i hae a wife and twa weeddies;

they maun hae brose and brats o' duddies;

ye ken yoursels my heart right proud is—

i need na vaunt

but i'll sned besoms, thraw saugh woodies,

before they want.

lord help me thro' this warld o' care!

i'm weary sick o'tte and air!

not but i hae a richer share

than mony ithers;

but why should ae man better fare,

and a' men brithers?

e, firm resolve, take thou the van,

thou stalk o' carl-hemp in man!

and let us mind, faint heart ne'er wan

ady fair:

wha does the utmost that he can,

will whiles do mair.

but to conclude my silly rhyme

(i'm scant o' verse and scant o' time),

to make a happy fireside clime

to weans and wife,

that's the true pathos and sublime

of human life.

my pliments to sister beckie,

and eke the same to honest lucky;

i wat she is a daintie chuckie,

as e'er tread y;

and gratefully, my gude auld cockie,

i'm yours for aye.

robert burns.