Epistle To William Simson（1 / 4）
epistle to william simson
schoolmaster, ochiltree.—may, 1785
i gat your letter, winsome willie;
wi' gratefu' heart i thank you brawlie;
tho' i maun say't, i wad be silly,
and unco vain,
should i believe, my coaxin billie
your flatterin strain.
but i'se believe ye kindly meant it:
i sud be laith to think ye hinted
ironic satire, sidelins sklented
on my poor musie;
tho' in sic phraisin terms ye've penn'd it,
i scarce excuse ye.
my senses wad be in a creel,
should i but dare a hope to speel
wi' allan, or wi' gilbertfield,
the braes o' fame;
or fergusson, the writer-chiel,
a deathless name.
(o fergusson! thy glorious parts
ill suited law's dry, musty arts!
my curse upon your whunstane hearts,
ye e'nbrugh gentry!
the tithe o' what ye waste at cartes
wad stow'd his pantry!)
yet when a tale comes i' my head,
or lassies gie my heart a screed—
as whiles they're like to be my dead,
(o sad disease!) ↑返回顶部↑
schoolmaster, ochiltree.—may, 1785
i gat your letter, winsome willie;
wi' gratefu' heart i thank you brawlie;
tho' i maun say't, i wad be silly,
and unco vain,
should i believe, my coaxin billie
your flatterin strain.
but i'se believe ye kindly meant it:
i sud be laith to think ye hinted
ironic satire, sidelins sklented
on my poor musie;
tho' in sic phraisin terms ye've penn'd it,
i scarce excuse ye.
my senses wad be in a creel,
should i but dare a hope to speel
wi' allan, or wi' gilbertfield,
the braes o' fame;
or fergusson, the writer-chiel,
a deathless name.
(o fergusson! thy glorious parts
ill suited law's dry, musty arts!
my curse upon your whunstane hearts,
ye e'nbrugh gentry!
the tithe o' what ye waste at cartes
wad stow'd his pantry!)
yet when a tale comes i' my head,
or lassies gie my heart a screed—
as whiles they're like to be my dead,
(o sad disease!) ↑返回顶部↑