To J. Lapraik. - An Old Scottish Bard. (first Epistle.) Poem Rhyme Scheme

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April st	A
	-
While briers an' woodbines budding green	B
An' paitricks scraichin' loud at e'en	C
An' morning poussie whidden seen	B
Inspire my muse	D
This freedom in an unknown frien'	B
I pray excuse	E
	-
On Fasten een we had a rockin'	B
To ca' the crack and weave our stockin'	B
And there was muckle fun an' jokin'	B
Ye need na doubt	F
At length we had a hearty yokin'	B
At sang about	F
	-
There was ae sang amang the rest	G
Aboon them a' it pleas'd me best	G
That some kind husband had addrest	G
To some sweet wife	H
It thirl'd the heart strings thro' the breast	G
A' to the life	H
	-
I've scarce heard aught describ'd sae weel	I
What gen'rous manly bosoms feel	I
Thought I Can this be Pope or Steele	I
Or Beattie's wark	J
They told me 'twas an odd kind chiel	I
About Muirkirk	J
	-
It pat me fidgin fain to hear't	G
And sae about him there I spier't	G
Then a' that ken't him round declar'd	G
He had injine	B
That nane excell'd it few cam near't	G
It was sae fine	B
	-
That set him to a pint of ale	I
An' either douce or merry tale	I
Or rhymes an' sangs he'd made himsel'	I
Or witty catches	K
'Tween Inverness and Tiviotdale	I
He had few matches	K
	-
Then up I gat an' swoor an aith	L
Tho' I should pawn my pleugh and graith	L
Or die a cadger pownie's death	L
At some dyke back	J
A pint an' gill I'd gie them baith	L
To hear your crack	J
	-
But first an' foremost I should tell	I
Amaist as soon as I could spell	I
I to the crambo jingle fell	I
Tho' rude an' rough	M
Yet crooning to a body's sel'	I
Does weel eneugh	M
	-
I am nae poet in a sense	N
But just a rhymer like by chance	O
An' hae to learning nae pretence	O
Yet what the matter	P
Whene'er my Muse does on me glance	O
I jingle at her	P
	-
Your critic folk may cock their nose	O
And say How can you e'er propose	O
You wha ken hardly verse frae prose	O
To mak a sang	J
But by your leaves my learned foes	O
Ye're may be wrang	J
	-
What's a' your jargon o' your schools	O
Your Latin names for horns an' stools	O
If honest nature made you fools	O
What sairs your grammars	O
Ye'd better taen up spades and shools	O
Or knappin hammers	O
	-
A set o' dull conceited hashes	O
Confuse their brains in college classes	O
They gang in stirks and come out asses	O
Plain truth to speak	J
An' syne they think to climb Parnassus	O
By dint o' Greek	J
	-
Gie me ae spark o' Nature's fire	P
That's a' the learning I desire	P
Then though I drudge thro' dub an' mire	Q
At pleugh or cart	G
My muse though hamely in attire	P
May touch the heart	G
	-
O for a spunk o' Allan's glee	I
Or Fergusson's the bauld and slee	I
Or bright Lapraik's my friend to be	I
If I can hit it	G
That would be lear eneugh for me	I
If I could get it	G
	-
Now sir if ye hae friends enow	B
Tho' real friends I b'lieve are few	M
Yet if your catalogue be fou	M
I'se no insist	G
But gif ye want ae friend that's true	M
I'm on your list	G
	-
I winna blaw about mysel	I
As ill I like my fauts to tell	I
But friends an' folk that wish me well	I
They sometimes roose me	I
Tho' I maun own as monie still	I
As far abuse me	I
	-
There's ae wee faut they whiles lay to me	I
I like the lasses Gude forgie me	I
For monie a plack they wheedle frae me	I
At dance or fair	R
May be some ither thing they gie me	I
They weel can spare	R
	-
But Mauchline race or Mauchline fair	R
I should be proud to meet you there	R
We'se gie ae night's discharge to care	R
If we forgather	R
An' hae a swap o' rhymin' ware	R
Wi' ane anither	R
	-
The four gill chap we'se gar him clatter	R
An' kirsen him wi' reekin' water	R
Syne we'll sit down an' tak our whitter	R
To cheer our heart	G
An' faith we'se be acquainted better	R
Before we part	G
	-
Awa ye selfish warly race	O
Wha think that havins sense an' grace	O
Ev'n love an' friendship should give place	O
To catch the plack	J
I dinna like to see your face	O
Nor hear your crack	J
	-
But ye whom social pleasure charms	O
Whose hearts the tide of kindness warms	O
Who hold your being on the terms	O
Each aid the others	O
Come to my bowl come to my arms	O
My friends my brothers	O
	-
But to conclude my lang epistle	I
As my auld pen's worn to the grissle	I
Twa lines frae you wad gar me fissle	I
Who am most fervent	G
While I can either sing or whissle	I
Your friend and servant	G

Robert Burns

To J. Lapraik. - An Old Scottish Bard. (first Epistle.) Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

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