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Poem by David Sillar

Verses, Occasioned by a Reply to Burns Calf by an Unco Calf

		A preachin Caf  a Poet wearin cloots 
		Are surely ferlies mang the natral brutes.


Were Father Adam now tae rise,
	An view us face to face,
Im sure hed scarce believe his eyes,
	That he begat our race.


Tho in his days mischief there was, 
	Men still were human creatures;
An for his children they did pass, 
	Tho changed i their natures.


Balaam, twas strange, an ass he heard
	Fortellin him o danger; 
But surely cloots upon a Bard,
	An preachin calves, are stranger.


For Gudes sake, Sirs, your flytin cease,
	Miscana ane anither; 
Lest calves an stirks, by keepin peace,
	Disgrace you a thegither.


But if ye winna cease tae rair, 
	Tae rout, tae girn, an gape,
Yere hafflins beasts; in naething mair .
	Ye differ but the shape.


Gae satire vice; let men alane, 
	Tho diffrent in opinion;
Whas right we canna always ken; 
	Mans mind is his dominion.


Im sorry sirs, I haet tae say, 
	Our passions are sae strong,
As mak us tine the beaten way, 
	An rin sae aften wrong,


But firs, mair sorry I am still, 
	When without provocation,
A brothers character wed kill, 
	Or bring him tae vexation.


Then for the future lets be mute, 
	Reverin those above us;
Wi such as we, lets not dispute, 
	An syne our friens will love us.


Sae rout or no, just tak your will, 
	I tell you tae your face,
The actions which befit a bull 
	Affront the human race.

David Sillar

David Sillar's other poems:
  1. Epistle to the Critics
  2. Epistle to J**N G****E, a Famous Theologist and Astronomer
  3. Money Makes the Mare to Go
  4. Song IV
  5. Epistle to R. Burns

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