To J. Lapraik. (third Epistle.) Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: A BBBCDC EFFGFG HHHIHJ KKKLKM FFFFFF HHHNHN OPQRQR RRRRRR RRRKRK| Sept th | A |
| - | |
| - | |
| Guid speed an' furder to you Johnny | B |
| Guid health hale han's an' weather bonny | B |
| Now when ye're nickan down fu' canny | B |
| The staff o' bread | C |
| May ye ne'er want a stoup o' bran'y | D |
| To clear your head | C |
| - | |
| May Boreas never thresh your rigs | E |
| Nor kick your rickles aff their legs | F |
| Sendin' the stuff o'er muirs an' haggs | F |
| Like drivin' wrack | G |
| But may the tapmast grain that wags | F |
| Come to the sack | G |
| - | |
| I'm bizzie too an' skelpin' at it | H |
| But bitter daudin' showers hae wat it | H |
| Sae my auld stumpie pen I gat it | H |
| Wi' muckle wark | I |
| An' took my jocteleg an' whatt it | H |
| Like ony clark | J |
| - | |
| It's now twa month that I'm your debtor | K |
| For your braw nameless dateless letter | K |
| Abusin' me for harsh ill nature | K |
| On holy men | L |
| While deil a hair yoursel' ye're better | K |
| But mair profane | M |
| - | |
| But let the kirk folk ring their bells | F |
| Let's sing about our noble sel's | F |
| We'll cry nae jads frae heathen hills | F |
| To help or roose us | F |
| But browster wives an' whiskey stills | F |
| They are the muses | F |
| - | |
| Your friendship Sir I winna quat it | H |
| An' if ye mak' objections at it | H |
| Then han' in nieve some day we'll knot it | H |
| An' witness take | N |
| An' when wi' Usquabae we've wat it | H |
| It winna break | N |
| - | |
| But if the beast and branks be spar'd | O |
| Till kye be gaun without the herd | P |
| An' a' the vittel in the yard | Q |
| An' theekit right | R |
| I mean your ingle side to guard | Q |
| Ae winter night | R |
| - | |
| Then muse inspirin' aqua vit | R |
| Shall make us baith sae blythe an' witty | R |
| Till ye forget ye're auld an' gatty | R |
| An' be as canty | R |
| As ye were nine year less than thretty | R |
| Sweet ane an' twenty | R |
| - | |
| But stooks are cowpet wi' the blast | R |
| An' now the sin keeks in the west | R |
| Then I maun rin amang the rest | R |
| An' quat my chanter | K |
| Sae I subscribe myself in haste | R |
| Yours Rab the Ranter | K |
Robert Burns
(1)
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