The four-gill chap, we'fe gar him clatter, An' kirfen him wi' reekin water; Syne we'll fit down an' tak our whitter, To chear our heart; An' faith, we'fe be acquainted better Awa ye selfish warly race, Wha think that havins, sense, an' grace, To catch-the-plack! I dinna like to see your face, Nor hear your crack. But ye whom focial pleasure charms, Whose hearts the tide of kindness warms, Who hold your being on the terms, Each aid the others," Come to my bowl, come to my arms, My friends, my brothers! But But to conclude my lang epiftle, As my auld pen's worn to the grifsle; Twa lines frae you wad gar me fifsle, Who am, most fervent, While I can either fing, or whifsle, Your friend and fervant. ΤΟ TO THE SAME. April 21. 1785. WHILE new-ca'd kye rout at the stake, An pownies reek in pleugh or braik, This hour on e'enin's edge I take, To own I'm debtor, To honeft-hearted, auld L*****k, For his kind letter. Forjesket Forjefket fair, with weary legs, Rattlin the corn out-owre the rigs, Or dealing thro' amang the naigs Their ten hours bite, My awkart Mufe fair pleads and begs, I wou'd na write. The tapetlefs ramfeezl'd hizzie, She's faft at beft, and fomething lazy, Quo' fhe, Ye ken, we've been fae bufy, • This month an' mair, That trouth my head is grown right dizzie, An' fomething fair.' Her dowff excufes pat me mad; 'Confcience,' fays I, ye thowlefs jad! I'll write, an' that a hearty blaud, This vera night; So dinna ye affront your trade, But rhyme it right. 'Shall • Shall bauld L*****k, the king o' hearts, Tho' mankind were a pack o' cartes, • Roofe you fae weel for your deserts, • In terms fae friendly, Yet ye'll neglect to fhaw your parts, • An' thank him kindly!" Sae I gat paper in a blink, An' down gaed stumpie in the ink : 'An' if ye winna mak it clink, Sae I've begun to fcrawl, but whether In rhyme, or profe, or baith thegither, Or fome hotch-potch that's rightly neither, Let time mak proof; But I fhall fcribble down fome blether Juft clean aff-loof. My |