Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/To Burns, while living

To Burns, While Living.

Dear Burns,      Unkind I lo'e your lays,In troth they merit mickle praise;Weel may ye fare through a' your days,            Ay pipe an' sing,An' ne'er want either brose or clais',            Or ony thing.

Wi' walth o' Greek and Latin lareSome chields can hammer out an air;But ane like you affronts them sare,            An' proves wi' birr,That nature can do ten times mare            Thau apes o' her.

As Scotland's bard weel be ye kent,I hope frae her ye'll ne'er he rent,On proud Parnassy's birsy bent            Lang may ye shine,An' far an' near your fame be sent            Though ilka clime.

I wish ye mony a happy year,Wi' routh o' fame and walth o' gear,Abundant health to crown your cheer,            An' a' that's good;I wad be glad frae you to hear            In merry mood.