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Alake, alake, the meikle deil
Wi' a' his witches

Are at it, skelpin! jig and reel,

In my poor pouches.

I modestly, fu' fain wad hint it,
That one pound one, I sairly want it;
If wi' the hizzie down ye sent it,
It would be kind;

And while my heart wi' life-blood dunted,
I'd bear't in mind.

So may the auld year gang out moaning
To see the new come laden, groaning,
Wi' double plenty o'er the loaning
To thee and thine;

Domestic peace and comforts crowning
The hale design.

POSTSCRIPT.

Ye've heard this while how I've been licket, And by fell death was nearly nicket; Grim loun! he gat me by the fecket,

And sair me sheuk;

But by good luck, I lap a wicket,
And turn'd a neuk.

But by that health, I've got a share o't,
And by that life, I'm promis'd mair o't,
My hale and weel I'll take a care o't,
A tentier way;

Then fareweel, folly, hide and hair o't,
For ance and aye.

LETTER

TO JS TT GL-NC-R.

AULD Comrade dear and brither sinner,
How's a' the folk about Gl-nc-r?
How do you this blae eastlin wind,
That's like to blaw a body blind?
For me, my faculties are frozen,
My dearest member nearly dozen'd:
I've sent you here my Johnnie Simson,
Twa sage philosophers to glimpse on;
Smith, wi' his sympathetic feeling,

Reid to common sense appealing,

Philosophers have fought an' wrangled,
And meikle Greek an' Latin mangled,
Till wi' their logic-jargon tir'd,
An' in the depth of science mir'd,
To common sense they now appeal,
What wives and wabsters see an' feel:
But hark ye, friend, I charge you strictly,
Peruse them an' return them quickly;
For now I'm grown sae cursed douce,
I pray an' ponder butt the house,
My shins, my lane, I there sit roastin,
Perusing Bunyan, Brown, and Boston;
Till by an' by, if I haud on,

I'll grunt a real Gospel groan;
Already I begin to try it,

To cast my een up like a pyet,
When by the gun she tumbles o'er,
Flutt'ring an' gasping in her gore:
Sae shortly you shall see me bright,
A burning an' a shining light.

My heart-warm love to guid auld Glen, The ace an' wale of honest men ;

When bending down with auld gray hairs,
Beneath the load of years and cares,
May he who made him still support him,
An' views beyond the grave comfort him.
His worthy family far and near
God bless them a' wi' grace

gear.

My auld school-fellow, Preacher Willie,

The manly tar, my mason Billie,

An' Auchenbay, I wish him joy;

If he's a parent, lass or boy,

May he be dad, and Meg the mither,
Just five-an'-forty years thegither!
An' no forgetting wabster Charlie,
I'm tauld he offers very fairly.

An' L-d remember singing Sannock,
Wi' hale breeks, saxpence an' a bannock.
And next, my auld acquaintance, Nancy,

Since she is fitted to her fancy;

An' her kind stars hae airted till her
A guid chiel wi' a pickle siller.
My kindest, best respects I sen' it,
To cousin Kate, an' sister Janet;
Tell them frae nie, wi' chiels be cautious,
For faith, they'll aiblins fin' them fashious:
To grant a heart is fairly civil,

But to grant a maidenhead's the devil!
An' lastly, Jamie, for yoursel,
May guardian angels tak a spell,
An steer you seven miles south o' hell:
But first, before you see heav'n's glory,
May ye get monie a merry story,
Monie a laugh and monie a drink,
An' ay enough o' needfu' clink.

Now fare ye weel, an' joy be wi' you,
For my sake this I beg it o' you,
Assist poor Simson a' ye can,
Ye'll fin' him just an honest man:
Sae I conclude and quat my chanter,
Your's, saint or sinner,

ROB THE RANTER

TO THE GUIDWIFE OF WAUCHOPE-HOUSE, IN ANSWER TO AN EPISTLE WHICH SHE HAD SENT THE

Guidwife,

AUTHOR.
I.

I MIND it weel in early date,

When I was beardless, young, and blate,
And first could thresh the barn;

Or haud a yokin at the pleugh;
An' tho' for foughten sair enough,
Yet unco proud to learn:

When first amang the yellow corn
A man I reckon'd was,

And wi' the lave ilk merry morn,
Could rank my rig and lass,
Still shearing, and clearing
The tither stooked raw,
Wi' claivers, an' haivers,
Wearing the day awa.

II.

Ev'n then, a wish, I mind it's pow'r,
A wish that to my latest hour,

Shall strongly heave my breast,
That I for poor auld Scotland's sake
Some usefu' plan or book could make,
Using a sang at least.

The rough burr-thistle, spreading wide
Amang the bearded bear,

I turn'd the weeder-clips aside,
An' spar'd the symbol dear;
No nation, no station,

My envy e'er could raise,
A Scot still, but blot still,
I knew nae higher praise.
III.

But still the elements o' sang,
In formless jumble, right an' wrang,
Wild floated in my brain;
Till on that har'st I said before,
My partner in the merry core,
She rous'd the forming strain!
I see her yet, the sonsie quean,
That lighted up her jingle,
Her witching smile, her pauky e'en,
That gar't my heart-strings tingle;
I fired, inspired,

At every kindling keek,
But bashing, and dashing,
I feared ay to speak.

IV.

Hail to the set, ilk guid chiel says,
Wi' merry dance in winter-days,
An' we to share in common;
The gust o' joy, the balm o' wo,
The saul o' life, the heav'n below,
Is rapture-giving woman.

Ye surly sumphs, who hate the name,
Be mindfu' o' your mither;

She, honest woman, may think shame
That ye're connected with her ;
Ye're wae men, ye're nae men,
That slight the lovely dears;

To shame ye, disclaim ye,
Ilk honest birkie swears.

V.

For you, na bred to barn or byre,
Wha sweetly tune the Scottish lyre,
Thanks to you for your line.
The marled plaid ye kindly spare
By me should gratefully be ware
"Twad please me to the Nine.

I'd be mair vauntie o' my hap,
Douse hinging o'er my curple,
Than onie ermine ever lap,
Or proud imperial purple.
Fareweel then, lang hale then,
An' plenty be your fa':
May losses and crosses

Ne'er at your hallan ca'.

March, 1787.

R. BURNS.

TO J. RANKEN,

ON HIS WRITING TO THE AUTHOR THAT A GIRL WAS WITH CHILD BY HIM.

I AM a keeper of the law

In some sma' points, altho' not a';
Some people tell me gin I fa',
Ac way or ither,

The breaking of ae point, tho' sma',
Breaks a' thegither.

I hae been in for't ance or twice,
And winna say o'er far for thrice,
Yet never met with that surprise
That broke my rest,

But now a rumour's like to rise,
A whaup's i' the nest.

ᎯᎠᎠᎡᎬᏚ

TO AN ILLEGITIMATE CHILD.

THOU's Welcome, wean, mishanter fa' me,
If aught of thee, or of thy mammy,
Shall ever danton me, or awe me,
My sweet wee lady,

Or if I blush when thou shalt ca' me
Tit-ta or daddy

Wee image of my bonie Betty,
I fatherly will kiss an' daut thee,
As dear an' near my heart I set thee
Wi' as gude will

As a' the priests had seen me get thee

That's out o' h-ll.

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