Epistle to Mrs. Scott of Wauchope House

15E’en then, a wish, (I mind its pow’r),

16A wish that to my latest hour

17 Shall strongly heave my breast,

18That I for poor auld Scotland’s sake

19Some usefu’ plan or book could make,

20 Or sing a sang at least.

21The rough burr-thistle, spreading wide

22 Amang the bearded bear,

23I turn’d the weeder-clips aside,

24 An’ spar’d the symbol dear:

25 No nation, no station,

26 My envy e’er could raise;

27 A Scot still, but blot still,

28 I knew nae higher praise.

29But still the elements o’ sang,

30In formless jumble, right an’ wrang,

31 Wild floated in my brain;

32’Till on that har’st I said before,

33May partner in the merry core,

34 She rous’d the forming strain;

35I see her yet, the sonsie quean,

36 That lighted up my jingle,

37Her witching smile, her pawky een

38 That gart my heart-strings tingle;

39 I firèd, inspired,

40 At every kindling keek,

41 But bashing, and dashing,

42 I fearèd aye to speak.

43Health to the sex! ilk guid chiel says:

44Wi’ merry dance in winter days,

45 An’ we to share in common;

46The gust o’ joy, the balm of woe,

47The saul o’ life, the heaven below,

48 Is rapture-giving woman.

49Ye surly sumphs, who hate the name,

50 Be mindfu’ o’ your mither;

51She, honest woman, may think shame

52 That ye’re connected with her:

53 Ye’re wae men, ye’re nae men

54 That slight the lovely dears;

55 To shame ye, disclaim ye,

56 Ilk honest birkie swears.

57For you, no bred to barn and byre,

58Wha sweetly tune the Scottish lyre,

59 Thanks to you for your line:

60The marled plaid ye kindly spare,

61By me should gratefully be ware;

62 ’Twad please me to the nine.

63I’d be mair vauntie o’ my hap,

64 Douce hingin owre my curple,

65Than ony ermine ever lap,

66 Or proud imperial purple.

67 Farewell then, lang hale then,

68 An’ plenty be your fa;

69 May losses and crosses

70 Ne’er at your hallan ca’!R. BURNS.March, 1787