Poem by James Macaulay

To Mr. R***** B****, Ayrshire

It’s Education maks the genius Bright.
                                          Ramsay.

1.

Weel, Rab, thestreen I read your buik,
Frae end to end, an’ ne’er forsook
The canty rhimes, till I cou’d brook
		To pore nae mair;
For Sleep, the weary wight, o’ertook
		An’ vex’d me fair.

2.

I never like to mak a fraise,
Or yet be lovich o’ my praise,
But I’d maist gi’e my duds o’ claes,
		Gin I cou’d spare them,
Cou’d I but warble furth sic lays,
		An’ like you skair them:

3.

For rich an’ poor, an’ kirk an’ state,
By turns partake your love an’ hate;
An’ mony times you are no blate
		To curse an’ bann,
An’ speak obscene (ill miss your pate!)
		That’s no the plan.

4.

But whan you crack about the Nine,
An, how to you they’ve been sae kin’,
By helping you the-day to shine
		’Mang Scottish Worthies,
Than you work up a tale fu’ fine,
		Wi’ weel-wal’d wordies.

5.

But still for a’ the blast that’s made, 
I doubt you are some sleekit blade, 
That never handled shool1 or spade,
		Or yet the plough,
 Unless it were to hae it said –
		An’ that’s eneugh:

6.

For by the scraps o’ French an’ Latin, 
That’s flung athort your buik fu’ thick in, 
It's easy seen you’ve aft been flitting
		Frae school to school; 
An’ nae thanks to your head an’ wittin’,
		Tho’ you’re nae fool.

7.

I'm no for riving aff your brow, 
The laurel folk may think you due; 
But, gin a while you left the pleu’
		To tend the College,
What need you smoor2 the thing that’s true, 
		Wi’ a’ your knowledge?

8.

The prints - newspapers an’ reviews, 
Frae time to time may aft you rouse, 
An’ say you’re Heaven-taught – your views
		Are clear an’ fair, 
An’ a’ your ain, gi’en by THE MUSE
		O’er the Banks O’ Ayr.
 
9.

But, waesuck,3 that ’ill no gae down 
Wi’ ilka chiel about this town 
That struts in black, an’ eke a gown;
		Na, na, they canna 
Believe that poets fa’ aroun’,
		Like flakes o’ manna!

10.

In days o’ yore, folk aft were fleec’d; 
But miracles lang syne hae ceas’d 
Among the gentry here, at least.
		Wha ne’er can think 
A bard direct frae Heav’n can feast,
		An’ write, an’ drink.

11.

In a’ think that’s in our possession, 
We may discern a due progression,
Whilk forces frae us this confession,
		Man didna fa’, 
Down frae the lift4 without transgression
		Or yet a flaw.

12.

You’ve surely notic’d this yoursell, 
Afore we read, we aye maun spell; 
An’ till the chucky5 leave the shell
		Whar it was hidden, 
It canna soun’ the morning bell
		Upo’ your midden.

13.

The grain you t’ither day did saw 
Ayont the knowe, was smoor’d wi’ snaw, 
An’ summer suns maun gar it blaw,
		Ere it be ready 
For Autumn’s sonsy lassies braw
		To mak it teddy6  

14.

Ilk think in Nature has a time, 
When ane may say, it’s in its prime, 
An’ disna in a hurry climb
		To real perfection. 
But maun gae thro’ its ilka clime,
		An’ ain direction.
  
15.

It’s just the same, (for ought I ken),
Among the folk that lifts the pen,
To write on kingdoms, brutes, or men;
		Ane’s brains sac stappit,7   
Mony a owk8 on lear9 we spen’,
		To clear our caput.

16.

This being than a settled case, 
Ne’er try to put things out o’ place; 
But own your intellects you brace
		Wi’ solid lore, 
As mony a ane, wi’ honest face,
		Has done afore.

1. shool: shovel.                     
2. smoor: smother.
3. waesuck: alas.
4. lift: sky. 
5. chucky: young chick.
6. teddy: ready for carting to the stock-yard.
7. stappit: steeped.
8. owk: week.
9. lear: learning.  

1. On the Warlike Preparations of 1787
2. On the Expulsion of the Scots Language

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