My compliments to sister Beckie; As e'er tread clay! An' gratefully, my guid auld cockie, 'm yours for ay. ROBERT BURNS. TO COLONEL DE PEYSTER. Dumfries, 1796. My honour'd Colonel, deep I feel And potion glasses. O what a cantiel warl were it, Would pain, and care, and sickness spare it; (And ay a rowthk roast-beef and claret, Dame Life, tho' fiction out may trick her, I've found her still, Ay wavering like the willow-wicker, 'Tween good and ill. Then that curst carmagnole, auld Satan, Wi' felon ire; Syne, whip! his tail ye 'll ne'er cast saut on, He's aff like fire. Ah Nick! ah Nick! it is na fair. Syne weave, unseen, thy spider snare, Poor man, the flie, aft bizzes by, Already in thy fancy's eye, Thy sicker" treasure. Soon heels-o'er-gowdie !w in he gangs, As dangling in the wind he hangs A gibbet's tassel. But lest you think I am uncivil, To plague you with this drauntingy drivil, I quit my pen: The Lord preserve us frae the Devil! Amen! Amen! TO A TAYLOR, In answer to an Epistle which he had sent to the author.# WHAT ails ye now, ye lousie b-ch, To thresh my back at sic a pitch? s To buzz. r Mad, or off our guard. Literally, itches. Some persons manifest a high degree of pleasure by a quick motion of the elbow. "Sure. w Topsy-turvy. a Grinning hideously. y Drawling. This answer to a trimming letter, is omitted in Dr. Currie's edition of the Poems, published for the benefit of the Author's family; not because he had any doubt that the verses were written by Burns, but because he was of opinion that they were discreditable to his memory-and for the same reason, the editor and commentator in this edition, has forborne to elucidate what he deems already sufficiently indelicate. Losh man! hae mercy wi' your natch, I did na suffer half sae much Frae daddie Auld. What tho' at times, when I grow crouse, Your servant sae? Gae mind your seam, ye prick the louse, King David, o' poetic brief, Wrought 'mang the lasses sic mischief An' bluidy rants An' yet he 's rank'd amang the chief And maybe, Tam, for a' my cants, An' snugly sit amang the saunts, But fegs, the Session says I maun Gae fa' upo' anither plan, the cran And sairly thole their mither's ban, This leads me on to tell for sport, Cry'd three times, 'Robin! Come hither lad, an' answer for 't, Ye 're blam'd for jobbin'!" Wi' pinch I put a Sunday face on, An' snoov'd awa' before the Session I made an open, fair confession, I scorn to lie; And syne Mess John, beyond expression, Fell foul o' me. A fornicator loun he call'd me, An' said my faut frae bliss expell'd me; 'Geld you!' quo' he, and whatfore no? If that your right-hand, leg, or toe, Should ever prove your sp'ritual foe, You shou'd remember To cut it aff, an' whatfore no Your dearest member?' 'Na, na, quo' I, ' I 'm no for that, Gelding's nae better than 'tis ca't, I'd rather suffer for my faut A hearty flewit, As sair owre hip as ye can draw 't! 'Or gin ye like to end the bother, An' let her guide it!' But, Sir, this pleas'd them warst ava, I saw they were resolved ■' On my oppression. THE INVENTORY, In answer to a mandate by Mr. Aikin, Surveyor of the Taxes. O' gudes an' gear, an' a' my graith, Imprimis then, for carriage cattle, An' he be spar'd to be a beast, He'll draw me fifteen pun'" at least. a Tackle. b Oath. cA plough-staff. d The fore-horse on the left hand in the plough. e The hindmost horse on the same side. g Kilmarnock. k Trick, frolic. h Must needs. m The hindmost horse on the right hand in the plough. " Worthy. A term of contempt. Going. i Put. 1 Spavin. • Rope. p Stark mad. ↑ Besides. s A colt. |