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Poem by Robert Burns

To the Same

WHILE new-cad kye rowte at the stake,
An pownies reek in pleugh or braik,
This hour on eenins edge I take,
    To own Im debtor,
To honest-hearted auld Lapraik,
    For his kind letter.

Forjeskit sair, with weary legs,
Rattlin the corn out-owre the rigs,
Or dealing thro amang the naigs
    Their ten-hours bite,
My awkwart Muse sair pleads and begs
    I would na write.

The tapetless, ramfeezld hizzie,
Shes saft at best, and something lazy,
Quo she Ye ken weve been see busy,
    This month an mair,
That trouth my head is grown quite dizzie,
    An something sair.

Her dowff excuses pat me mad;
Conscience, says I, ye thowless jad!
Ill write, an that a hearty blaud,
    This very night;
So dinna ye affront your trade,
    But rhyme it right.

Shall bauld Lapraik, the king o hearts,
Tho mankind were a pack o cartes,
Roose you sae weel for your deserts,
    In terms sae friendly,
Yet yell neglect to shaw your parts,
    An thank him kindly?

Sae I gat paper in a blink,
An down gaed stumpie in the ink:
Quoth I Before I sleep a wink,
    I vow Ill close it;
An if ye winna mak it clink,
    By Jove, Ill prose it!

Sae Ive begun to scrawl, but whether
In rhyme, or prose, or baith thegither,
Or some hotch-potch thats rightly neither,
    Let time mak proof;
But I shall scribble down some blether
    Just clean aff-loof.

My worthy friend, neer grudge an carp,
Tho fortune use you hard an sharp;
Come, kittle up your moorland harp
    Wi gleesome touch!
Neer mind how fortune waft an warp;
    Shes but a bitch.

Shes gien me mony a jirt an fleg,
Sin I could striddle owre a rig;
But, by the Lord, tho I should beg
    Wi lyart pow,
Ill laugh, an sing, an shake my leg,
    As langs I dow!

Now comes the sax-an-twentieth simmer
Ive seen the bud upo the timmer,
Still persecuted by the limmer,
    Frae year to year:
But yet, despite the kittle kimmer,
    I, Rob, am here.

Do ye envy the city gent,
Behind a kist to lie an sklent,
Or purse-proud, big wi cent per cent
    An muckle wame,
In some bit brugh to represent
    A bailies name?

Or ist the paughty feudal thane,
WI ruffld sark an glancing cane,
Wha thinks himsel nae sheep-shank bane,
    But lordly stalks,
While caps and bonnets aff are taen,
    As by he walks?

O Thou wha gies us each guid gift!
Gie me o wit an sense a lift,
Then turn me, if Thou please, adrift,
    Thro Scotland wide;
Wi cits nor lairds I wadna shift,
    In a their pride!

Were this the charter of our state,
On pain o hell be rich an great,
Damnation then would be our fate,
    Beyond remead;
But, thanks to Heaven! thats no the gate
    We learn our creed.

For thus the royal mandate ran,
When first the human race began,
The social, friendly, honest man,
    Whateer he be,
Tis he fulfils great Natures plan,
    And none but he!

O mandate glorious and divine!
The followers of the ragged Nine,
Poor, thoughtless devils! yet may shine,
    In glorious light,
While sordid sons of Mammons line
    Are dark as night.

Tho here they scrape, an squeeze, an growl,
Their worthless nievefu of a soul
May in some future carcase howl,
    The forests fright;
Or in some day-detesting owl
    May shun the light.

Then may Lapraik and Burns arise,
To reach their native kindred skies,
And sing their pleasures, hopes, an joys,
    In some mild sphere,
Still closer knit in friendships ties
    Each passing year!

Robert Burns

Robert Burns's other poems:
  1. Tam Glen
  2. Lines Supposed to Have Been Written by Burns, and Forwarded to John Rankine, Ayrshire, Immediately after the Poets Decease
  3. On Commissary Goldies Brains
  4. Verses Addressed to J. Rankine
  5. Impromptu on an Innkeeper Named Bacon, Who Intruded Himself Into All Companies

Poems of the other poets with the same name:

  • Sydney Dobell To the Same ("Töchterchenlein, by whom the least became")
  • Mary Montagu To the Same ("Though old in ill, the traitor sure should find")

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