My compliments to sister Beckie;
And eke the same to honest Luckie
I wats she is a daintie chuckie,

As e'er tread clay!

An' gratefully, my guid auld cockie,

'm yours

for ay.

ROBERT BURNS.

TO COLONEL DE PEYSTER.

Dumfries, 1796.

My honour'd Colonel, deep I feel
Your int'rest in the Poet's weal;
Ah! now sma' heart hae I to speelh
The steep Parnassus,
Surrounded thus by bolus pill

And potion glasses.

O what a cantiel warl were it,

Would pain, and care, and sickness spare it;
And Fortune favour worth and merit,
As they deserve;

(And ay a rowthk roast-beef and claret,
Syne' wha wad starve ?)

Dame Life, tho' fiction out may trick her,
And in paste gems and frippery deck her;
Oh! flickering, feeble, and unsickerm

I've found her still,

Ay wavering like the willow-wicker,

'Tween good and ill.

Then that curst carmagnole, auld Satan,
Watches, like baudrans" by a rattan,
Our sinfu' saul to get a clautp on

Wi' felon ire;

Syne, whip! his tail ye 'll ne'er cast saut on, He's aff like fire.

Ah Nick! ah Nick! it is na fair.
First shewing us the tempting ware,
Bright wines and bonnie lasses rare,
To put us daft ;"

Syne weave, unseen, thy spider snare,
O' hell's damn'd waft.

Poor man, the flie, aft bizzes by,
And aft as chance he comes thee nigh,
Thy auld damn'd elbow yeukst wi' joy,
And hellish pleasure;

Already in thy fancy's eye,

Thy sicker" treasure.

Soon heels-o'er-gowdie !w in he gangs,
And like a sheep-head on a tangs,.
Thy girning laugh enjoys his pangs
And murdering wrestle,

As dangling in the wind he hangs

A gibbet's tassel.

But lest you think I am uncivil,

To plague you with this drauntingy drivil,
Abjuring a' intentions evil,

I quit my pen:

The Lord preserve us frae the Devil!

Amen! Amen!

TO A TAYLOR,

In answer to an Epistle which he had sent to the author.#

WHAT ails ye now, ye lousie b-ch,

To thresh my back at sic a pitch?

s To buzz.

r Mad, or off our guard. Literally, itches. Some persons manifest a high degree of pleasure by a quick motion of the elbow. "Sure.

w Topsy-turvy. a Grinning hideously. y Drawling. This answer to a trimming letter, is omitted in Dr. Currie's edition of the Poems, published for the benefit of the Author's family; not because he had any doubt that the verses were written by Burns, but because he was of opinion that they were discreditable to his memory-and for the same reason, the editor and commentator in this edition, has forborne to elucidate what he deems already sufficiently indelicate.

Losh man! hae mercy wi' your natch,
Your bodkin 's bauld,

I did na suffer half sae much

Frae daddie Auld.

What tho' at times, when I grow crouse,
I gie their wames a random pouse,
Is that enough for you to souse

Your servant sae?

Gae mind your seam, ye prick the louse,
An' jag the flae.

King David, o' poetic brief,

Wrought 'mang the lasses sic mischief
As fill'd his after life with grief

An' bluidy rants

An' yet he 's rank'd amang the chief
O' lang-syne saunts.

And maybe, Tam, for a' my cants,
My wicked rhymes, an' drucken rants,
I 'Il gie auld cloven Clooty's haunts
An unco slip yet,

An' snugly sit amang the saunts,
At Davie 's hip yet.

But fegs, the Session says I maun

Gae fa' upo' anither plan,
Than garrin lasses cowp

the cran
Clean heels owre body,

And sairly thole their mither's ban,
Afore the howdy.

This leads me on to tell for sport,
How I did wi' the Session sort-
Auld Clinkum, at the inner port,

Cry'd three times, 'Robin! Come hither lad, an' answer for 't,

Ye 're blam'd for jobbin'!" Wi' pinch I put a Sunday face on, An' snoov'd awa' before the Session

I made an open, fair confession,

I scorn to lie;

And syne Mess John, beyond expression, Fell foul o' me.

A fornicator loun he call'd me,

An' said my faut frae bliss expell'd me;
I own'd the tale was true he tell'd me;
'But what the matter,'
Quo' I, 'I fear, unless ye geld me,
I'll ne'er be better'

'Geld you!' quo' he, and whatfore no? If that your right-hand, leg, or toe, Should ever prove your sp'ritual foe,

You shou'd remember

To cut it aff, an' whatfore no

Your dearest member?'

'Na, na, quo' I, ' I 'm no for that, Gelding's nae better than 'tis ca't, I'd rather suffer for my faut

A hearty flewit,

As sair owre hip as ye can draw 't!
Tho' I should rue it

'Or gin ye like to end the bother,
To please us a', I 've just ae ither,
When next wi' yon lass I forgather,
Whate'er betide it,
I'll frankly gie her 't a' thegither,

An' let her guide it!'

But, Sir, this pleas'd them warst ava,
And therefore, Tam, when that I saw,
I said, 'Gude night,' and cam awa,'
An' left the Session;

I saw they were resolved ■'

On my oppression.

THE INVENTORY,

In answer to a mandate by Mr. Aikin, Surveyor of the Taxes.
SIR, as your mandate did request,
I send you here a faithfu' list

O' gudes an' gear, an' a' my graith,
To which I'm clear to gie my aith.b

Imprimis then, for carriage cattle,
I have four brutes o' gallant mettle,
As ever drew afore a pettle.c
My han'-afore, a guid auld has been,
An' wight an' wilfu' a' his days been.
My han'-ahine's a weel gaunf fillie,
That aft has borne me hame frae Killie,
An' your
auld burro', monie a time,
In days when riding was nae crime.
But ance when in my wooing pride,
I, like a block head boosth to ride,
The wilfu' creature sae I pati to,
(L-d pardon a' my sins and that too!)
play'd my fillie sic a shavie,k
She 's a' be-devil'd wi' the spavie.1
My fur-ahin's a wordy" beast,
As e'er in tug or tow° was trac'd.
The fourth's a Highland Donald hastie,
A damn'd red-wudP Kilburnie blastie ;9
Forbyer a cowtes o' cowtes the wale,
As ever ran afore a tail.

An' he be spar'd to be a beast,

He'll draw me fifteen pun'" at least.

a Tackle.

b Oath.

cA plough-staff. d The fore-horse on the left hand in the plough. e The hindmost horse on the same side.

g

Kilmarnock.

k Trick, frolic.

h Must needs.

m The hindmost horse on the right hand in the plough.

" Worthy.

A term of contempt.
Choice.

Going. i Put.

1 Spavin.

• Rope.

p Stark mad.

↑ Besides.
น Pounds.

s A colt.