Epistle to William Creech / Robert Burns

Auld chukie Reekie's sair distrest,

Down droops her ance weel-burnisht crest,

Nae joy her bonnie buskit nest

Can yield ava,

Her darling bird that she lo'es best,

Willie's awa!

O Willie was a witty wight,

And had o' things an unco slight;

Auld Reekie ay he keepit tight,

An' trig an' braw:

But now they'll busk her like a fright,

Willie's awa!

The stiffest o' them a' he bow'd;

The bauldest o' them a' he cow'd;

They durst nae mair than he allow'd,

That was a law;

We've lost a birkie weel worth gowd,

Willie's awa!

Now gawkies, tawpies, gowks, and fools,

Frae colleges and boarding-schools,

May sprout like simmer puddock stools

In glen or shaw;

He wha could brush them down to mools,

Willie's awa!

The brethren o' the Commerce-Chaumer

May mourn their loss wi' doofu' clamour;

He was a dictionar and grammar

Amang them a';

I fear they'll now mak mony a stammer,

Willie's awa!

Nae mair we see his levee door

Philosophers and poets pour,

And toothy critics by the score

In bloody raw!

The adjutant o' a' the core,

Willie's awa!

Now worthy Gregory's Latin face,

Tytler's and Greenfield's modest grace;

Mackenzie, Stewart, sic a brace

As Rome n'er saw;

They a' maun meet some ither place,

Willie's awa!

Poor Burns--e'en Scotch drink canna quicken,

He cheeps like some bewilder'd chicken,

Scar'd frae its minnie and the cleckin

By hoodie-craw;

Grief's gien his heart an unco kickin',

Willie's awa!

Now ev'ry sour-mou'd girnin' blellum,

And Calvin's fock are fit to fell him;

And self-conceited critic skellum

His quill may draw;

He wha could brawlie ward their bellum,

Willie's awa!

Up wimpling stately Tweed I've sped,

And Eden scenes on crystal Jed,

And Ettrick banks now roaring red,

While tempests blaw;

But every joy and pleasure's fled,

Willie's awa!

May I be slander's common speech;

A text for infamy to preach;

And lastly, streekit out to bleach

In winter snaw;

When I forget thee! Willie Creech,

Tho' far awa!

May never wicked fortune touzle him!

May never wicked man bamboozle him!

Until a pow as auld's Methusalem

He canty claw!

Then to the blessed New Jerusalem,

Fleet wing awa!