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May—, 1786.
I LANG hae thought, my youthfu’ friend, | |
| A something to have sent you, | |
| Tho’ it should serve nae ither end | |
| Than just a kind memento: | |
| But how the subject-theme may gang, | 5 |
| Let time and chance determine; | |
| Perhaps it may turn out a sang: | |
| Perhaps turn out a sermon. | |
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| Ye’ll try the world soon, my lad; | |
| And, Andrew dear, believe me, | 10 |
| Ye’ll find mankind an unco squad, | |
| And muckle they may grieve ye: | |
| For care and trouble set your thought, | |
| Ev’n when your end’s attained; | |
| And a’ your views may come to nought, | 15 |
| Where ev’ry nerve is strained. | |
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| I’ll no say, men are villains a’; | |
| The real, harden’d wicked, | |
| Wha hae nae check but human law, | |
| Are to a few restricked; | 20 |
| But, Och! mankind are unco weak, | |
| An’ little to be trusted; | |
| If self the wavering balance shake, | |
| It’s rarely right adjusted! | |
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| Yet they wha fa’ in fortune’s strife, | 25 |
| Their fate we shouldna censure; | |
| For still, th’ important end of life | |
| They equally may answer; | |
| A man may hae an honest heart, | |
| Tho’ poortith hourly stare him; | 30 |
| A man may tak a neibor’s part, | |
| Yet hae nae cash to spare him. | |
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| Aye free, aff-han’, your story tell, | |
| When wi’ a bosom crony; | |
| But still keep something to yoursel’, | 35 |
| Ye scarcely tell to ony: | |
| Conceal yoursel’ as weel’s ye can | |
| Frae critical dissection; | |
| But keek thro’ ev’ry other man, | |
| Wi’ sharpen’d, sly inspection. | 40 |
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| The sacred lowe o’ weel-plac’d love, | |
| Luxuriantly indulge it; | |
| But never tempt th’ illicit rove, | |
| Tho’ naething should divulge it: | |
| I waive the quantum o’ the sin, | 45 |
| The hazard of concealing; | |
| But, Och! it hardens a’ within, | |
| And petrifies the feeling! | |
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| To catch dame Fortune’s golden smile, | |
| Assiduous wait upon her; | 50 |
| And gather gear by ev’ry wile | |
| That’s justified by honour; | |
| Not for to hide it in a hedge, | |
| Nor for a train attendant; | |
| But for the glorious privilege | 55 |
| Of being independent. | |
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| The fear o’ hell’s a hangman’s whip, | |
| To haud the wretch in order; | |
| But where ye feel your honour grip, | |
| Let that aye be your border; | 60 |
| Its slightest touches, instant pause— | |
| Debar a’ side-pretences; | |
| And resolutely keep its laws, | |
| Uncaring consequences. | |
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| The great Creator to revere, | 65 |
| Must sure become the creature; | |
| But still the preaching cant forbear, | |
| And ev’n the rigid feature: | |
| Yet ne’er with wits profane to range, | |
| Be complaisance extended; | 70 |
| An atheist-laugh’s a poor exchange | |
| For Deity offended! | |
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| When ranting round in pleasure’s ring, | |
| Religion may be blinded; | |
| Or if she gie a random sting, | 75 |
| It may be little minded; | |
| But when on life we’re tempest driv’n— | |
| A conscience but a canker— | |
| A correspondence fix’d wi’ Heav’n, | |
| Is sure a noble anchor! | 80 |
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| Adieu, dear, amiable youth! | |
| Your heart can ne’er be wanting! | |
| May prudence, fortitude, and truth, | |
| Erect your brow undaunting! | |
| In ploughman phrase, “God send you speed,” | 85 |
| Still daily to grow wiser; | |
| And may ye better reck the rede, | |
| Then ever did th’ adviser! | |
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