HEALTH to the Maxwells veteran Chief!
Health, aye unsourd by care or grief:
Inspird, I turnd Fates sibyl leaf,
This natal morn,
I see thy life is stuff o prief,
Scarce quite half-worn.
This day thou metes threescore eleven,
And I can tell that bounteous Heaven
(The second-sight, ye ken, is given
To ilka Poet)
On thee a tack o seven times seven
Will yet bestow it.
If envious buckies view wi sorrow
Thy lengthend days on this blest morrow,
May Desolations lang-teethd harrow,
Nine miles an hour,
Rake them, like Sodom and Gomorrah,
In brunstane stour.
But for thy friends, and they are mony,
Baith honest men, and lassies bonie,
May couthie Fortune, kind and cannie,
In social glee,
Wi mornings blythe, and eenings funny,
Bless them and thee!
Fareweel, auld birkie! Lord be near ye,
And then the deil, he daurna steer ye:
Your friends aye love, your faes aye fear ye;
For me, shame fa me,
If neist my heart I dinna wear ye,
While Burns they ca me.