O Ayr, my dear, my native ground, Of public teachers, As men, as christians too renown'd An' manly preachers. Sir, in that circle you are nam'd; An' some, by whom your doctrine 's blam'd, (Which gies you honor) Even Sir, by them your heart's esteem'd, An' winning manner. Pardon this freedom I have ta'en, Whase heart ne'er wrang'd ye But to his utmost would befriend Ought that belang'd ye. TO GAVIN HAMILTON, Esq. Mauchline. (Recommending a Boy.) Mosgaville, May 3, 1786. I HOLD it, Sir, my bounden duty Was here to hire yon lad away 'Bout whom ye spak the tither day, An' wad hae don't aff han': * Master Tootie then lived in Mauchline; a dealer in Cows. It was his common practice to cut the nicks or markings from the horns of cattle, to disguise their age. He was an artful, But lest he learn the callan tricks, Like scrapin' out auld Crummie's nicks, Not fitted otherwhere. Altho' I say 't, he 's gleg enough, -Ay when ye gang yoursel. Frae hame this comin Friday, My word of honor I hae gien, To meet the Warld's worm; To try to get the twa to gree, In legal mode an' form: I ken he weel a Snick can draw, An' if a Devil be at a', In faith he 's sure to get him. trick-contriving character; hence he is called a Snick-drawer. In the Poet's "Address to the Deil," he styles that august personage an auld, snick-drawing dog! *The Airles-Earnest money. E. To phrase you an' praise you, Of grateful MINSTREL BURNS. To Mr. MADAM, of Craigen-Gillan, In answer to an obliging letter he sent in the commencément of my poetic career. SIR, o'er a gill I gat your card, Now deil-ma-care about their jaw, 'Twas noble, Sir; 'twas like yoursel, Tho', by his banes wha in a tub And when those legs to gude, warm kail, A lee dyke-side, a sybow-tail, A barley-scone shall cheer me. Heaven spare you lang to kiss the breath I'm tald they 're loosome kimmers! And God bless young Dunaskin's laird, And may he wear an auld man's beard, TO CAPTAIN RIDDEL, Glenriddel. (Extempore Lines on returning a Newspaper.) Ellisland, Monday Evening. YOUR news and review, Sir, I've read through and through, Sir, With little admiring or blaming: The papers are barren of home-news or foreign, Our friends the reviewers, those chippers and hewers, But of meet, or unmeet, in a fabrick complete, My goose-quill too rude is to tell all your goodness Would to God I had one like a beam of the sun, To TERRAUGHTY,* On his Birth-Day. HEALTH to the Maxwell's vet'ran Chief! This natal morn, I see thy life is stuff o' prief, Scarce quite half worn. This day thou metes threescore eleven, To ilka POET,) On thee a tack o' seven times seven Will yet bestow it. If envious buckies view wi' sorrow Thy lengthen'd days on this blest morrow, Nine miles an hour, Rake them, like Sodom and Gomorrah, In brunstane stoure But for thy friends, and they are mony, In social glee, Wi' mornings blythe and e'enings funny Bless them and thee! Fareweel, auld birkie! Lord be near ye, If neist my heart I dinna wear ye While BURNS they ca' me. * Mr Maxwell, of Terraughty, near Dumfries. |