E T D A B h P（1 / 3）

1785

epistle to davie, a brother poet

january

while ds frae aff ben-loond bw,

an&039; bar the doors wi&039; drivg snaw,

an&039; hg owre the gle,

i set down to pass the ti,

an&039; sp a verse or a o&039; rhy,

haly, westl jgle

while frosty ds bw the drift,

ben to the chi g,

i grud a wee the great-folk&039;s gift,

that live sae bien an&039; snug:

i tent less, and want less

their rooy fire-side;

but hanker, and canker,

to see their cursed pride

it&039;s hardly a body&039;s pow&039;r

to keep, at tis, frae beg ur,

to see how thgs are shar&039;d;

how best o&039; chiels are whiles want,

while ofs on untless thoands rant,

and ken na how to wair&039;t;

but, davie, d, ne&039;er fash your head,

tho&039; we hae little ar;

we&039;re fit to our daily bread,

as ng&039;s we&039;re hale and fier:

“air spier na, nor fear na,”

auld a ne&039;er d a feg;

the st o&039;t, the warst o&039;t

is only but to beg

to lie kilns and barns at e&039;en,

when banes are craz&039;d, and bid is th,

is doubtless, great distress!

yet then ntent uld ake blest;

ev&039;n then, tis, we&039;d snatch a taste

of truest happess

the honest heart that&039;s free frae a&039;

tended fraud or guile,

however fortune kick the ba&039;,

has aye cae to sile;

an&039; d still, you&039;ll fd still,

a fort this nae sa&039;;

nae air then we&039;ll care then,

nae farther can we fa&039;

what tho&039;, like oners of air,

we wander out, we know not where,

but either hoe or hal&039;,

yet nature&039;s chars, the hills and woods,

the sweepg vales, and foag floods,

are free alike to all

days when daisies deck the ground,

and bckbirds whistle clear,

with hones