"While ye are pleased to keep me hale,
I'll sit down o'er my scanty meal,
Be't water-brose, or muslin-kail,1

Wi' cheerfu' face,

As lang's the Muses dinna fail

To say the grace."

An anxious ee I never throws

Behint my lug 2 or by my nose;

I jouk beneath Misfortune's blows
As weel's I may;

Sworn foe to Sorrow, Care, and Prose,
I rhyme away.

O ye douce folk, that live by rule,
Grave, tideless-blooded, calm and cool,
Compared wi' you-O fool! fool! fool!
How much unlike!

Your hearts are just a standing pool,
Your lives a dyke !*

Nae harebrain'd, sentimental traces,
In your unletter'd, nameless faces!
In arioso trills and graces

Ye never stray,

But gravissimo, solemn basses

Ye hum away.

GAVIN HAMILTON was a solicitor in Mauchline, and a very good friend of the poet at all times. He had suffered from the persecutions of the orthodox as

1 Broth made without meat.,

2 Ear.
3 Stoop.

4 Wonder.

5 Reckless

*Their lives blank as a wall, is the meaning intended to be conveyed here

Burns had, and this tended to a friendship warmer than ordinary Cromek tells us the following in regard to the Master Tootie of this epistle. "He lived in Mauchline, and dealt in cows. It was his common practice to cut the nicks or markings from the horns of cattle, to disguise their age, and so bring a higher price."

MOSGAVILLE, May 3, 1786.

I HOLD it, sir, my bounden duty

To warn you how that Master Tootie,
Alias, Laird M'Gaun,

Was here to hire yon lad away
'Bout whom ye spak the tither day,
And wad hae done't aff han':

But lest he learn the callan1 tricks,
As, faith, I muckle doubt him,
Like scrapin' out auld Crummie's nicks,*
And tellin' lies about 'em ;

As lieve then, I'd have then,
Your clerkship he should sair,
If sae be, ye may be

Not fitted other where.

And if a devil be at a',
In faith he's sure to get him.
To phrase you and praise you,

Ye ken your laureate scorns:
The prayer still you share still
Of grateful MINSTREL BURNS.

POETICAL INVITATION TO MR. JOHN KENNEDY.

JOHN KENNEDY who was at one time factor to the Marquis of Breadalbane, had taken a great interest in the success of the first edition of Burns' poems.

Now Kennedy, if foot or horse

E'er bring you in by Mauchline corse,1
Lord, man, there's lasses there wad force
A hermit's fancy;

And down the gate, in faith they're worse,
And mair unchancy.

EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND.

THIS epistle was addressed to Andrew Aiken, the son of his old friend Robert Aiken, writer in Ayr.

1 Very.

I LANG hae thought, my youthfu' friend,

A something to have sent you,
Though it should serve nae other end
Than just a kind memento;

But how the subject-theme may gang,
Let time and chance determine;
Perhaps it may turn out a sang,
Perhaps turn out a sermon.

Ye'll try the world fu' soon, my lad,
And, Andrew dear, believe me,
You'll find mankind an unco squad,
And muckle they may grieve ye :
For care and trouble set your thought,
Even when your end's attain'd;
And a' your views may come to nought,
Where every nerve is strain'd.

I'll no say men are villains a';

The real, harden'd, wicked,

Wha hae nae check but human law,
Are to a few restricked:

But, och mankind are unco1 weak,
And little to be trusted;

If self the wavering balance shake,
It's rarely right adjusted!

Yet they wha fa' in fortune's strife,
Their fate we shouldna censure,
For still the important end of life
They equally may answer;
A man may hae an honest heart,
Though poortith hourly stare him;
A man may tak a neibor's part,
Yet hae na cash to spare him.

Aye free, aff han' your story tell,
When wi' a bosom crony;2
But still keep something to yoursel
Ye scarcely tell to ony.

Conceal yoursel, as weel's ye can
Frae critical dissection;

But keek through every other man,
Wi' sharpen'd, sly inspection.

2 Boon companion.

May 1786.

3 To look pryingly.

The sacred lowe o' weel-placed love,
Luxuriantly indulge it;
But never tempt the 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 petrifies the feeling!

To catch dame Fortune's golden smile,
Assiduous wait upon her;
And gather gear by every wile
That's justified by honour;
Not for to hide it in a hedge,
Nor for a train-attendant;
But for the glorious privilege
Of being independent.

The fear o' hell's a hangman's whip
To haud the wretch in order;
But where ye feel your honour grip,
Let that aye be your border:
Its slightest touches, instant pause—
Debar a' side pretences;
And resolutely keep its laws,
Uncaring consequences.

The great Creator to revere

Must sure become the creature ;

But still the preaching cant forbear,
And even the rigid feature :

Yet ne'er with wits profane to range,

Be complaisance extended;

An atheist laugh's a poor exchange
For Deity offended!

When ranting round in Pleasure's ring,
Religion may be blinded;

Or if she gie a random sting,
It may be little minded;

But when on life we're tempest-driven,
A conscience but a canker-

A correspondence fix'd wi' Heaven
Is sure a noble anchor !

Adieu, dear, amiable youth!

Your heart can ne'er be wanting! May prudence, fortitude, and truth Erect your brow undaunting!