Seek Heaven for help, and barefit skelp
Awa wi' Willie Chalmers.

Forgive the Bard! my fond regard
For ane that shares my bosom,
Inspires my Muse to gie 'm his dues
For deil a hair I roose him.
May powers aboon unite you soon,
And fructify your amours,--
And every year come in mair dear
To you and Willie Chalmers.




Reply To A Trimming Epistle Received From A Tailor

What ails ye now, ye lousie bitch
To thresh my back at sic a pitch?
Losh, man! hae mercy wi' your natch,
Your bodkin's bauld;
I didna suffer half sae much
Frae Daddie Auld.

What tho' at times, when I grow crouse,
I gie their wames a random pouse,
Is that enough for you to souse
Your servant sae?
Gae mind your seam, ye prick-the-louse,
An' jag-the-flea!