
Thinking they would enjoy themselves on the New Year,
With their friends at home they loved most dear,
And wish them all a happy New Year.

So the train moved slowly along the Bridge of Tay,
Until it was about midway,
Then the central girders with a crash gave way,
And down went the train and passengers into the Tay!
The Storm Fiend did loudly bray,
Because ninety lives had been taken away,
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remembered for a very long time.

The walking stick

Some people have played a cruel practical joke on you by presenting you with a silver walking stick. But the stick is really made of tin and worth no more than five shillings and fourpence. Write a poem to strike back against your tormentors and make your feelings clear.

McGonagall or ChatGPT?

A practical joke has been been done to me
Within the burgh of Dundee,
Which I consider to be a sin,
To present me with a stick ornamented with tin.

Which they said was silver-plated,
But they will find I’m not to be cheated;
Because I’ve found it is only tin.
And at them I’m resolved to laugh and grin.

Because it will never be used by me;
The reason why? Because it’s a disgrace to Dundee;
And, as for the purse, it’s a shame to be seen
Near by Dundee and the Magdalen Green.

And the contents therein was but small —
Five shillings and fourpence, that is all;
Which didn’t pay me for one recitation.
Which is a disgrace to the nation.

And in conclusion I will say
I will remember such treatment for many a day,
And he is unworthy to be called brother
That would try to wound the feelings of another.

McGonagall or ChatGPT?

Oh cruel jokers, with your tin and paint,
You thought to trick me with your petty game.
A walking stick of silver, you said with a grin,
But now the truth is clear, and your lies are thin.

For your stick is worth no more than five shillings and fourpence,
A paltry sum for a fool's pretence.
You thought to make a fool of me,
But now I see your true intentions, so easily.

I will not be fooled by your cheap deception,
For I am wise to your tricks and your lack of conviction.
So take your tin and run along,
For your jest has failed and your laughter is now gone.

The Battle of Flodden Field

Write a poem commemorating the battle of Flodden Field, when Scotland under James IV was defeated by England in 1513.

McGonagall or ChatGPT?

On Flodden Field so long ago,
Scotland and England met in battle's ebb and flow.
The clash of swords and roar of cannons rent the air,
As brave men fought with courage, without a thought of fear.

But in the end, it was the English who came out on top,
As Scotland's king, James the Fourth, lay dead, his life now stopt.
A fateful day, a crushing blow,
For Scotland and her people, who suffered great woe.

But still they rise, resilient and strong,
Their spirit unbroken, their will to belong.
For though they lost that fateful fight,
Their history and heritage live on, a beacon of light.

So let us remember the battle of Flodden Field,
Where Scotland and England's forces did fiercely yield.
A tragedy for one, a victory for the other,
But a moment in history that we must remember, now and forever.

McGonagall or ChatGPT?

’TWAS on the 9th of September, a very beautiful day,
That a numerous English army came in grand array,
And pitched their tents on Flodden field so green
In the year of our Lord fifteen hundred and thirteen.

And on the ridge of Braxton hill the Scottish army lay,
All beautifully arrayed, and eager for the fray,
And near by stood their noble king on that eventful day,
With a sad and heavy heart, but in it no dismay.

And around him were his nobles, both in church and state,
And they felt a little dispirited regarding the king’s fate;
For the independence of bonnie Scotland was at stake,
And if they lost the battle, many a heart would break.

But alas! the king and his nobles fought in vain,
And by an English billman the king was slain;
Then a mighty cheer from the English told Scotland’s power had fled,
And King James the Fourth of Scotland, alas! was dead!

Glasgow! Glasgow!

Write a poem in praise of the city of Glasgow. Be sure to mention the ships in harbour at the Broomielaw, the municipal buildings around Ingram Street the generous men of wealth, and the grand picture gallery which is superior to anything found in Edinburgh.

McGonagall or ChatGPT?

O, beautiful city of Glasgow, which stands on the river Clyde,
How happy should the people be which in ye reside;
Because it is the most enterprising city of the present day,
Whatever anybody else may say.

The ships which lie at the Broomielaw are most beautiful to see,
They are bigger and better than any in Dundee;
Likewise the municipal buildings, most gorgeous to be seen,
Near to Ingram Street, not far from Glasgow Green.

Then the warehouses are filled from the floor to the topmost storey,
With goods which brings Glasgow money and glory,
And the men who own them are most liberal, I do declare,
Because I got money from them when there.

O, wonderful city of Glasgow, with your triple expansion engines,
At the making of which your workmen get many singeins;
Also the deepening of the Clyde, most marvellous to behold,
Which cost much money, be it told.

Then there is a grand picture gallery,
Which the keepers thereof are paid a very large salary;
Therefore, citizens of Glasgow, do not fret or worry,
For there is nothing like it in Edinburgh.

McGonagall or ChatGPT?

Glasgow, city of my heart,
With ships in harbour at the Broomielaw,
Municipal buildings grand and tall,
Along Ingram Street, a sight to awe.

Generous men of wealth and fame,
Have built a city of great acclaim,
With a picture gallery supreme,
Superior to Edinburgh, it would seem.

From the Clyde, a mighty river,
To the hills beyond, a verdant quiver,
Glasgow stands, a beacon bright,
A source of pride for all in sight.

So here's to you, dear Glasgow fair,
May your future be as bright as your past,
A city to be cherished and to share,
Forever in our hearts, forever to last.

Whack for my daddy-o

Write a poem in traditional Scots dialect, in praise of the drinking of whisky…. Can you use more Scots dialect?

McGonagall or ChatGPT?

Whisky, whisky, sweet and rich,
The drink o' choice for those o' us that ken,
Frae the bonnie glens, to the rugged hills,
Whisky's made wi' love, an' care, until

It glows like gold, an' smoors like peat,
Whisky's a drink that canna be beat,
On a cauld night, or a simmer's day,
It's the perfect drink, in ilka way.

Sae let us raise a glass, an' make a toast,
To whisky, the drink that we a' love most,
Here's tae its history, an' its great tradition,
Lang may it flow, an' bring us a' good fortune.

McGonagall or ChatGPT?

Here are we met, a very merry set,
And a jovial set of boys are we
And we’ll’ drink and sing and mak the tavern ring,
Owre a we drap o’ the barley bree.

Chorus—
Sae we’ill no get fou,
We’ill no get fou,
For that wad spoil a’ the spree;
Sae we’ill tak a we drap,
And hae a social crack,
Owre a we drap o’ the barley bree.

And as we’ve a met thagether to hae a spree,
I houp nane o’ us will disagree.
By getting owre fou, until we spu,
By taking owre muckle o’ the barley bree.

Answers

This isn’t really that hard, but:

• Tay Bridge: ChatGPT, then McGonagall.

• The Walking Stick: McGonagall, then ChatGPT.

• Flodden Field: ChatGPT, then McGonagall.

• Glasgow: McGonagall, then ChatGPT.

• Whisky: ChatGPT, then McGonagall.

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