epistle to rs stt
gudewife of wauchope—hoe, roxburghshire
gudewife,
i d it weel early date,
when i was bardless, young, and bte,
an&039; first uld thresh the barn,
or haud a yok&039; at the pleugh;
an, tho&039; forfoughten sair eneugh,
yet un proud to learn:
when first aang the yellow rn
a an i reckon&039;d was,
an&039; wi&039; the ve ilk rry orn
uld rank y rig and ss,
still shearg, and clearg
the tither stooked raw,
wi&039; civers, an&039; haivers,
wearg the day awa
e&039;en then, a wish, (i d its pow&039;r),
a wish that to y test hour
shall strongly heave y breast,
that i for poor auld stnd&039;s sake
efu&039; pn or book uld ake,
or sg a sang at least
the rough burr-thistle, spreadg wide
aang the bearded bear,
i turn&039;d the weeder-clips aside,
an&039; spar&039;d the sybol dear:
no nation, no station,
y envy e&039;er uld raise;
a st still, but blot still,
i knew nae higher praise
but still the elents o&039; sang,
forless juble, right an&039; wrang,
wild floated y bra;
&039;till on that har&039;st i said before,
ay partner the rry re,
she ro&039;d the forg stra;
i see her yet, the nsie ean,
that lighted up y jgle,
her witchg sile, her pawky een
that gart y heart-strgs tgle;
i fired, spired,
at every kdlg keek,
but bashg, and dashg,
i feared aye to speak
health to the sex! ilk guid chiel says:
wi&039; rry dance ter days,
an&039; we to share on;
the gt o&039; joy, the bal of woe,
the saul o&039; life, the heaven below,
is rapture-givg woan
ye surly suphs, who hate the na,
be dfu&039; o&039; your ither;
she, honest woan, ay thk sha
that ye&039;re nnected with her:
ye&039;re wae n
草小说