The King's most humble servant, I Can scarcely spare a minute; ButI'll be wi'you byan'by; Orelse the Deil's be in it.

With Esop's lion, Burns says: Sore I feel Each other's scorn, butdamn that ass' heel!

Sir, Yours this moment I unseal, And faith I'm gay and hearty! To tell the truth and shame the deil, I am as fouas Bartie: ButFoorsday, sir, my promise leal, Expect me o'your partie, If on a beastieI can speel, Orhurlin a cartie. Yours, Robert Burns. Mauchlin, Monday night, 10 o'clock.

What ails ye now, ye lousie bitch To thresh my back at sic a pitch? Losh, man! haemercy wi' your natch, Your bodkin's bauld; I didna suffer half saemuch Frae Daddie Auld. What tho' at times, when I grow crouse, I gie their wames a random pouse, Is that enough for you to souse Your

I am a keeper of the law In some sma'points, altho' not a'; Some people tell me ginI fa', Ae way or ither, The breaking of aepoint, tho' sma', Breaks a'thegither. I haebeen in for't anceortwice, And winnasay o'er far for thrice; Yet never met wi'that surprise That broke my rest; Butnow a rumour's like