My Muse, though hamely in attire, Oh for a spunk o' Allan's glee, That would be lear eneugh for me, Now, sir, if ye hae friends enow, But gif ye want ae friend that's true, I winna blaw about mysel'; As ill I like my fauts to tell; But friends and folk that wish me well, But Mauchline race, or Mauchline fair, And hae a swap o' rhymin'-ware The four-gill chap, we 'se gar him clatter, And kirsen him wi' reekin' water; Syne we'll sit down and tak our whitter, And, faith, we 'se be acquainted better Awa' ye selfish warly race, Wha think that havins, sense, and grace, Even love and friendship should give place To catch the plack! I dinna like to see your face, But Nor hear your crack. 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, But, to conclude my lang epistle, While I can either sing or whissle, Your friend and servant. SECOND EPISTLE TO J. LAPRAIK. WHILE new-ca'd kye rowte at the stake, And 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, Forjeskit sair, wi' weary legs, My awkwart Muse sair pleads and begs The tapetless ramfeezl'd hizzie, That trouth, my head is grown right dizzie, Her dowff excuses pat me mad: "Conscience," says I, “ ye thowless jad! I'll write, and that a hearty blaud, Sae dinna This very night; ye affront your trade, "Shall bauld Lapraik, the king o' hearts, Yet ye 'll neglect to shaw your parts, Sae I gat paper in a blink, And down gaed stumpie in the ink : Quoth I: "Before I sleep a wink, And if ye winna mak it clink, Sae I've begun to scrawl, but whether But I shall scribble down some blether, My worthy friend, ne'er grudge and carp, Ne'er mind how Fortune waft and warp- She 's gien me monie a jirt and fleg, But, by the L-, though I should beg I'll laugh, and sing, and shake my leg, Now comes the sax-and-twentieth simmer, Frae year to year; But yet, despite the kittle kimmer, Do ye envy the city gent, Behint a kist to lie and sklent, Or purse-proud, big wi' cent. per cent. In some bit brugh to represent Or is 't the paughty, feudal thane, While caps and bonnets aff are taen, Oh Thou wha gies us each guid gift! Wi' cits nor lairds I wadna shift, Were this the charter of our state, But, thanks to Heaven, that's no the gaet For thus the royal mandate ran, |