TO THE SAME. April 21, 1785. WI HILE new-ca'd kye rowte at the stake An' pownies reek in pleugh or braik, This hour on e'ening's edge I take To own I'm debtor To honeft-hearted, auld L*****}, For his kind letter. Forjefket fair with weary legs, Rattlin th' corn out-owre the rigs, Or dealing thro' amang the naigs Their ten hours-bite, My awkart Mufe fair pleads and begs The tapetlefs, ramfeezl'd hizzie, She's faft at beft an' fomething lazy : Quo' fhe, Ye ken weve been fae busy This month an' mair, That trouth my head is grown right dizzie, • An' fomething fair.' Her dowff excufes pat me mad; Confcience,' fays I, ye thowlefs jad, • This vera night, < Sodinna ye affront your trade, But rhyme it right. • Shall bauld L*****k, the king o' hearts, • Tho' mankind were a pack o' cartes, • Roofe you fae well for your deserts, In terms fae friendly, " Yet ye'll neglect to shaw your parts An' thank him kindly?" Sae I gat paper in a blink, Quoth I, Before I fleep a wink, 'I vow I'll clofe it; 'An' if ye winna mak it clink, By Jove I'll profe it! Sae I've begun to fcrawl, but whether Let time mak proof; But I fhall fcribble down fome blether Juft clean aff-loof. My worthy friend, ne'er grudge an' carp, Tho' fortune ufe you hard an' fharp, Come, kittle up your moorland harp Wi' gleefome touch! Ne'er mind how Fortune waft an' warp; She's but a b-tch. She's gien me monie a jirt an' fleg Sin I could ftriddle owre a rig; But, by the L-d, tho' I should beg Wi' lyart pow, I'll laugh, an' fing, an' fhake my leg, As lang's I dow! Now comes the fax an' twentieth fimmer, I've seen the bud upo' the timmer, Still perfecuted by the limmer Frae year to year ; But yet, despite the kittle kimmer, I, Rob, am here, Do ye envy the city Gent, Behint a kift to lie an' fklent, Or purfe-proud, big wi' cent. per cent : An' muckle wame, In fome bit Brugh to reprefent A Bailie's name? Or is't the paughty, feudal Thane, Wi' ruffl'd fark an glancing cane Wha thinks himfel nae fheep-fhank bane, While But lordly ftalks, caps and bonnets aff are taen, As by he walks? • O, Thou wha gies us each good gift! • Gie me o' wit an' fense a lift, • Then turn me, if Thou please, adrift Thro' Scotland wide; Wi' cits nor lairds I wadna fhift • In a' their pride!' Were this the charter of our state 'On pain o' hell be rich an' great, Damnation then would be our fate, Beyond remead ; 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 focial, friendly, honeft man 'Whate'er he be, 'Tis he fulfils great Nature's plan, And none but he.' O Mandate, glorious and divine! While fordid fons o' Mammon's line Are dark as night. Tho' here they fcrape, an' fqueeze, an' growl, Their worthlefs nievefu' of a foul May in fome future carcafe howl The foreft's fright; Or in fome day-detefting owl May fhun the light. Then may Z*****k and B**** arise, In fome mild fphere. Still clofer knit in friendship's ties Each paffing year! |