Poem by David Crawford

An Answer to Will. M’Vitie

Warm-hearted Willy, I declare
A friend like you is unca rare,
I’m sure I henna miss’d my share
	O’ gude advices,
Forby a weel-far’d pithy pray’r,
	That truly nice is.

Lad, I can eithly understand,
Wad some bra Lady grip my hand,
She coud help me out o’er a strand,
	Or hill or dike;
For woman multitudes command,
	Whane’er they like.

You ken as weel as I can tell,
What caus’d Rob Burns sae far excel,
A Lady first hang up his bell,
	An’ pour’d in oil;
Syne whae coud chime sae sweet an’ snell
	As th’ Bard o’ Kyle.
 
An’ Fergusson was quite forgot
By Ladies o’ superior note,
Sae he coud gae wi thread-bare coat,
	An’ elbows clutet,
An’ to appearance sic a sot
	As fools do flout at.
 
Bra fellow! he might justly claim
The foremaist page in beuk of fame,
Tho’ few a-field, or yet at hame,
	Did bid him speed,
Whilk shaw’d their hearts (O fy for shame!)
	As cauld as lead.
 
But I’m as blyth as blyth can be,
That plowmen catch a Lady’s ee;
I plow’d a farm years nine times three,
	An’ whae can say,
But ane may cast a bane at me,
	Some lucky day.
 
An’, for your kindness, Will. M’Vitie,
Wad you but come unto our city,
An’ I the fortune hae to meet you,
	We sanna part,
Without a wee soup Aquavitae,
	To chear our heart.
 
Lang may you toddle but an’ ben,
Wi health an’ skill to load the pen,
An’ ay hae flesh, or a fat hen,
	Whereon to feed,
An’ be kept frae the goblin’s den,
	When thou art dead.

1. A Letter sent to a Gentleman, who had advised the Author to be a Volunteer, but was rejected on account of Age
2. On receiving a Shock from an Electric Machine, when Author was troubled with Pains
3. Ode the Recovery of His Majesty from His Late Illness, in the Year 1789
4. Verses on the Edinburgh Volunteers Receiving their Colours, September 26, 1794

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