Epistle To John Maxwell, ESQ., Of Terrau
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epistle to john maxwell, esq., of terraughty on his birthday. health to the maxwell's veteran chief! health, aye unsour'd by care rief: inspir'd, i turn'd fate's sibyl leaf, this natal morn, i see thy life is stuff o' prief, scarce quite half-worn. this day thou metes threescore eleven, and i tell that bounteous heaven (the sed-sight, ye ken, is given to ilka poet) on thee a tack o' seven times seven will yet bestow it. if envious buckies view wi' sorrow thy lengthen'd days on this blest morrow, may desolation's lah'd harrow, nine miles an hour, rake them, like sodom and gomorrah, in brunstaour. but for thy friends, and they are mony, baith ho men, and lassies bonie, may couthie fortune, kind and ie, in social glee, wi' ms blythe, and e'enings funny, bless them and thee! fareweel, auld birkie! lord be near ye, and then the deil, he daurna steer ye: your friends aye love, your faes aye fear ye; for me, shame fa' me, if my heart i dinna wear ye, while burns they ca' me.