Epistle to Mr David Sillar, Burns’ Irvine friend
Gray, Charles
Published 1808
Will Burns’ late frien’ and bosom cronie
List to my lays, tho far frae bonnie ?
Will he, wha strays ’mang hills and woods
List to a Rhymer on the floods,
Whar Adria pours her foamin tides
And swift the stately vessel glides,
Near rough rude mountains theek’d wi snaw,
That simmer suns can hardly thaw,
‘Whar savage beasts prowl for their prey,
And men almost as wild as they ?
Yet sometimes am I wafted o’er,
Near famed Italia’s flowery shore,
Where all the Muses sung of yore ;
But fient a ane e’er visits me ;
Aiblins they dinna like the sea !
And hark ye, lad, (tho’ dinna tell,)
They like it nae waur than mysel !
For, gin I culd but better do,
Saut water ne’er suld weet my shoe.
But, Davie, if, in twa-three year,
Peace suld return ilk hert to cheer,
Back to auld Scotia quick I'll flie,
Her cakes and Usquebae to prie ;
The auld thack house I'll cleed aince mair,
And whiten weel the outer stair,
And mak the inside snug and bien,
For weel I like to see things clean ;
And nae attention sall be spared
To cultivate the green kailyaird ;
I'll plant my cabbage and potatoes,
And be anither Cincinnatus !
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