Robert Burns (1759–1796). Poems and Songs.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14. |
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| 71. Second Epistle to Davie |
| | | | | A Brother Poet |
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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 | 5 |
| Some less maun sair. | |
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| Hale be your heart, hale be your fiddle, | |
| Lang may your elbuck jink diddle, | |
| To cheer you thro’ the weary widdle | |
| O’ war’ly cares; | 10 |
| Till barins’ barins kindly cuddle | |
| Your auld grey hairs. | |
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| But Davie, lad, I’m red ye’re glaikit; | |
| I’m tauld the muse ye hae negleckit; | |
| An, gif it’s sae, ye sud by lickit | 15 |
| Until ye fyke; | |
| Sic haun’s as you sud ne’er be faikit, | |
| Be hain’t wha like. | |
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| For me, I’m on Parnassus’ brink, | |
| Rivin the words to gar them clink; | 20 |
| Whiles dazed wi’ love, whiles dazed wi’ drink, | |
| Wi’ jads or masons; | |
| An’ whiles, but aye owre late, I think | |
| Braw sober lessons. | |
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| Of a’ the thoughtless sons o’ man, | 25 |
| Commen’ to me the bardie clan; | |
| Except it be some idle plan | |
| O’ rhymin clink, | |
| The devil haet,—that I sud ban— | |
| They ever think. | 30 |
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| Nae thought, nae view, nae scheme o’ livin, | |
| Nae cares to gie us joy or grievin, | |
| But just the pouchie put the neive in, | |
| An’ while ought’s there, | |
| Then, hiltie, skiltie, we gae scrievin’, | 35 |
| An’ fash nae mair. | |
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| Leeze me on rhyme! it’s aye a treasure, | |
| My chief, amaist my only pleasure; | |
| At hame, a-fiel’, at wark, or leisure, | |
| The Muse, poor hizzie! | 40 |
| Tho’ rough an’ raploch be her measure, | |
| She’s seldom lazy. | |
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| Haud to the Muse, my daintie Davie: | |
| The warl’ may play you mony a shavie; | |
| But for the Muse, she’ll never leave ye, | 45 |
| Tho’ e’er sae puir, | |
| Na, even tho’ limpin wi’ the spavie | |
| Frae door tae door. | |
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