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;
Tillbarins’ barins kindly cuddle
Your auldgrey hairs.
But Davie, lad, I’m redye’re glaikit;
I’m tauldthe muse ye haenegleckit;
An, gifit’s sae, ye sud bylickit
Until ye fyke;
Sichaun’s as you sud ne’er be faikit,
Be hain’t whalike.
For me, I’m on Parnassus’ brink,
Rivin the words to garthem clink;
Whiles dazed wi’ love, whiles dazed wi’ drink,
Wi’ jads or masons;
An’ whiles, but aye owrelate, I think
Brawsober lessons.
Of a’the thoughtless sons o’ man,
Commen’ to me the bardieclan;
Except it be some idle plan
O’ rhymin clink,
The devil haet,-that I sudban-
They ever think.
Nae thought, nae view, nae scheme o’livin,
Nae cares to gieus joy or grievin,
But just the pouchie put the neive in,
An’ while ought’s there,
Then, hiltie, skiltie, we gaescrievin’,
An’ fashnaemair.
Leeze me onrhyme! it’s aye a treasure,
My chief, amaistmy only pleasure;
At hame, a-fiel’, at wark, orleisure,
The Muse, poor hizzie!
Tho’ rough an’raplochbe her measure,
She’s seldom lazy.
Haudto the Muse, my daintie Davie:
The warl’may play you mony a shavie;
Butfor the Muse, she’ll never leave ye,
Tho’ e’ersaepuir,
Na, even tho’ limpin wi’the spavie
Fraedoor taedoor.