Just ae half muchkin does me prime,

Ought less is little,

Then back I rattle on the rhyme

As gleg's a whittle!

Awa' ye selfish, warly' race,

Wha think that havins, sense, an' grace,
Ev'n love an' friendship should give place
To catch the plack la

I dinna like to see your face

Nor hear your crack.

But ye whom social pleasure charms,
Whose hearts the tide of kindness warms
Who hold your being on the terms-
Each aid the others!'

Come to my bowl, come to my arms,
My friends, my brothers!

But to conclude my lang epistle,

As my

auld pen

's worn to the grissle; Twa lines frae you wad gar me fissle,b

Who am most fervent,

While I can either sing or whissle,

Your friend and servant.

TO THE SAME.

April 21, 1785.

WHILE new-ca'd kye rout at the stake,

An' pownies reek in pleugh or braik,

This hour, on e'enin's edge, I take,
To own I'm debtor

To honest-hearted, auld Lapraik,
For his kind letter.

Forieskete sair, with weary legs,
Rattlin' the corn out-owre the rigs,

y Worldly. z Good manners. a To get money. b Bustle.

< Cows having newly calved.

d A kind of harrow.

e Jaded with fatigue.

Or dealing thro' amang the naigs
Their ten-hours bite,

My awkwart Muse sair pleads and begs,
I would na write.

The tapetless ramfeezl'dh hizzie,
She's saft at best, and something lazy,
Quo' she, Ye ken we 've been sae busy,
This month an' mair,

That trouth my head is grown right dizzie,
An' something sair.'

Her dowffi excuses pat me mad:
'Conscience,' says I, 'ye thowless jad!
I'll write, an' that a hearty blaud,

So dinna ye

This vera night;
affront your trade,
But rhyme it right.

Shall bauld Lapraik, the king o' hearts,
Tho' mankind were a pack of cartes,
Roosek you sae weel for your deserts,
In terms sae friendly,

Yet ye'll neglect to shaw your parts,
An' thank him kindly!'

Sae I gat paper in a blink,

An' down gaed stumpie in the ink;

Quoth I, Before I sleep a wink,
I vow I'll close it;

An' if you winna mak it clink,

By Jove I'll prose it!'

Sae I've begun to scrawl, but whether

In rhyme or prose, or baith thegither,

Or some hotch-potch that's rightly neither,

A slight bate given to horses in the forenoon, while in the

yoke.

g Foolish. i Pithless, wanting force.

h Fatigued. k Praise, commend.

Let time mak proof;

But 1 shall scribble down some blether!
Just clean aff-loof.m

My worthy friend, ne'er grudge an' carp,
Tho' Fortune use you hard and sharp;
Come, kittle up your moorland harp
Wi' gleesome touch !

Ne'er mind how Fortune waft and warp;
She's but a bitch.

She's gien me monie a jirt an' fleg,
Sin' I could striddle" owre a rig ;o
But, by the Lord, tho' I should beg
Wi' lyart pow,P

I'll laugh an' sing, an' shake my leg
As lang's I dow !!

Now comes the sax-an'-twentieth simmer
I've seen the bud upo' the timmer,"
Still persecuted by the limmer

Frae year to year;

But yet, despite the kittle kimmer,t
I, Rob, am here.

Do ye envy the city gent.,

Behint a kist" to lie and sklent,"

Or purse-proud, big wi' cent. per cent.
And muckle wame,x

In some bit burghy to represent
A bailie's name?

Or, is 't the paughty, feudal thane,
Wi' ruffled sark2 an' glancing cane,

Wha thinks himself nae sheep-shank bane,1

But lordly stalks,

While caps and bonnets aff are taen,
As by he walks ?

'O Thou, wha gies us each good gift!
Gie me o' wit an' sense a lift,

Then turn me, if Thou please, adrift,
Thro' Scotland wide;

Wi' cits nor lairds I wadna shift,
In a' their pride!'

Were this the charter of our state-
'On pain of hell be rich and great ;'
Damnation then would be our fate,
Beyond remead ;b

But, thanks to Heav'n! that's no the gate
We learn our creed :-

For thus the royal mandate ran,
When first the human race began→→→
The social, friendly, honest man,
Whate'er he be,

'Tis he fulfils great Nature's plan,
An' none but he.'

O mandate glorious and divine!
The ragged followers of the Nine,
Poor, thoughtless devils! yet may shine
In glorious light,

While sordid sons of Mammon's line

Are dark as night.

Tho' here they scrape, an' squeeze, an' growl, Their worthless nievefu'd of a soul

May in some future carcase howl,

The forest's fright;

Or in some day-detesting owl,

May shun the light.

Remedy,

c The way.

d Handful.

Then may Lapraik and Burns arise,
To reach their native, kindred skies,
And sing their pleasures, hopes, an' joys,
In some mild sphere,

Still closer knit in friendship's ties

Each passing year!

TO THE SAME.

Sept. 13th, 1785.

GUID speed an' furder to you Johnie,

Guid health, hale han's, an' weather bonnie;
Now when ye 're nickane down fu' cannie
The staff o' bread,

May ye ne'er want a stoops o' brany
To clear your head.

May Boreas never thresh your rigs,
Nor kick your rickles aff their legs,
Sendin' the stuff o'er muirs an' haggsh
Like drivin wrack;

But may the tapmast gram that wags
Come to the sack.

I'm bizzie1 too, an' skelpin'k at it,
But bitter, daudin showers hae wat it,
Sae my auld stumpie pen I gat it,
Wi' muckle wark,

An' took my jocteleg1 an' whattm it,
Like ony clerk.

It's now twa month that I'm your debtor,
For your braw, nameless, dateless letter,
Abusin' me for harsh ill nature

On holy men,

While deil a hair yoursel ye 're better,
But mair profane.

Dexterous.

e Cutting.

g Jug or dish with a handle.
i Busy.
A kind of knife.

h Scars or gulfs in mosses.

A Driving or pressing forward.

m To polish by cutting.