Robert Burns

Poem, Addressed to Mr. Mitchell, Collector of Excise, Dumfries

FRIEND of the Poet, tried and leal,
Wha, wanting thee, might beg or steal;
Alake, alake, the meikle Deil
    Wi’ a’ his witches
Are at it, skelpin’! jig and reel,
    In my poor pouches.

I modestly fu’ fain wad hint it,
That one pound one, I sairly want it
If wi’ the hizzie down ye sent it,
    It would be kind;
And while my heart wi’ life-blood dunted,
    I’d bear’t in mind.

So may the auld year gang out moaning
To see the new come laden, groaning,
Wi’ double plenty o’er the loaning
    To thee and thine;
Domestic peace and comforts crowning
    The haill design.

        POSTSCRIPT.

Ye’ve heard this while how I’ve been lickit,
And by fell death was nearly nickit:
Grim loon! he gat me by the fecket,
    And sair me sheuk;
But by guid luck I lap a wicket,
    And turn’d a neuk.

But by that health, I’ve got a share o’t,
And by that life, I’m promis’d mair o’t,
My heal and weal I’ll take a care o’t
    A tentier way:
Then fareweel folly, hide and hair o’t,
    For ance and aye!