SECOND EPISTLE ΤΟ DAVIE, A BROTHER POET.* AULD NIBOR, I'm three times doubly o'er your debtor, Ye speak sae fair; For my puir, silly, rhymin' clatter, Some less maun sair. Hale This is prefixed to the poems of David Sillar, published at Kilmarnock, 1789, and has not before appeared in our author's printed poems. E. Hale be your heart, hale be your fiddle Lang may your elbuck jink an' diddle, you thro' the weary widdle To cheer O' war❜ly cares, Till bairns' bairns kindly cuddle Your auld, gray hairs. But DAVIE, lad, I'm red ye're glaikit; Until ye fyke; Sic hauns as you sud ne'er be faikit, For me, I'm on Parnassus brink, Rivin the words to gar them clink; Whyles daez't wi' love, whyles daez't wi' drink, Wi' jads or masons; An' whyles, but ay owre late, I think Braw sober lessons. Of a' the thoughtless sons o' man, Except it be some idle plan O' rhymin' clink, The devil-haet, that I sud ban, They ever think. Nae Nae thought, nae view, nae scheme o' livin', Nae cares to gie us joy or grievin': But just the pouchie put the nieve in, An' while ought's there, Then, hiltie, skiltie, we gae scrievin', An' fash nae mair. Leeze me on rhyme! it's ay a treasure, The Muse, poor hizzie! Haud to the Muse, my dainty Davie : Tho' e'er sae puir, Na, even tho' limpin wi' the spavie Frae door to door. APPENDIX. |