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TO John Hunter, Esquire, AUDITOR OF THE COURT OF SESSION.
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TO John Hunter, Esquire, AUDITOR OF THE COURT OF SESSION.

Dear friend, who by Corstorphine's bosky bower,
From the shrill strife of wrangling law remote,
Reapest the mellow fruits of quiet thought,
Receive in Jeffrey's quaint and ivied tower
This little book. Though from the grand parade
Of printed verdicts thou hast long been free,
The man who loved the Muse still found in Thee
A judge to value, and a friend to aid.
Thou, the nice student of fine-thoughted Keats,
May'st find my rhymes cast in too rough a mould
For thy keen sense, fed with essential sweets:
If so, speak free; I'll take thy blame for gold,
And count their coin for brass, with false fair phrase
Who blow the flattering trump before my Lays.