Epistle to the Rev Thomas Blacklock

My Revds & dear Friend

Wow, but your letter made me vauntie!
And are ye hale, & weel, and cantie?
I send it still your wee bit jauntie
Wad bring ye to:
Lord send you ay as weel's I want ye,
And then ye'll do. ----

The Ill-thief blaw the Heron south!
And never drink be near his drouth!
He tald mysel, by word o' mouth,
He'd tak my letter;
I lippen'd to the chiel in trouth,
And bade nae better. ----

But aiblins honest Master Heron
Had at the time, some dainty Fair One,
To ware his theologic care on,
And holy study;
And tired o' sauls to waste his lear on,
E'en tried the Body. ----

But what d'ye think, my trusty Fier,
I'm turn'd a Gauger - Peace be here!
Parnassian Quines I fear, I fear,
Ye'll now disdain me,
And then my fifty pounds a year
Will little gain me. ----

Ye glaiket, gleesome, dainty Damies,
Wha by Castalia's wimplin streamies
Lowp, sing, and lave your pretty limbies,
Ye ken, ye ken,
That strang Necessity supreme is
'Mang sons o' Men. ----

I hae a wife and twa wee laddies,
They maun hae brose & brats o' duddies;
Ye ken yoursels my heart right proud is,
I need na vaunt,

But I'll send boosoms and thraw saught-woodies
Before they want. ----

Lord help me thro' this warld o' care!
I'm weary sick o't late and air!
Not but I hae a richer share
Than mony ithers;
But why should ae man better fare,
And a' Men brithers!

Come, Firm Resolve take thou the van,
Thou stalk o' carl-hemp in man!
And let us mind, faint heart ne'er wan
A lady fair:
Wha does the utmost that he can,
Will whyles do mair. ----

But to conclude my silly rhyme,
(I'm scant o' verse and scant o' time,)
To make a happy fireside clime
To weans & wife,
That's the true Pathos & Sublime
Of Human life. ----

My Compliments to Sister Beckie;
And eke the same to honest Lucky,
I wat she is a daintie Chuckie,
As e'er tread clay!
And gratefully my gude auld Cockie
I'm yours for ay. ----

Robt. Burns

Ellisland
21st. Oct. 1798 }