They ither folk, for richt or wrang, They suffer, bleed, or dee; But a’ thir things are an emp’y sang To a gentleman like me.

It’s a different thing that I demand, Tho’ humble as can be— A statement fair in my Maker’s hand To a gentleman like me:

A clear account writ fair an’ broad, An’ a plain apologie; Or the deevil a ceevil word to God From a gentleman like me.

p. 110X—THEIR LAUREATE TO AN ACADEMY CLASS DINNER CLUB

p. 110

Dear Thamson class, whaure’er I gang It aye comes ower me wi’ a spang: “Lordsake! they Thamson lads—(deil hang Or else Lord mend them!)— An’ that wanchancy annual sang I ne’er can send them!”

Dear

Straucht, at the name, a trusty tyke, My conscience girrs ahint the dyke; Straucht on my hinderlands I fyke To find a rhyme t’ ye; Pleased—although mebbe no pleased-like—  To gie my time t’ye.

p. 111“Weel,” an’ says you, wi’ heavin’ breist, “Sae far, sae guid, but what’s the neist? Yearly we gaither to the feast, A’ hopefü’ men— Yearly we skelloch ‘Hang the beast—  Nae sang again!’”

p. 111

My lads, an’ what am I to say? Ye shürely ken the Muse’s way: Yestreen, as gleg’s a tyke—the day, Thrawn like a cuddy: Her conduc’, that to her’s a play, Deith to a body.

Aft whan I sat an’ made my mane, Aft whan I laboured burd-alane Fishin’ for rhymes an’ findin’ nane, Or nane were fit for ye— Ye judged me cauld’s a chucky stane—  No car’n’ a bit for ye!

p. 112But saw ye ne’er some pingein’ bairn As weak as a pitaty-par’n’— Less üsed wi’ guidin’ horse-shoe airn  Than steerin’ crowdie— Packed aff his lane, by moss an’ cairn, To ca’ the howdie.

p. 112

Wae’s me, for the puir callant than! He wambles like a poke o’ bran, An’ the lowse rein, as hard’s he can, Pu’s, trem’lin’ handit; Till, blaff! upon his hinderlan’  Behauld him landit.

Sic-like—I awn the weary fac’— Whan on my muse the gate I tak, An’ see her gleed e’e raxin’ back To keek ahint her;— To me, the brig o’ Heev’n gangs black As blackest winter.

p. 113“Lordsake! we’re aff,” thinks I, “but whaur? On 

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