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But ye whom social pleasure charms,
Whose hearts the tide of kindness warms,
Who hold your being on the terms,
"Each aid the others,"
Come to my bowl, come to my arms,

Her dowff excuses pat me mad;

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Conscience," says I, "ye thowless
jad!

I'll write, an' that a hearty blaud,
This vera night;

My friends, my brothers! So dinna ye affront your trade,
But rhyme it right.

But, to conclude my lang epistle,

As my auld pen's worn to the grissle;
Twa lines frae you wad gar me fissle,
Who am, most fervent,
While I can either sing or whissle,

Shall bauld Lapraik, the king o' hearts,
Though mankind were a pack o' cartes,
Roose you sae weel for your deserts,
In terms sae friendly,

Your friend and servant. Yet ye 'll neglect to shaw your parts,
An' thank him kindly?"

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But, thanks to Heaven! that's no the volume, and by so doing bring himself at once gate

We learn our creed.

For thus the royal mandate ran, When first the human race began, "The social, friendly, honest man, Whate'er he be,

'Tis he fulfils great Nature's plan, An' none but he!"

His

into painful comparison with his illustrious associate. William Simpson, at the date of this poem, was the schoolmaster at Ochiltree. intimacy with Burns is another illustration of the poet's affection for schoolmasters, as shown by the cordial terms on which he lived with Murdoch, Gray, Clarke, Nicol, Masterton and Cruickshank.]

I GAT your letter, winsome Willie;
Wi' gratefu' hea:t I thank you brawlie;

Though I maun say 't, I wad be silly, An' unco vain,

Should I believe, my coaxin' billie, Your flatterin' strain.

But I'se believe ye kindly meant it, I sud be laith to think ye hinted Ironic satire, sidelins sklented

On my poor Musie;

She lay like some unkenned-of isle
Beside New Holland,

Or whare wild meeting oceans boil
Besouth Magellan.

Ramsay an' famous Fergusson
Gied Forth an Tay a lift aboon;
Yarrow an' Tweed, to monie a tune,
Owre Scotland rings,

Though in sic phrasin' terms ye 've penned While Irwin, Lugar, Ayr, an' Doon,

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POSTSCRIPT.

My memory 's no worth a preen;
I had amaist forgotten clean

Ye bade me write you what they mean
By this New Light,

'Bout which our herds sae aft ha'e been
Maist like to fight.

In days when mankind were but callans,
At grammar, logic, an' sic talents,
They, took nae pains their speech to
balance,
Or rules to gi'e,

But spake their thoughts in plain, braid
Lallans,
Like you or me.

In thae auld times, they thought the moon,

Just like a sark, or pair o' shoon,
Wore by degrees, till her last roon

Gaed past their viewing,

And shortly after she was done,
They gat a new one.

This past for certain undisputed;
It ne'er cam' i' their heads to doubt it,
Till chiels gat up an' wad confute it,
An' ca'd it wrang;
An' muckle din there was about it,
Baith loud and lang.

Some herds, well learned upo' the beuk,
Wad threap auld folk the thing misteuk;
For 't was the auld moon turned a neuk;
An' out o' sight,
An' backlins comin', to the leuk,

She grew mair bright.
This was denied-it was affirmed;
The herds an' hirsels were alarmed;
The reverend grey-beards raved an'
stormed,

That beardless laddies Should think they better were informed Than their auld daddies.

Frae less to mair it gaed to sticks;
Frae words an' aiths to clours an' nicks;
An' monie a fallow gat his licks

Wi' hearty crunt:

Sae, ye observe that a' this clatter

66

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Is naething but a moonshine matter;'
But though dull prose-folk Latin splatter
In logic tulzie,

An' some, to learn them for their tricks, I hope we bardies ken some better
Were hanged and brunt.

This game was played in monie lands,
And Auld-Light caddies bure sic hands,
That, faith, the youngsters took the sands
Wi' nimble shanks,

The lairds forbade, by strict commands,
Sic bluidy pranks.

But New-Light herds gat sic a cowe,
Folk thought them ruined stick-an'-stowe,
Till now amaist on every knowe

Ye'll find ane placed;
An' some their New-Light fair avow,
Just quite barefaced.

Nae doubt the Auld-Light flocks are
bleatin' ;

Their zealous herds are vexed an' sweatin';
Mysel', I've even seen them greetin'
Wi' girnin' spite,

To hear the moon sae sadly lied on
By word an' write.

Than mind sic bruizie.

THIRD EPISTLE TO JOHN
LAPRAIK.

[The date affixed by Burns to this poetical address was the 13th September, 1785. Lapraik removed to Muirkirk in 1798, and opened a public-house, which also served the purpose of the village post-office. There he died on the 7th of May, 1807, at the age of eighty.]

GUID speed an' furder to you, Johnny,
Guid health, hale han's, an' weather
bonny;

Now when ye 're nickan down fu' canny
The staff o' bread,

May ye ne'er want a stoup o' bran'y
To clear your head.

May Boreas never thresh your rigs,
Nor kick your rickles aff their legs,
Sendin' the stuff o'er muirs an' haggs
Like drivin' wrack;

But shortly they will cowe the louns!
Some Auld-Light herds in neebor towns
Are mind 't, in things they ca' balloons, But may the tapmast grain that wags

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