Your critic-folk may cock their nose, But, by your leaves, my learned foes, What's a' your jargon o' your schools, What sairs your grammars? Ye'd better taen up spades and shools, Or knappin-hammers. A set o' dull, conceited hashes, Confuse their brains in college classes! They gang in stirks, and come out asses, Plain truth to speak; An' syne they think to climb Parnassus By dint o' Greek! Gie me ae spark o' Nature's fire, That's a' the learning I desire; Then though I drudge thro' dub an' mire At pleugh or cart, My muse, though hamely in attire, May touch the heart. O for O for a spunk o' Allan's glee, That would be lear eneugh for me, Now, Sir, if ye hae friends enow, Tho' real friends, I b'lieve, are few, Yet, if your catalogue be fou, I'se no insist, But gif ye want ae friend that's true, I winna blaw about mysel; As ill I like my fauts to tell; But friends an' folk that wish me well, They sometimes roose me; Tho' I maun own, as monie still As far abuse me. There's ae wee faut they whiles lay to me, I like the lasses Gude forgie me! For monie a plack they wheedle frae me, At dance or fair; May be some ither thing they gie me They weel can spare. But But Mauchline race, or Mauchline fair, An' hae a swap o' rhymin-ware Wi' ane anither. The four-gill chap, we'se gar him clatter, An' kirsen him wi' reekin water; Syne we'll sit down an' tak our whitter, To cheer our heart; An' faith, we'se be acquainted better Before we part. Awa ye selfish warly race, Wha think that havins, sense, an' grace, To catch-the-plack! I dinna like to see your face, Nor hear your crack. But ye whom social pleasure charms, Whose hearts the tide of kindness warms, Who hold your being on the terms, Each aid the others,' Come to my bowl, come to my arms, My friends, my brothers! But |