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Fie! bring Black Jock, her state physician,

To see her water:

Alas! there's ground o' great suspicion She'll ne'er get better.

Auld Orthodoxy lang did grapple, But now she's got an unco ripple; Haste, gie her name up i̇' the chapel,

Nigh unto death;

See, how she fetches at the thrapple,
An' gasps for breath.

Enthusiasm's past redemption,

Gaen in a gallopin consumption,

Not a' the quacks, wi' a' their gumption,
Will ever mend her:

Her feeble pulse gies strong presumption
Death soon will end her.

'Tis you and Taylor1 are the chief, Wha are to blame for this mischief, But gin the Lord's ain focks gat leave,

A toom tar-barrel

An' twa red peats wad send relief,

An' end the quarrel.

XXIX.

TO J. LAPRAIK.

AN OLD SCOTTISH BARD.

April 1st, 1785.
(FIRST EPISTLE.)

["The epistle to John Lapraik," says Gilbert Burns, 66 was produced exactly on the occasion described by the author. 'Rocking' is a term derived from primitive times, when our country-women employed their spare hours in spinning on the roke or distaff. This simple instrument is a very portable one; and well fitted to the social inclination of meeting in a neighbour's house; hence the phrase of going a rocking, or with the roke. As the connection the phrase had with the implement was forgotten when the roke gave place to the spinning-wheel, the phrase came to be used by both sexes, on social occasions, and men talk of going with their rokes as well as women."]

WHILE briers an' woodbines budding green,
An' paitricks scraichin' loud at e'en,
An' morning poussie whidden seen,
Inspire my muse,
This freedom in an unknown frien'
I pray excuse.

(1) Dr. Taylor, of Norwich.

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I winna blaw about mysel';

As ill I like my fauts to tell;

But friends an' folk that wish me well,
They sometimes roose me;
Tho' I maun own, as monie still

As far abuse me.

There's ae wee faut they whiles lay to me,
I like the lasses-Gude forgie me!
For monie a plack they wheedle frae me,
At dance or fair;

May be some ither thing they gie me
They weel can spare.

But Mauchline race, or Mauchline fair; I should be proud to meet you there!

XXX.

TO J. LAPRAIK. (SECOND EPISTLE.)

[The John Lapraik to whom these epistles are addressed lived at Dalfram in the neighbourhood of Muirkirk, and was a rustic worshipper of the Muse: he unluckily, however, involved himself in that Western bubble, the Ayr Bank, and consoled himself by composing in his distress that song which moved the heart of Burns, beginning

"When I upon thy bosom lean." He afterwards published a volume of verse, of a quality which proved that the inspiration in his song of domestic sorrow was no settled power of soul.]

April 21st, 1785.

WHILE new-ca'd kye rowte at the stake, An' pownies reek in pleugh or braik,

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May in some future carcase howl

The forest's fright;

Or in some day-detesting owl

May shun the light.

Then may Lapraik and Burns arise,
To reach their native kindred skies,
And sing their pleasures, hopes, an' joys,
In some mild sphere,
Still closer knit in friendship's ties
Each passing year!

XXXI.

TO J. LAPRAIK.

(THIRD EPISTLE.)

[I have heard one of our most distinguished English poets recite with a sort of ecstasy some of the verses of these epistles, and praise the easy flow of the language and the happiness of the thoughts. He averred, however, that the poet, when pinched for a word, hesitated not to coin one, and instanced "tapetless," "ramfeezled," and "forjesket" as intrusions in our dialect. These words seem indeed, to some Scotchmen, strange and uncouth, but they are true words of the west.]

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[The person to whom this epistle is addressed was schoolmaster of Ochiltree, and afterwards of New Lanark he was a writer of verses too, like many more of the poet's comrades;-of verses which rose not above the barren level of mediocrity: "one of his poems," says Chambers, "was a laughable elegy on the death of the Emperor Paul." In his verses to Burns, under the name of a Tailor, there is nothing to laugh at, though they are intended to be laughable as well as monitory.]

May, 1785.

I GAT your letter, winsome Willie ;
Wi' gratefu' heart I thank you brawlie;

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