Second Epistle To J. Lapraik（1 / 2）

second epistle to j. lapraik

april 21, 1785

while new-ca'd kye rowte at the stake

an' pownies reek in pleugh or braik,

this hour on e'enin's edge i take,

to own i'm debtor

to honest-hearted, auld lapraik,

for his kind letter.

forjesket sair, with weary legs,

rattlin the corn out-owre the rigs,

or dealing thro' amang the naigs

their ten-hours' bite,

my awkart muse sair pleads and begs

i would na write.

the tapetless, ramfeezl'd hizzie,

she's saft at best an' something lazy:

quo' she, “ye ken we've been sae busy

this month an' mair,

that trowth, my head is grown right dizzie,

an' something sair.”

her dowff excuses pat me mad;

“conscience,” says i, “ye thowless jade!

i'll write, an' that a hearty blaud,

this vera 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 ye'll neglect to shaw your parts

an' thank him kindly?”

sae i gat paper in a blink,

an' down gaed stumpie in the ink:

h i, “before i sleep a wink,

i vow i'll close it;

an' if ye winna mak it clink,

by jove, i'll prose it!”

sae i've begun to scrawl, but whether

in rhyme, or prose, or baith thegither;

or some hotch-potch that's rightly neither,

let time mak proof;

but i shall scribble down some blether

just clean aff-loof.

my worthy friend, ne'er grudge an' carp,

tho' fortune use you hard an' sharp;

come, kittle up your moorland harp

wi' gleesome touch!

ne'er mind how fortune waft and warp;

she's but a bitch.

she 's 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,

i'll laugh an' sing, an' shake my leg,