i' th' ither warl', if there's anither,

an' that there is, i've little swither

about the matter;

we, cheek for chow, shall jog thegither,

i'se ne'er bid better.

we've faults and failings—granted clearly,

we're frail backsliding mortals merely,

eve's bonie squad, priests wyte them sheerly

for our grand fa';

but still, but still, i like them dearly—

god bless them a'!

ochone for poor castalian drinkers,

when they fa' foul o' earthly jinkers!

the witching, curs'd, delicious blinkers

hae put me hyte,

and gart me weet my waukrife winkers,

wi' girnin'spite.

by by yon moon!—and that's high swearin—

an' every star within my hearin!

an' by her een wha was a dear ane!

i'll ne'er forget;

i hope to gie the jads a clearin

in fair y yet.

my loss i mourn, but not repent it;

i'll seek my pursie whare i tint it;

ance to the indies i were wonted,

some cantraip hour

by some sweet elf i'll yet be dinted;

then vive l'amour!

faites mes baissemains respectueuses,

to sentimental sister susie,

and honest lucky; no to roose you,

ye may be proud,

that sic a couple fate allows ye,

to grace your blood.

nae mair at present can i measure,

an' trowth my rhymin ware's nae treasure;

but when in ayr, some half-hour's leisure,

be't light, be't dark,

sir bard will do himself the pleasure

to call at park.

robert burns.

mossgiel, 30th october, 1786.