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epistle to john axwell, esq, of terraughty

on his birthday

health to the axwell&039;s veteran chief!

health, aye unur&039;d by care or grief:

spir&039;d, i turn&039;d fate&039;s sibyl leaf,

this natal orn,

i see thy life is stuff o&039; prief,

scarce ite half-worn

this day thou tes threesre eleven,

and i can tell that bounteo heaven

(the send-sight, ye ken, is given

to ilka poet)

on thee a tack o&039; seven tis seven

will yet bestow it

if envio buckies view wi&039; rrow

thy lengthen&039;d days on this blest orrow,

ay detion&039;s ng-teeth&039;d harrow,

ne iles an hour,

rake the, like do and goorrah,

brunstane stour

but for thy friends, and they are ony,

baith honest n, and ssies bonie,

ay uthie fortune, kd and cannie,

cial glee,

wi&039; orngs blythe, and e&039;engs funny,

bless the and thee!

fareweel, auld birkie! lord be near ye,

and then the deil, he daurna steer ye:

your friends aye love, your faes aye fear ye;

for , sha fa&039; ,

if neist y heart i dna wear ye,

while burns they ca&039;

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