epistle to james tennant of glenconner

auldrade dear, and brither sinner,

how's a' the folk about glenconner?

how do you this blae eastlin wind,

that's like to blaw a body blind?

for me, my faculties are frozen,

my dearest member nearly dozen'd.

i've sent you here, by johnie simson,

twa sage philosophers to glimpse on;

smith, wi' his sympathetic feeling,

an' reid, tomon sense appealing.

philosophers have fought and wrangled,

an' meikle greek an' latin mangled,

till wi' their logic-jargon tir'd,

and in the depth of science mir'd,

tomon sense they now appeal,

what wives and wabsters see and feel.

but, hark ye, friend! i charge you strictly,

peruse them, an' return them quickly:

for now i'm grown sae cursed douce

i pray and ponder butt the house;

my shins, my lane, i there sit roastin',

perusing bunyan, brown, an' boston,

till by an' by, if i haud on,

i'll grunt a real gospel-groan:

already i begin to try it,

to cast my e'en up like a pyet,

when by the gun she tumbles o'er

flutt'ring an' gasping in her gore:

sae shortly you shall see me bright,

a burning an' a shining light.

my heart-warm love to guid auld glen,

the ace an' wale of honest men:

when bending down wi' auld grey hairs

beneath the load of years and cares,

may he who made him still support him,

an' views beyond the gravefort him;