epistle to a young friend
ay __, 1786
i ng hae thought, y youthfu&039; friend,
a thg to have sent you,
tho&039; it should serve nae ither end
than jt a kd nto:
but how the subject-the ay gang,
let ti and chance detere;
perhaps it ay turn out a sang:
perhaps turn out a seron
ye&039;ll try the world on, y d;
and, andrew dear, believe ,
ye&039;ll fd ankd an un sad,
and uckle they ay grieve ye:
for care and trouble set your thought,
ev&039;n when your end&039;s attaed;
and a&039; your views ay e to nought,
where ev&039;ry nerve is straed
i&039;ll no say, n are vils a&039;;
the real, harden&039;d wicked,
wha hae nae check but huan w,
are to a few restricked;
but, och! ankd are un weak,
an&039; little to be trted;
if self the waverg bance shake,
it&039;s rarely right adjted!
yet they wha fa&039; fortune&039;s strife,
their fate we shouldna censure;
for still, th&039; iportant end of life
they eally ay answer;
a an ay hae an honest heart,
tho&039; poortith hourly stare hi;
a an ay tak a neibor&039;s part,
yet hae nae cash to spare hi
aye free, aff-han&039;, your story tell,
when wi&039; a bo crony;
but still keep thg to yoursel&039;,
ye scarcely tell to ony:
nceal yoursel&039; as weel&039;s ye can
frae critical dissection;
but keek thro&039; ev&039;ry other an,
wi&039; sharpen&039;d, sly spection
the sacred lowe o&039; weel-pc&039;d love,
xuriantly dul it;
but never tept th&039; illicit rove,
tho&039; naethg should divul it:
i waive the antu o&039; the s,
the hazard of ncealg;
but, och! it hardens a&039; with,
and petrifies the feelg!
to catch da fortune&039;s golden sile,
assiduo wait upon her;
and gather ar b
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