 | Poems on several subjects |  |
An EPISTLE, from Mr D--- L--- Schoolmaster at Kinnaird, to Alexander Nicol Schoolmaster at Collace, February 3d 1749; on seeing my last book, called Nature without Art.
Dear Sandy, when I saw thy book,
And gat a grip o't i' my cluik,
I read it o'er into the nook
On ilka e'en;
But in little langer than an ouk,
I tir'd my een.
And gat a grip o't i' my cluik,
I read it o'er into the nook
On ilka e'en;
But in little langer than an ouk,
I tir'd my een.
Thou chief art of the poets a';
Thy verses they are unca bra,'
And in them there is not a flaw.
To be discern'd
By eyes of mine; and I hae twa
Wi' which I learn'd:
Thy verses they are unca bra,'
And in them there is not a flaw.
To be discern'd
By eyes of mine; and I hae twa
Wi' which I learn'd:
102
And wi' e'm I'd be glad to see
The man that penn'd the book for me;
But ah, alas! where can he be,
In what'na' place?
Some tell me that his dwelling's nie,
Up at Collace.
The man that penn'd the book for me;
But ah, alas! where can he be,
In what'na' place?
Some tell me that his dwelling's nie,
Up at Collace.
Which tho' it binnae far awa',
Alas! the gait I dinnae knaw,
Nae farther up than Sunnie ha';
Then pardon me,
Altho' I never came ava'
To visit thee.
Alas! the gait I dinnae knaw,
Nae farther up than Sunnie ha';
Then pardon me,
Altho' I never came ava'
To visit thee.
This trash I'm sure when ye inspect,
Its filthiness will make you yeck:
But to the dult please, Sir, direct,
To Kinnaird straight;
Where he an answer will expect,
Baith right and taight.
Its filthiness will make you yeck:
But to the dult please, Sir, direct,
To Kinnaird straight;
Where he an answer will expect,
Baith right and taight.
In verse acrostic my name I thought to sen';
But waes me now, a hair is in my pen.
But waes me now, a hair is in my pen.
This, with my compliments to you and your spouse, is from,
Sir, Your humble and obedient servant, D--- L---, A. B.
Teacher of the school of Kinnaird.
| Poems on several subjects | |