Now gae your wa's.—Tho' ance as gude
As ever happit flesh and blude,
Yet part we maun.The case sae hard is
Amang the writers and the bardies,
That lang they'll bruik the auld I trow,
Qr neebours cry,

« Weel bruik the news !"
Still makin tight wi' tither steek;
The tither hole, the tither eik,
To bang the bir o' Winter's

anger, And haud the hurdies out o' langer.

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Siclike some weary wight will fill
His kyte wi' drogs frae doctor's bill,
Thinkin to tack the tither year
To life, and look baith hale and fier ;
Till, at the lang-run, Death dirks in,
To birze his saul ayont his skin.


You needna wag your duds o' clouts,
Nor fa' into your dorty poats,
To think that erst you've hain'd my tail
Frae wind and weet, frae snaw and hail,
And for reward, whan bauld and hummil,
Frae garret high to dree a tumble.
For you I car’d, as lang's ye dow'd
Be lin’d wi' siller or wi' gowd:
Now to befriend, it wad be folly,
Your raggit hide and pouches holey ; :
For wha but kens a poet's placks

mony weary flaws and cracks,
And canna thole to hae them tint,
As he sae seenil sees the mint ?
Yet round the warld keek and see,
That ithers fare as ill as thee;

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For weel we loe the chiel we think

Can get us tick, or gie us drink,
Till o' his purse we've seen the bottom,
Then we despise, and hae forgot him.



Yet gratefu' hearts, to mak amends,
ay be

sorry for their friends,
And I for thee-As mony a time
Wi' you I've speeld the braes o'rhyme,
Whare for the time the Muse ne'er cares
For siller, or sic guilefu' wares,
Wi' whilk we drumly grow, and crabbit,
Dour, capernoited, thrawin gabbit,
And brither, sister, friend, and fae,
Without remeid o' kindred, slae.

You've seen me round the bickers reel
Wi' heart as hale as temper'd steel,
And face sae open, free, and blithe,
Nor thought that sorrow there cou'd kyth ;
But the niest moment this was lost,
Like gowan in December's frost.

Cou'd prick-the-louse but be sae handy As mak the breeks and claise to stand ay,


Thro' thick and thin wi' you I'd dash on,
Nor mind the folly o' the fashion :
But, heh! the times' vicissitudo
Gars ither breeks decay as you do.
Thae macaronies, braw and windy,
Maun fail-Sic transit gloria mundi !.

Now speed you to some madam's chaumer, That but and ben rings dule and clamour, Ask her, in kindness, if she seeks In hidling ways to wear the breeks? Safe you may dwall, tho' mould and motty, Beneath the veil o under coatie,

For this mair fauts nor yours can screen
Frae lover's quickest sense, his een.

Or if some bard, in lucky times,
Shou'd profit meikle by his rhymes,
And pace awa, wi' smirky face,
In siller or in gowden lace,


Glowr in his face, like spectre gaunt;
Remind him o' his former want;
To cow his daffin and his pleasure,
And gar lim live within the measure.

So Philip, it is said, who wou'd ring Owre Macedon, a just and gude king, Fearing that power might plume his feather, And bid him stretch beyond the tether, Ilk mornin to his lug wad ca' A tiny servant o' his ha', To tell him to improve his span; For Phillip was, like him, a Man.

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