A
DEDICATION
TO
G****
H*******
Esq
;
EXPECT
na
,
Sir
,
in
this
narration
,
A
fleechan
,
fleth'ran
Dedication
,
To
roose
you
up
,
an'
ca'
you
guid
,
An'
sprung
o'
great
an'
noble
bluid
;
Because
ye're
sirnam'd
like
His
Grace
,
Perhaps
related
to
the
race
:
Then
when
I'm
tir'd
—
and
sae
are
ye
,
Wi'
monie
a
fulsome
,
sinfu'
lie
,
Set
up
a
face
,
how
I
stop
short
,
For
fear
your
modesty
be
hurt
.
This
may
do
—
maun
do
,
Sir
,
wi'
them
wha
Maun
please
the
Great-folk
for
a
wamefou
;
For
me
!
sae
Iaigh
I
need
na
bow
,
For
,
LORD
be
thanket
,
I
can
plough
;
And
when
I
downa
yoke
a
naig
,
Then
,
LORD
be
thanket
,
I
can
beg
;
Sae
I
shall
say
,
an'
that's
nae
flatt'rin
,
It's
just
sic
Poet
an'
sic
Patron
.
The
Poet
,
some
guid
Angel
help
him
,
Or
else
,
I
fear
,
some
ill
ane
skelp
him
!
He
may
do
weel
for
a'
he's
done
yet
,
But
only
—
he's
no
just
begun
yet
.
The
Patron
,
(
Sir
,
ye
maun
forgie
me
,
I
winna
lie
,
come
what
will
o'
me
)
On
ev'ry
hand
it
will
allow'd
be
,
He's
just
—
nae
better
than
he
should
be
.
I
readily
and
freely
grant
,
He
downa
see
a
poor
man
want
;
What's
no
his
ain
,
he
winna
tak
it
;
What
ance
he
says
,
he
winna
break
it
;
Ought
he
can
lend
he'll
no
refus't
,
Till
aft
his
guidness
is
abus'd
;
And
rascals
whyles
that
do
him
wrang
,
Ev'n
that
,
he
does
na
mind
it
lang
:
As
Master
,
Landlord
,
Husband
,
Father
,
He
does
na
fail
his
part
in
either
.
But
then
,
nae
thanks
to
him
for
a'
that
;
Nae
godly
symptom
ye
can
ca'
that
;
It's
naething
but
a
milder
feature
,
Of
our
poor
,
sinfu'
,
corrupt
Nature
:
Ye'll
get
the
best
o'
moral
works
,
'Mang
black
Gentoos
,
and
Pagan
Turks
,
Or
Hunters
wild
on
Ponotaxi
,
Wha
never
heard
of
Orth-d-xy
.
That
he's
the
poor
man's
friend
in
need
,
The
GENTLEMAN
in
word
and
deed
,
It's
no
through
terror
of
D-mn-t-n
;
It's
just
a
carnal
inclination
,
And
Och
!
that's
nae
r-g-n-r-t-n
!
Morality
,
thou
deadly
bane
,
Thy
tens
o'
thousands
thou
hast
slain
!
Vain
is
his
hope
,
whase
slay
an'
trust
is
,
In
moral
Mercy
,
Truth
and
Justice
!
No
—
stretch
a
point
to
catch
a
plack
;
Abuse
a
Brother
to
his
back
;
Steal
thro'
the
winnock
frae
a
wh-re
,
But
point
the
Rake
that
taks
the
door
;
Be
to
the
Poor
like
onie
whunstane
,
And
haud
their
noses
to
the
grunstane
;
Ply
ev'ry
art
o'
legal
thieving
;
No
matter
—
stick
to
sound
believing
.
Learn
three-mile
pray'rs
,
an'
half-mile
graces
,
Wi'
weel
spread
looves
,
an'
lang
,
wry
faces
;
Grunt
up
a
solemn
,
lengthen'd
groan
,
And
damn
a'
Parties
but
your
own
;
I'll
warrant
then
,
ye're
nae
Deceiver
,
A
steady
,
sturdy
,
staunch
Believer
.
O
ye
wha
leave
the
springs
o'
C-lv-n
,
For
gumlie
dubs
of
your
ain
delvin
!
Ye
sons
of
Heresy
and
Error
,
Ye'll
some
day
squeel
in
quaking
terror
!
When
Vengeance
draws
the
sword
in
wrath
,
And
in
the
fire
throws
the
sheath
;
When
Ruin
,
with
his
sweeping
besom
,
Just
frets
till
Heav'n
commission
gies
him
;
While
o'er
the
Harp
pale
Misery
moans
,
And
strikes
the
ever-deep'ning
tones
,
Still
louder
shrieks
,
and
heavier
groans
!
Your
pardon
,
Sir
,
for
this
digression
,
I
maist
forgat
my
Dedication
;
But
when
Divinity
comes
cross
me
,
My
readers
then
are
sure
to
lose
me
.
So
Sir
,
you
see
'twas
nae
daft
vapour
,
But
I
maturely
thought
it
proper
,
When
a'
my
works
I
did
review
,
To
dedicate
them
,
Sir
,
to
YOU
:
Because
(
ye
need
na
tak
it
ill
)
I
thought
them
something
like
yoursel
.
Then
patronize
them
wvi'
your
favor
,
And
your
Petitioner
shall
ever
—
I
had
amaist
said
,
ever
pray
,
But
that's
a
word
I
need
na
say
:
For
prayin
I
hae
little
skill
o't
;
I'm
baith
dead-sweer
,
an'
wretched
ill
o't
;
But
I'se
repeat
each
poor
man's
pray'r
,
That
kens
or
hears
about
you
,
Sir
—
'
May
ne'er
Misfortune's
gowling
bark
,
'
Howl
thro'
the
dwelling
o'
the
CLERK
!
'
May
ne'er
his
gen'rous
,
honest
heart
,
'
For
that
same
gen'rous
spirit
smart
!
'
May
K******'s
far-honor'd
name
'
Lang
beet
his
hymeneal
flame
,
'
Till
H*******'s
,
at
least
a
diz'n
,
'
Are
frae
their
nuptial
labors
risen
:
'
Five
bonie
Lasses
round
their
table
,
'
And
sev'n
brave
fellows
,
stout
an'
able
,
'
To
serve
their
King
an'
Country
weel
,
'
By
word
,
or
pen
,
or
pointed
steel
!
'
May
Health
and
Peace
,
with
mutual
rays
,
'
Shine
on
the
ev'ning
o'
his
days
;
'
Till
his
wee
,
curlie
John's
ier-oe
,
'
When
ebbing
life
nae
mair
shall
flow
,
'
The
last
,
sad
,
mournful
rites
bestow
!
'
I
will
not
wind
a
lang
conclusion
,
With
complimentary
effusion
:
But
whilst
your
wishes
and
endeavours
,
Are
blest
with
Fortune's
smiles
and
favours
,
I
am
,
Dear
Sir
,
with
zeal
most
fervent
,
Your
much
indebted
,
humble
servant
.
But
if
,
which
Pow'rs
above
prevent
,
That
iron-hearted
Carl
,
Want
,
Attended
,
in
his
grim
advances
,
By
sad
mistakes
,
and
black
mischances
,
While
hopes
,
and
joys
,
and
pleasures
fly
him
;
Make
you
as
poor
a
dog
as
I
am
,
Your
humble
servant
then
no
more
;
For
who
would
humbly
serve
the
Poor
?
But
by
a
poor
man's
hopes
in
Heav'n
!
While
recollection's
pow'r
is
giv'n
,
If
,
in
the
vale
of
humble
life
,
The
victim
sad
of
Fortune's
strife
,
I
,
through
the
tender-gushing
tear
,
Should
recognise
my
Master
dear
,
If
friendless
,
low
,
we
meet
together
,
Then
,
Sir
,
your
hand
—
my
FRIEND
and
BROTHER
.