Letter from Robert Burns to James Hoy, 6 November 1787

Dear Sir,
I would have wrote you immediately on
receipt of your kind letter, but a mixed impulse of gra-
titude and esteem whispered me that I ought to send you
Something by way of return. - When a Poet owes any
thing, particularly when he is indebted for good offices;
the payment that usually recurs to him, the only coin
indeed in which he probably is conversant, is Rhyme.
Johnson sends the books by the fly as directed, and
begs me to inclose his most grateful thanks: my
return I intended should have been one or two poetic
bagatelles which the world have not seen, or perhaps
for obvious reasons, cannot see. - These I shall
send you before I leace Edin.r. - They may make
you laugh a little, which on the whole is no bad way of

spending one's precious hours and still more precious
breath: at any rate they will be, tho' a small, yet a very
sincere mark of my respectful esteem for a gentleman
whose farther acquaintance I should look upon as a peculiar obligation. -
The Duke's song, independent totally of his Dukeship
charms me. There is I know not what of wild hap-
pines of thought and expression peculiarly beautiful
in the old Scottish song style of which his Grace; old, venerable
Skinner, the Author of Tullochgorum, & c; and the late
Rools at Lochlee of true Scottish-poetic memory, are the
only modern instances that I recollect, since Ramsay with
his contemporaries and poor Bob Ferguson went to the World
of deathless existence and truly immortal song. - The
Mob of mankind, that many headed beast, would laugh
at so serious a speech about an old song; but as Job
says, "O that mine adversary had written a book!"
Those who think that composing a Scotch Song is a
trifling business - let them try. -
I wish my Lord Duke would pay a proper attention to
the Christian admonition - "Hide not your candle under
"a bushel" but "Let your light shine before men." -
I could name half aa dozen Dukes that I guess are a devilish
deal worse employed; nay I question if there are half a
dozen better: perhaps there are not half that scanty
number whom Heaven has favoured with the tuneful,
happy, and I will say, glorious gift. -
I am, Dear Sir,
obliged, humble serv.t

Rob.t
Edinburgh 6th 1787