AULD NEIBOUR,Im three times doubly oer your debtor,
For your auld-farrant, frienly letter;
Tho I maun sayt I doubt ye flatter,
Ye speak sae fair;
For my puir, silly, rhymin clatter
Some less maun sair.
Hale be your heart, hale be your fiddle,
Lang may your elbuck jink diddle,
To cheer you thro the weary widdle
O warly cares;
Till barins barins kindly cuddle
Your auld grey hairs.
But Davie, lad, Im red yere glaikit;
Im tauld the muse ye hae negleckit;
An, gif its sae, ye sud by lickit
Until ye fyke;
Sic hauns as you sud neer be faikit,
Be haint wha like.
For me, Im on Parnassus brink,
Rivin the words to gar them clink;
Whiles dazed wi love, whiles dazed wi drink,
Wi jads or masons;
An whiles, but aye owre late, I think
Braw sober lessons.
Of a the thoughtless sons o man,
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.
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 oughts there,
Then, hiltie, skiltie, we gae scrievin,
An fash nae mair.
Leeze me on rhyme! its aye a treasure,
My chief, amaist my only pleasure;
At hame, a-fiel, at wark, or leisure,
The Muse, poor hizzie!
Tho rough an raploch be her measure,
Shes seldom lazy.
Haud to the Muse, my daintie Davie:
The warl may play you mony a shavie;
But for the Muse, shell never leave ye,
Tho eer sae puir,
Na, even tho limpin wi the spavie
Frae door tae door.