second epistle to davie

  a brother poet

  auld neibour,

  i'm three times doubly o'er your debtor,

  for your auld-farrant, frien'ly letter;

  tho' i maun say't i doubt ye flatter,

  ye speak sae fair;

  for my puir, silly, rhymin clatter

  some less maun sair.

  hale be your heart, hale be your fiddle,

  lang may your elbuck jink diddle,

  to cheer you thro' the weary widdle

  o' war'ly cares;

  till barins' barins kindly cuddle

  your auld grey hairs.

  but davie, lad, i'm red ye're glaikit;

  i'm tauld the muse ye hae negleckit;

  an, gif it's sae, ye sud by lickit

  until ye fyke;

  sic haun's as you sud ne'er be faikit,

  be hain't wha like.

  for me, i'm on parnassus' brink,

  rivin the words to gar them clink;

  whiles dazed wi' love, whiles dazed wi' drink,

  wi' jads or masons;