That ye're connected with her, For Ilk honest birkie swears. you, no bred to barn and byre, May losses and crosses Ne'er at your hallan ca'. March, 1787. 60 70 TO J. LAPRAIK.* Sept. 13th, 1785. UID speed an' furder to you, Johny, bonie ; Now when ye're nickan down fu' cany *This is the third Epistle from Burns to Lapraik. Allan Cunningham says, it was published by Lapraik in the collection of his own poems, but it does not occur therein, nor in any edition of Burns' Works prepared by himself. Cromek, however, printed it among the Reliques of Burns, in 808. The staff o' bread, May ye ne'er want a stoup o' brany May Boreas never thresh your rigs, Like drivin' wrack; But may the tapmast grain that wags I'm bizzie too, an' skelpin' at it, Wi' muckle wark, An' took my jocteleg* an' whatt it, It's now twa month that I'm your debtor, On holy men, While Deil a hair yoursel ye're better, But let the kirk-folk ring their bells, To help, or roose us, But browster wives† an' whiskie stills, * A knife. They are the Muses. † Alehouse wives. Your friendship, Sir, I winna quat it, Then han' in nieve some day we'll knot it, An' when wi' Usquebae we've wat it But if the beast and branks be spar'd An' a' the vittel in the yard, An' theekit right, I mean your ingle-side to guard Ae winter night. Then muse-inspirin' aqua-vitæ Shall make us baith sae blithe an' witty, An' be as canty As ye were nine years less than thretty, But stooks are cowpet* wi' the blast, An' quit my chanter; Sae I subscribe mysel in haste, * Tumbled over. Your's, Rab the Ranter.† 40 50 "It is very probable," says Cromek, "that the Poe thus named himself after the Border Piper,' so spiritedly introduced into the popular song of 'Maggie Lauder."" "For I'm a piper to my trade, My name is Rob the Ranter; TO THE REV. JOHN M MATH,* ENCLOSING A COPY OF HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER, WHICH HE HAD REQUESTED. Sept. 17th, 1785. HILE at the stook the shearers cowr To pass the time, To you I dedicate the hour In idle rhyme. My musie, tir'd wi' monie a sonnet Lest they shou'd blame her, And anathem her. I own 'twas rash, and rather hardy, Wha, if they ken me, Can easy, wi' a single wordie, Loose hell upon me. 10 This Epistle, says Mr. Allan Cunningham, was addressed to a very worthy minister in the west of Scotland, who believed and preached the New Light. It was written as an envelope to "Holy Willie's Prayer," of which Mr. M'Math had requested a copy. But I gae mad at their grimaces, Their sighin', cantin', grace-proud faces, Their three-mile prayers, and hauf-mile graces, Whase greed, revenge, an' pride disgraces There's Gaun,* miska't waur than a beast, Than monie scores as guid's the priest Wha sae abus'd him; An' may a bard no crack his jest What way they've us'd him? See him, the poor man's friend in need, An' shall his fame an' honour bleed By worthless skellums, An' no a muse erect her head To cowe the blellums? O Pope, had I thy satire's darts Their jugglin' hocus-pocus arts To cheat the crowd. God knows, I'm no the thing I shou'd be, * Gavin Hamilton, Esq. 20 31 40 + Burns introduced the two first lines of this stanza into his "Dedication " to Mr. Hamilton. |