Health to the Maxwell’s veteran Chief!
Health, aye unsour’d bycare orgrief:
Inspir’d, I turn’d Fate’s sibyl leaf,
This natal morn,
I see thy life is stuff o’ prief,
Scarce quite half-worn.

This day thou metes threescore eleven,
And I can tell that bounteous Heaven
(The second-sight, ye ken, is given
To ilka Poet)
On thee a tacko’seven times seven
Will yet bestow it.

If envious buckies view wi’ sorrow
Thy lengthen’d days on this blest morrow,
May Desolation’s lang-teeth’d harrow,
Nine miles anhour,
Rake them, like Sodom and Gomorrah,
In brunstanestour.

Butfor thy friends, and they are mony,
Baithhonest men, and lassies bonie,
May couthieFortune, kind and cannie,
In social glee,
Wi’mornings blythe, and e’enings funny,
Bless them and thee!

Fareweel, auldbirkie! Lord be near ye,
And then the deil, he daurnasteer ye:
Your friends aye love, your faes aye fear ye;
For me, shame fa’me,
If neistmy heart I dinnawear ye,
While Burns they ca’me.