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Yon wrestling and huggin'
Was out o' your line,

But ye left him some tokens
I'm thinkin' he'd min'.

And ye were a mad and

An angry tyke, That time ye attackit

The bees in their byke; They buzzed out upon you

Like deils frae the pit, And ye raged like a creature

Deprived o' its wit.

And vainly ye barkit,

And vainly wad bite,
For still they stuck to you

Like venom and spite; And still they come bummin'

Like legions o' deils, So like a wise dowg then

Ye took to your heels.

Ye paid for your knowledge,

As I've often done,
And then had the wisdom

Sic company to shun;
But I was not always

Made wiser by pain, For I've sinned and I've suffered

Again and again.

When folks cam for siller

And I'd nane to gie,
Ye kent them, auld Towser,

As weel just as me;
Ye showed them your tusks, ye

Were ill, ill to please,
Oh, the limbs of the law are

Faur waur than the bees!

How you and wee C\ ■ rf .
Would fondle and play,

And jink roun the haystack
The whale summer day;

He laughin', you barkin',
At fun o' your am,

Till I've wished that I were
A wee laddie again.

And when that he murmured,

And sickened and died,
No, naething could tempt you

To leave his bedside;
Ye sat, sad and silent,

By nicht and by day, And, oh! how you moaned when

They bore him away.

Tho' some folks may ca' ye

A useless auld brute,
Yet, Towser, as lang's ye

Can hirple about,
I'll share my bite wi' ye

And then when ye dee
We'll bury you under

The auld apple tree.

A nd the bairns will greet for you, When they see you laid

All silent in death, 'neath
Its bonnie green shade;

And aft by the ingle,
They'll ca' you to min',

And dear thochts shall aye roun'
Your memory twine.

EPISTLE TO WILLIAM SMITH, TEACHER.
Dear Bill,

I know you love to scan
Man and his mystic nature,
And well I know thou'rt quick to see,
And far mair apt and gleg than me,
At keeking through the creature.

And yet I doubt that like mysel,
Ye've bought your knowledge dear,
And aft ye've asked wi' tearfu' e'en,
What a' this weary world can mean,
And why we've been sent here.

But O! how very short's the way,
That wisdom can us carry,
The wisest hae enough to do,
And whiles mair hampert to get through,
Than either Dick or Harry.

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