Gie me ae spark o’ Nature’s fire, That’s a’ the learning I desire; Then tho’ I drudge thro’ dub an’ mire At pleugh or cart, My Muse, though hamely in attire, May touch the heart. O for a spunk o’ Allan’s glee, Or Fergusson’s, the bauld an’ slee, Or bright Lapraik’s, my friend to be, If I can hit it! That would be lear eneugh for me, If I could get it. Now, sir, if ye hae friends enow, Tho’ real friends, I b’lieve, are few, Yet, if your catalogue be fou, I’se no insist, But gif ye want ae friend that’s true, I’m on your list. I winna blaw about mysel, As ill I like my fauts to tell; But friends, an’ folks that wish me well They sometimes roose me; Tho’ I maun own, as mony still As far abuse me. There’s ae wee faut they whiles lay to me, I like the lasses—Gude forgie me; For mony a plack they wheedle frae me, At dance or fair; Maybe some ither thing they gie me They weel can spare. But Mauchline race, or Mauchline fair, I should be proud to meet you there; We’se gie ae night’s discharge to care, If we forgather, An’ hae a swap o’ rhymin’-ware Wi’ ane anither. The four-gill chap, we’se gar him clatter, An’ kirsen him wi’ reekin water; Syne we’ll sit down an’ tak our whitter, To cheer our heart; An’ faith, we’se be acquainted better Before we part. Awa, ye selfish warly race, Wha think that havins, sense, an’ grace, Ev’n love an’ friendship, should give place To catch-the-plack! I dinna like to see your face, Nor hear your crack. But ye whom social pleasure charms, Whose hearts the tide of kindness warms, Who hold your being on the terms, ‘Each aid the others,’ Come to my bowl, come to my arms, My friends, my brothers! But to conclude my lang epistle, As my auld pen’s worn to the gristle; Twa lines frae you wad gar me fissle, Who am, most fervent, While I can either sing, or whistle, Your friend and servant. THE CARDIN’ O’T I coft a stane o’ haslock woo’, To make a coat to Johnny o’t; For Johnny is my only jo, I lo’e him best of ony yet. The cardin’ o’t, the spinnin’ o’t; The warpin’ o’t, the winnin’ o’t; When ilka ell cost me a groat, The tailor staw the linin’ o’t.