Friendship, mysterious cement of the soul! Sweet'ner of Life, and solder of Society! I owe thee much-Blair. Dear Smith, the slee'st, pawkiethief, That e'erattempted stealth or rief! Ye surely hae some warlock-brief Owre human hearts; For ne'er a bosom yet was prief Against your arts. For me, I swear by sun an' moon, An' ev'ry

Epistle To Major Logan Hail, thairm-inspirin', rattlin' Willie! Tho' fortune's road be rough an' hilly To every fiddling, rhyming billie, We never heed, But take it like the unback'd filly, Proud o' her speed. When, idly goavin', whiles we saunter, Yirr! fancy barks, awawe canter, Up hill, down brae, tillsome mischanter, Some black bog-hole, Arrests

Auld Neibour, I'm three times doubly o'er your debtor, For your auld-farrant, frien'ly letter; Tho' I maun say't I doubt ye flatter, Ye speak sae fair; For my puir, silly, rhymin clatter Some less maunsair. Hale be your heart, halebe your fiddle, Langmay your elbuckjinkdiddle, To cheer you thro' the weary widdle O' war'ly cares;

While new-ca'dkyerowteat the stake An' pownies reekin pleughor braik, This hour on e'enin's edge I take, To own I'm debtor To honest-hearted, auld Lapraik, For his kind letter. Forjesketsair, with weary legs, Rattlin the corn out-owre the rigs, Or dealing thro' amang the naigs Their ten-hours' bite, My awkartMuse sairpleads and begs I would nawrite.

Guid speed and furderto you, Johnie, Guidhealth, halehan's, an' weather bonie; Now, when ye're nickin down fu'cannie The staff o' bread, May ye ne'er want a stoup o'bran'y To clear your head. May Boreas never thresh your rigs, Nor kick your ricklesafftheir legs, Sendin the stuff o'er muirs an' haggs Like drivin wrack; But may

January While winds frae affBen-Lomond blaw, An' bar the doors wi' driving snaw, An' hingus owre the ingle, I setme down to pass the time, An' spin a verse or twao' rhyme, In hamely, westlinjingle. While frosty winds blawin the drift, Bento the chimlalug, I grudge a weethe great-folk's gift, That live saebienan' snug: I

While briers an' woodbines budding green, An' paitricks scraichinloud at e'en, An' morning poussiewhiddinseen, Inspire my muse, This freedom, in an unknown frien', I pray excuse. On Fasten-e'enwe had a rockin, To ca'the crackand weave our stockin; And there was mucklefun and jokin, Ye need nadoubt; At length we had a hearty yokin At sang

O Gowdie, terror o' the whigs, Dread o' blackcoats and rev'rend wigs! Sour Bigotry, on her last legs, Girns an' looks back, Wishing the ten Egyptian plagues May seize you quick. Poor gapin', glowrin' Superstition! Wae's me, she's in a sad condition: Fye: bring Black Jock,^1her state physician, To see her water; Alas, there's ground

While at the stook the shearers cow'r To shun the bitter blaudin' show'r, Orin gulravagerinnin scowr To pass the time, To you I dedicate the hour In idle rhyme. My musie, tir'd wi' mony a sonnet On gown, an' ban', an' douseblack bonnet, Is grown right eerienow she's done it, Lest they should blame her,

O Rough, rude, ready-witted Rankine, The waleo' cocksfor fun an' drinkin! There's mony godly folks are thinkin, Your dreams and tricks Will send you, Korah-like, a-sinkin Straughtto auldNick's. Ye hae sawmony cracks an' cants, And in your wicked, drucken rants, Ye maka devil o' the saunts, An' fill them fou; And then their failings, flaws,