Intended fraud or guile, IV. What tho', like commoners of air, Yet nature's charms, the hills and woods, In days when daisies deck the ground, With honest joy our hearts will bound, On braes when we please, then, V. It's no in titles nor in rank, It's no in wealth like Lon'on bank, And centre in the breast, We may be wise, or rich, or great. Nae treasures, nor pleasures, VI. Think ye, that sic as you and I, Wha drudge an' drive thro' wet an' dry, Wi' never ceasing toil; Think ye, are we less blest than they, Baith careless and fearless Of either heav'n or hell! It's a' an idle tale! VII. Then let us cheerfu' acquiesce, And, even should misfortunes come, They make us see the naked truth, The real guid and ill. Tho' losses and crosses Be lessons right severe, There's wit there, ye'll get there, VIII. But tent me, Davie, ace o' hearts! (To say aught less wad wrang the cartes, And flatt'ry I detest ;) This life has joys for you and I; And joys that riches ne'er could buy; And joys the very best. There's a' the pleasures o' the heart, The lover an' the frien': Ye hae your Meg, your dearest part, It warms me, it charms me, To mention but her name: It heats me, it beets me, And sets me a' on flame' IX. O, all ye Pow'rs who rule above! Her dear idea brings relief And solace to my breast. O hear my fervent pray'r: X. All hail, ye tender feelings dear! Long since, this world's thorny ways Fate still has blest me with a friend, And oft a more endearing band, A tie more tender still. It lightens, it brightens, To meet with, and greet with, My Davie or my Jean. XI. O, how that name inspires my style! The ready measure rins as fine, And then he'll hilch, and stilt, and jimp, An' rin an unco fit: But lest then, the beast then, Should rue this hasty ride, AULD NEEBOR, TO THE SAME. - I'm three times doubly o'er your debtor, For my puir, silly, rhymin' clatter, Hale be your heart, hale be your fiddle; Till bairns' bairns kindly cuddle Your auld gray hairs. But, Davie, lad, I'm red ye're glaikit; Sic hauns as you sud ne'er be faikit, For me, I'm on Parnassus' brink, An' whyles, but ay owre late, I think Braw sober lessons. |