We may again observe the correspondence
between the change of dialect and change of tone in stanzas nine and
ten, the increase of artificiality coming with his literary English
and culminating in the unspeakable "tenebrific scene." His humor
returns with his Scots in the last verse.
EPISTLE TO DAVIE, A BROTHER POET
While winds frae aff Ben Lomond blaw,
And bar the doors wi' driving snaw,
And hing us owre the ingle, [hang, fire]
I set me down to pass the time,
And spin a verse or twa o' rhyme,
In hamely westlin jingle. [west-country]
While frosty winds blaw in the drift,
Ben to the chimla lug, [In, chimney-corner]
I grudge a wee the great-folk's gift,
That live sae bien an' snug; [comfortable]
I tent less, and want less [value]
Their roomy fire-side;
But hanker and canker
To see their cursed pride.
It's hardly in a body's pow'r,
To keep, at times, frae being sour,
To see how things are shar'd;
How best o' chiels are whyles in want [fellows, sometimes]
While coofs on countless thousands rant [dolts, roister]
And ken na how to wair't: [spend it]
But, Davie, lad, ne'er fash your head, [trouble]
Tho' we hae little gear, [wealth]
We're fit to win our daily bread,
As lang's we're hale and fier: [lusty]
'Mair spier na, nor fear na,' [More ask not]
Auld age ne'er mind a feg; [fig]
The last o't, the warst o't,
Is only but to beg.
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