Fareweel, my rhyme-compofing brither! We've been owre lang unkenn'd to ither:

Now let us lay our heads thegither,

In love fraternal:

May Envy wallop in a tether,

Black fiend, infernal!

While Highlandmen hate tolls an' taxes; While moorlan herds like guid, fat braxies; While Terra Firma, on her axis,

Diurnal turns,

Count on a friend, in faith an' practice,

In Robert Burns.

POSTSCRIPT.

My memory's no worth a preen;

I had amaift forgotten clean,

Ye bade me write you what they mean

By this new-light*,

'Bout which our herds fae aft hae been

Maift like to fight.

In days when mankind were but callans At Grammer, Logic, an' fic talents,

They took nae pains their speech to balance, Or rules to gie,

But spak their thoughts in plain, braid Lallans, Like you or me.

In thae auld times, they thought the Moon,

Juft like a fark, or pair o' fhoon,

Wore by degrees, till her laft roon

Gaed paft their viewing,

An' fhortly after she was done

See note page 91.

They gat a new one.

This

This past for certain, undisputed;
It ne'er cam i' their heads to doubt it,
Till chiels gat up an' wad confute it,

An' ca'd it wrang;

An' muckle din there was about it,

Baith loud an' lang.

Some herds, weel learn'd upo' the beuk, Wad threap auld folk the thing misteuk; For 'twas the auld moon turn'd a neuk,

An' out o' fight,

An' backlins-comin, to the leuk,

She grew mair bright.

This was deny'd, it was affirm'd;

The herds an' biffels were alarm'd:

The rev'rend gray-beards rav'd an' ftorm'd,

That beardless laddies

Should think they better were inform'd

Than their auld daddies.

Frae lefs to mair it gaed to fticks;

Frae words an' aiths to clours an' nicks;

An' monie a fallow gat his licks,

Wi' hearty crunt;

An' fome, to learn them for their tricks,

Were hang'd an' brunt.

This game was play'd in monie lands, An' auld-light caddies bure fic hands,

That faith, the youngsters took the fands

Wi' nimble fhanks,

Till Lairds forbade, by ftrict commands,
Sic bluidy pranks.

But new-light herds gat fic a cowe,

Folk thought them ruined ftick-an-ftowe,

Till now amaift on ev'ry knowe,

Ye'll find ane plac'd;

An' fome, their new-light fair avow,

Jutt quite barefac'd.

Nae

Nae doubt the auld-light flocks are bleatin; Their zealous berds are vex'd an' fweatin;

Myfel, I've even feen them greetin

Wi' girnin fpite,

To hear the Moon fae fadly lie'd on

By word an' write.

But fhortly they will cowe the louns! Some auld light herds in neebor towns Are mind't, in things they ca balloons,

To tak a flight,

An' stay ae month amang the Moons

An' fee them right.

Guid obfervation they will gie them;

An' when the auld Moon's gaun to lea'e them,
The hindmoft fhaird, they'll fetch it wi' them,

Juft i' their pouch,

An' when the new-light billies fee them,

I think they'll crouch!