epistle to ajor logan
hail, thair-spir&039;, rattl&039; willie!
tho&039; fortune&039;s road be rough an&039; hilly
to every fiddlg, rhyg billie,
we never heed,
but take it like the unback&039;d filly,
proud o&039; her speed
when, idly goav&039;, whiles we saunter,
yirr! fancy barks, awa we canter,
up hill, down brae, till ischanter,
bck bog-hole,
arrests ; then the scathe an&039; banter
we&039;re forced to thole
hale be your heart! hale be your fiddle!
ng ay your elbuck jk and diddle,
to cheer you through the weary widdle
o&039; this wild warl&039;
until you on a cruock driddle,
a grey hair&039;d carl
e wealth, e poortith, te or on,
heaven send your heart-strgs aye tune,
and screw your teper-ps aboon
a fifth or air
the ncholio, zy croon
o&039; cankrie care
ay still your life fro day to day,
nae “lente rgo” the py,
but “allegretto forte” gay,
haronio flow,
a sweepg, kdlg, bauld strathspey—
enre! bravo!
a blessg on the cheery gang
wha dearly like a jig or sang,
an&039; never thk o&039; right an&039; wrang
by sare an&039; rule,
but, as the clegs o&039; feelg stang,
are wise or fool
y hand-waled curse keep hard chase
the harpy, hoodock, purse-proud race,
wha unt on poortith as disgrace;
their tuneless hearts,
ay fireside disrds jar a base
to a&039; their parts
but e, your hand, y careless brither,
i&039; th&039; ither warl&039;, if there&039;s anither,
an&039; that there is, i&039;ve little swither
about the atter;
we, cheek for chow, shall jog thegither,
i&039;se ne&039;er bid better
we&039;ve faults and failgs—granted clearly,
we&039;re frail backslidg ortals rely,
eve&039;s bonie sad, priests wyte the sheerly
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