addressing Mr. Hamilton in playful terms respecting a servant-boy, whom that gentleman had talked of taking off his hands, and who in the mean time had been spoken to with a view to engagement by a person whom Burns did not so much esteem. MOSGAVILLE, May 3, I HOLD it, sir, my bounden duty, To warn you how that Master Tootie, Was here to hire yon lad away And wad hae done't aff han': off-hand Like scrapin' out auld Crummie's nicks,2 And tellin' lies about them; As lieve then, I'd have then, Your clerkship he should sair, If sae be ye may be Not fitted other where. Although I say't, he's gleg enough, willingly serve And 'bout a house that's rude and rough, suited sharp 1 Mossgavel is the proper appellation of the farm-shortened into Mossgiel. Tootie lived in Mauchline, and dealt in cows. The age of these animals is marked by rings on their horns, which may of course be cut and polished off, so as to cause the cow to appear younger than it is. The boy might learn to swear; But then wi' you he'll be sae taught, And get sic fair example straught, I havena ony fear. Ye'll catechise him every quirk, upright threaten And shore him weel wi' h—, My word of honour I hae gien, To try to get the twa to gree, I ken he weel a sneck can draw, When simple bodies let him; In faith he's sure to get him. Ye ken your Laureate scorns: 1 A term expressive of a mean, avaricious character. earnest-money. 8 See note to the Address to the Deil, p. 156. EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND. A poetical letter of sagacious advice to Andrew Aiken, son of his patron Robert Aiken, then about to launch out into the world. May, 1786 I LANG hae thought, my youthfu' friend, But how the subject-theme may gang, strange Ye'll try the world fu' soon, my lad, I'll no say men are villains a'; Wha hae nae check but human law, Are to a few restricked: But, och mankind are unco weak, And little to be trusted; If self the wavering balance shake, Yet they wha fa' in fortune's strife, A man may hae an honest heart, A man may tak a neibor's part, Aye free, aff han' your story tell, Conceal yoursel' as weel's ye can Frae critical dissection, But keek through every other man look Wi' sharpened, sly inspection. The sacred lowe o' weel-placed love, flame Luxuriantly indulge it; But never tempt th' illicit rove, Though naething should divulge it. I waive the quantum o' the sin, The hazard of concealing; But, och it hardens a' within, And petrities the feeling! To catch Dame Fortune's golden smile, And gather gear by every wile The fear o' hell's a hangman's whip, The great Creator to revere Must sure become the creature ; But still the preaching cant forbear, Yet ne'er with wits profane to range, An Atheist laugh's a poor exchange keep |