epistle to dr bcklock
ellisnd, 21st oct, 1789
wow, but your letter ade vauntie!
and are ye hale, and weel and cantie?
i ken&039;d it still, your wee bit jauntie
wad brg ye to:
lord send you aye as weel&039;s i want ye!
and then ye&039;ll do
the ill-thief bw the heron uth!
and never drk be near his drouth!
he tauld yself by word o&039; outh,
he&039;d tak y letter;
i lippen&039;d to the chiel trouth,
and bade nae better
but aibls, honest aster heron
had, at the ti, daty fair one
to ware this theologic care on,
and holy study;
and tired o&039; sauls to waste his lear on,
e&039;en tried the body
but what d&039;ye thk, y trty fere,
i&039; turned a gaur—peace be here!
parnassian eans, i fear, i fear,
ye&039;ll now disda !
and then y fifty pounds a year
will little ga
ye gikit, glee, daty daies,
wha, by castalia&039;s wipl streaies,
lowp, sg, and ve your pretty libies,
ye ken, ye ken,
that strang necessity supre is
&039;ang ns o&039; n
i hae a wife and a wee ddies;
they aun hae brose and brats o&039; duddies;
ye ken yoursels y heart right proud is—
i need na vaunt
but i&039;ll sned bes, thraw saugh woodies,
before they want
lord help thro&039; this warld o&039; care!
i&039; weary sick o&039;t te and air!
not but i hae a richer share
than ony ithers;
but why should ae an better fare,
and a&039; n brithers?
e, fir relve, take thou the van,
thou stalk o&039; carl-hep an!
and let d, fat heart ne&039;er wan
a dy fair:
wha does the utost that he can,
will whiles do air
but to ncde y silly rhy
(i&039; scant o&039; verse and scant o&039; ti),
to ake a happy fireside cli
to weans and wife,
that&039;s
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