The Poetry of Robert Burns Edited by William Ernest Henley and Thomas F. Henderson |
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TO DAVIE
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 | The Poetry of Robert Burns |  |
TO DAVIE
SECOND EPISTLE
Auld Neebor,
I
I'm three times doubly o'er your debtorFor your auld-farrant, frien'ly letter;
Tho' I maun say't, I doubt ye flatter,
Ye speak sae fair:
For my puir, silly, rhymin clatter
Some less maun sair.
II
Hale be your heart, hale be your fiddle!Lang may your elbuck jink an' diddle
To cheer you thro' the weary widdle
O' war'ly cares,
Till bairns' bairns kindly cuddle
Your auld grey hairs!
III
But Davie, lad, I'm red ye're glaikit:I'm tauld the Muse ye hae negleckit;
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Until ye fyke;
Sic han's as you sud ne'er be faiket,
Be hain't wha like.
IV
For me, I'm on Parnassus' brink,Rivin the words to gar them clink;
Whyles daez't wi' love, whyles daez't wi' drink
Wi' jads or Masons,
An' whyles, but ay owre late I think,
Braw sober lessons.
V
Of a' the thoughtless sons o' manCommen' me to the Bardie clan:
Except it be some idle plan
O' rhymin clink—
The devil-haet that I sud ban!—
They never think.
VI
Nae thought, nae view, nae scheme o' livin,Nae cares to gie us joy or grievin,
But just the pouchie put the nieve in,
An' while ought's there,
Then, hiltie-skiltie, we gae scrievin,
An' fash nae mair.
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VII
Leeze me on rhyme! It's ay 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,
She's seldom lazy.
VIII
Haud to the Muse, my dainty Davie:The warl' may play you monie a shavie,
But for the Muse, she'll never leave ye,
Tho' e'er sae puir;
Na, even tho' limpin wi' the spavie
Frae door to door!
| The Poetry of Robert Burns | |