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Poem by David Sillar
Epistle to the Critics
Then know when I these pieces made, Was toiling for my daily bread; A scanty learning I enjoy’d, Sac judge how I hae it employed. I ne’er depended for my knowledge On school, academy, nor college; I gat my learnin’ at the flail, An’ some I catch’d at the plough-tail; Amang the brutes I own I’m bred, Since herding was my native trade. Some twa-three books I read wi’ care, Which I had borrow’d here an’ there. The actions an’ the ways o’ men, I took great pains an’ care to ken; Frae them, their manners, an’ their looks, Their words, their actions, an’ frae books; On these for knowledge I relied, Without anither for my guide. Latin an’ Greek I never knew sic, An’ sae how can my works be classic?
David Sillar's other poems:
English Poetry. E-mail firstname.lastname@example.org