EPISTLE TO JOHN LAPRAIK, AN OLD April 1st, 1785. WHILE briers an' woodbines budding green, Inspire my Muse, This freedom in an unknown frien' I pray excuse. On Fasten-een we had a rockin, To ca' the crack and weave our stockin: At length we had a hearty yokin5 At sang about. There was ae sang, amang the rest, To some sweet wife: It thirl'd the heart-strings thro' the breast, I've scarce heard aught describes sae weel, It pat me fidgin-fain to hear't, And sae about him there I spier't, 1 The "Epistle to John Lapraik" was produced exactly on the occasion described by the author. He says in that poem, "On fasten-e'en we had a rockin." I believe he has omitted the word rocking in the glossary. It is a term derived from those primitive times, when the country-women employed their spare hours in spinning on the rock, or distaff. This simple implement is a very portable one, and well fitted to the social inclination of meeting in a neighbour's house; hence the phrase of going a-rocking, or with the rock. As the connexion the phrase had with the implement was forgotten when the rock gave place to the spinning-wheel, the phrase came to be used by both sexes on social occasions, and men talk of going with their rocks as well as women. It was at one of these rockings at our house, when we had twelve or fifteen young people with their rocks, that Lapraik's song, beginning, "When I upon thy bosom lean," was sung, and we w informed who was the author. Upon this Robert wrote his first Epistle to Lapraik; and his second in reply to his answer.-G. B. 3 Hare. • Running. 5 A bout. 7 Very anxious. 2 Partridges. 6 Thrilled. Then a' that ken'd him round declar'd That nane excell'd it, few cam near't, That, set him to a pint of ale, Or rhymes an' sangs he'd made himsel, "Tween Inverness and Tiviotdale, He had few matches. Then up I gat, an' swoor an aith, Tho' I should pawn my pleugh and graith,3 At some dyke-back, A pint an' gill I'd gie them baith To hear your crack. But, first an' foremost, I should tell, I to the crambo-jingle fell, Tho' rude an' rough, Yet crooning to a body's sel, Does weel eneugh. I am nae Poet, in a sense, But just a Rhymer like, by chance, Yet, what the matter? Whene'er my Muse does on me glance, Your critic-folk may cock their nose, prose, But, by your leaves, my learned foes, Ye're maybe wrang. What's a' your jargon o' your schools, What sairs your grammars? 1 Louts. A set o' dull, conceited hashes,1 An' syne3 they think to climb Parnassus Gie me ae spark o' Nature's fire, That's a' the learning I desire; Then tho' I drudge thro' dub1 an' mire At pleugh or cart, My Muse, though hamely in attire, May touch the heart. O for a spunk o' Allan's glee, That would be lear eneugh for me, Now, Sir, if ye hae friends enow, I'se no insist, But gif ye want ae friend that's true, I'm on your list. I winna blaw about mysel; As ill I like my fauts to tell; But friends and folk that wish me well, They sometimes rooses me ; Tho' I maun own, as monie still As far abuse me. There's ae wee faut they whiles lay to me, Maybe some ither thing they gie me But Mauchline race, or Mauchline fair, 10 Wi' ane anither. 2 Cows. 6 Learning. The four-gill chap, we'se gar him clatter, Syne we'll sit down an' tak our whitter, · An' faith, we'se be acquainted better Awa ye selfish warly3 race, Wha think that havins, sense, an' grace, I dinna like to see your face, Nor hear your crack. But ye whom social pleasure charms, 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 Who am, most fervent, While I can either sing or whissle, Your friend and servant. WHILE new-ca'd kye rout" at the stake, To own I'm debtor, To honest-hearted, auld Lapraik, Forjesket10 sair, with weary legs, Their ten-hours' bite, 1 Foolish. The tapetless,' ramfeezl'd2 hizzie, That trouth my head is grown right dizzie, Her dowff3 excuses pat me mad; So dinna ye affront your trade, But rhyme it right. "Shall bauld Lapraik, the king o' hearts, 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 : I vow I'll close it; An' if ye winna mak it clink, By Jove, I'll prose it!" But I shall scribble down some blether My worthy friend, ne'er grudge an' carp, Wi' gleesome touch! Ne'er mind how fortune waft an' warp; She's gien me monie a jirt an' fleg,' Sin' I could striddle owre a rig; But, by the Lord, tho' I should beg Wi' lyart pow, I'll laugh, an' sing, an' shake 2 Tired. As lang's I dow !10 3 Silly. 6 Nonsense. 10 Can. |