Wow, but your letter made me vauntie!
And are ye hale, and weeland cantie?
I ken’d it still, your wee bitjauntie
Wadbring ye to:
Lord send you aye as weel’s I want ye!
And then ye’ll do.
The ill-thiefblawthe Heron south!
And never drink be near his drouth!
He tauldmyself by word o’ mouth,
He’d takmy letter;
I lippen’dto the chielin trouth,
And badenaebetter.
But aiblins, honest Master Heron
Had, at the time, some dainty fair one
To warethis theologic care on,
And holy study;
And tired o’ sauls to waste his learon,
E’entried the body.
But what d’ye think, my trusty fere,
I’m turned a gauger-Peace be here!
Parnassian queans, I fear, I fear,
Ye’ll now disdain me!
And then my fifty pounds a year
Will little gain me.
Ye glaikit, gleesome, dainty damies,
Wha, byCastalia’s wimplin streamies,
Lowp, sing, and laveyour pretty limbies,
Ye ken, ye ken,
That strangnecessity supreme is
‘Mang sons o’ men.
I hae a wife and twaweeladdies;
They maunhae broseand bratso’ duddies;
Ye kenyoursels my heart right proud is-
I need navaunt
But I’ll snedbesoms, thrawsaughwoodies,
Before they want.
Lord help me thro’ this warldo’ care!
I’m weary sick o’tlate and air!
Not but I haea richer share
Than mony ithers;
But why should aeman better fare,
And a’men brithers?
Come, Firm Resolve, take thou the van,
Thou stalk o’ carl-hempin man!
And let us mind, faint heart ne’er wan
A lady fair:
Whadoes the utmost that he can,
Will whiles do mair.
Butto conclude my silly rhyme
(I’m scant o’ verse and scant o’time),
To make a happy fireside clime
To weans and wife,
That’s the true pathos and sublime
Of human life.
My compliments to sister Beckie,
And ekethe same to honest Lucky;
I watshe is a daintie chuckie,
As e’ertread clay;
And gratefully, my gudeauldcockie,
I’m yours for aye.
Robert Burns.