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[TO SAUNDERS WOOD]

I read your Letter Saunders Wood,
And the main meaning understood,
Which is that ye like well the Air,
Of Pindus and nine Lasses fair;
On that Green edge with them to Sing
And quaff at the Pierrian Spring.
The worthy ardor I approve,
And Sauls of sic a Byass Love;
Without whilk turn I've aften thought,
The tuneless mind is good for nought,
But howking in Earth's guts for Cash,
Or throw' vile Party Dubbs to plash;
To craw upon a dirty Midding,
By doing a' there Leaders' bidding,
Be't ne'er sae scandlous or dull nonsense,
Without regard to Law or Conscience.
But these wha tend th'harmonious Nine,
Have in them something mair Divine
Whilk beets a brave, and generous flame,
That Lows up to Immortal Fame,
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Which by them justly is prefer'd,
To a' the Gowd grows in the Eard—
And makes them ever true and liel,
To God, the King, and Common-Weal,
Then mount my Lad and be na fley'd,
Upon our Pinnion'd Nag to ride;
For tho he be mair fleet and skeigh,
Than ony rins on Sands of Leith,
And haes gi'en mony a Chiel a Coup,
That durst between his Shoulders Loup,
Wha war na of the native Band,
And held na right the Bridle-Hand;
Yet if the Muses kindly own ye,
He's canny as a pacing Powny—
Thus far to hearten you I've sung,
But as a critick had my Tongue,
Till you and I sall fairly meet—
Then I sall shaw in Plan or feet,
Of your Essay, what I observ'd in't,
Till then, incog. your humble Servant;
A.R.
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