Addressed to Mr. Mitchell / Robert Burns

Friend of the Poet, tried and leal,

Wha, wanting thee, might beg or steal;

Alake, alake, the meikle deil

Wi' a' his witches

Are at it, skelpin' jig and reel,

In my poor pouches!

I modestly fu' fain wad hint it,

That one pound one, I sairly want it,

If wi' the hizzie down ye sent it,

It would be kind;

And while my heart wi' life-blood dunted

I'd bear't in mind.

So may the auld year gang out moaning

To see the new come laden, groaning,

Wi' double plenty o'er the loanin

To thee and thine;

Domestic peace and comforts crowning

The hale design.

* * * * *

POSTSCRIPT.

Ye've heard this while how I've been licket,

And by felt death was nearly nicket;

Grim loon! he got me by the fecket,

And sair me sheuk;

But by guid luck I lap a wicket,

And turn'd a neuk.

But by that health, I've got a share o't,

And by that life, I'm promised mair o't,

My hale and weel I'll tak a care o't,

A tentier way:

Then farewell folly, hide and hair o't,

For ance and aye!