| |
| GUID speed and furder to you, Johnie, | |
| Guid health, hale hans, an weather bonie; | |
| Now, when yere nickin down fu cannie | |
| The staff o bread, | |
| May ye neer want a stoup o brany | 5 |
| To clear your head. | |
| |
| May Boreas never thresh your rigs, | |
| Nor kick your rickles aff their legs, | |
| Sendin the stuff oer muirs an haggs | |
| Like drivin wrack; | 10 |
| But may the tapmost grain that wags | |
| Come to the sack. | |
| |
| Im bizzie, too, an skelpin at it, | |
| But bitter, daudin showers hae wat it; | |
| Sae my auld stumpie pen I gat it | 15 |
| Wi muckle wark, | |
| An took my jocteleg an whatt it, | |
| Like ony clark. | |
| |
| Its now twa month that Im your debtor, | |
| For your braw, nameless, dateless letter, | 20 |
| Abusin me for harsh ill-nature | |
| On holy men, | |
| While deil a hair yoursel yere better, | |
| But mair profane. | |
| |
| But let the kirk-folk ring their bells, | 25 |
| Lets sing about our noble sels: | |
| Well cry nae jads frae heathen hills | |
| To help, or roose us; | |
| But browster wives an whisky stills, | |
| They are the muses. | 30 |
| |
| Your friendship, Sir, I winna quat it, | |
| An if ye mak objections at it, | |
| Then hand in neive some day well knot it, | |
| An witness take, | |
| An when wi usquabae weve wat it | 35 |
| It winna break. | |
| |
| But if the beast an branks be spard | |
| Till kye be gaun without the herd, | |
| And a the vittel in the yard, | |
| An theekit right, | 40 |
| I mean your ingle-side to guard | |
| Ae winter night. | |
| |
| Then muse-inspirin aqua-vitae | |
| Shall make us baith sae blythe and witty, | |
| Till ye forget yere auld an gatty, | 45 |
| An be as canty | |
| As ye were nine years less than thretty | |
| Sweet ane an twenty! | |
| |
| But stooks are cowpit wi the blast, | |
| And now the sinn keeks in the west, | 50 |
| Then I maun rin amang the rest, | |
| An quat my chanter; | |
| Sae I subscribe myself in haste, | |
Yours, Rab the Ranter. Sept. 13, 1785. | |
| |