Epistle To James Smith（5 / 6）
is fortune's fickle luna waning?
e'n let her gang!
beneath what light she has remaining,
let's sing our sang.
my pen i here fling to the door,
and kneel, ye pow'rs! and warm implore,
“tho' i should wander terra o'er,
in all her climes,
grant me but this, i ask no more,
aye rowth o' rhymes.
“gie dreepin roasts to countra lairds,
till icicles hing frae their beards;
gie fine braw claes to fine life-guards,
and maids of honour;
an' yill an' whisky gie to cairds,
until they sconner.
“a title, dempster merits it;
a garter gie to willie pitt;
gie wealth to some be-ledger'd cit,
in cent. per cent.;
but give me real, sterling wit,
and i'm content.
“while ye are pleas'd to keep me hale,
i'll sit down o'er my scanty meal,
be't water-brose or muslin-kail,
wi' cheerfu' face,
as lang's the muses dinna fail
to say the grace.”
an anxious e'e i never throws
behint my lug, or by my nose; ↑返回顶部↑
e'n let her gang!
beneath what light she has remaining,
let's sing our sang.
my pen i here fling to the door,
and kneel, ye pow'rs! and warm implore,
“tho' i should wander terra o'er,
in all her climes,
grant me but this, i ask no more,
aye rowth o' rhymes.
“gie dreepin roasts to countra lairds,
till icicles hing frae their beards;
gie fine braw claes to fine life-guards,
and maids of honour;
an' yill an' whisky gie to cairds,
until they sconner.
“a title, dempster merits it;
a garter gie to willie pitt;
gie wealth to some be-ledger'd cit,
in cent. per cent.;
but give me real, sterling wit,
and i'm content.
“while ye are pleas'd to keep me hale,
i'll sit down o'er my scanty meal,
be't water-brose or muslin-kail,
wi' cheerfu' face,
as lang's the muses dinna fail
to say the grace.”
an anxious e'e i never throws
behint my lug, or by my nose; ↑返回顶部↑