AN ADDRESS TO THE UNCO GUID, OR THE My son, these maxims make a rule, The Rigid Wise anither: The cleanest corn that e'er was dight Oн ye wha are sae guid yoursel', Ye've nought to do but mark and tell Your neebour's fauts and folly! Whase life is like a weel-gaun mill, Supplied wi' store o' water, good 60 neighbour's faults whose, well-going hopper The heaped happer's ebbing still, Then gently scan your brother man, Still gentler sister woman; Though they may gang a kennin' wrang, To step aside is human: One point must still be greatly dark, The moving why they do it: And just as lamely can ye mark How far perhaps they rue it. quick motion great go, trifle Who made the heart, 'tis He alone He knows each chord-its various tone, Then at the balance let's be mute, What's done we partly may compute, But know not what's resisted. THE INVENTORY. IN ANSWER TO A MANDATE BY THE SURVEYOR OF THE TAXES. SIR, as your mandate did request, I send you here a faithfu' list O' gudes and gear, and a' my graith, Imprimis, then, for carriage cattle, riches, harness oath plough-stick stout Kilmarnock once behoved trick right horse behind, worthy plough, harnessed If he be spared to be a beast, Three carts, and twa are feckly new; For men I've three mischievous boys, Run WILD for rantin' and for noise; A gaudsman ane, a thrasher t'other, wild besides, colt, choice pounds nearly one both, shafts burnt, wheel ploughman one Wee Davock hauds the nowt in fother. keeps, cattle, fodder I rule them, as I ought, discreetly, belabour alway examine + Left horse behind. I on the Questions targe them tightly; TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY, ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH IN APRIL 1786. WEE, modest, crimson-tippèd flower, Thou's met me in an evil hour; To spare thee now is past my power, Alas! it's no thy neibor sweet, must, dust ardens yield, va's maun shield: wed cold glanced walls manst shelter de the heart, 'tis He alone BURNS' POEMS. s various bius: Let's be mute, chord-its various tone, ompute, TAXES Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, Such fate to suffering worth is given, Till wrenched of every stay but Heaven, Even thoa who mourn'st the Daisy's fate, Till crushed beneath the furrow's weight, Till, faith, wee Davock's turned sae gleg, Wi' weans I'm mair than weel contented, quick taller repeat, off children one more My sonsie, smirking, dear-bought Bess, stout, good-natured She stares the daddy in her face, Enough of ought ye like but grace; And now, remember, Mr Aiken, This list wi' my ain hand I've wrote it, MOSSGIEL, February 22, 1786. walk book look ROBERT BURNS. THOU flattering mark of friendship kind, The dear, the beauteous Donor: She showed her taste refined and just Yet deviating own I must, In sae approving me; But kind still, I'll mind still The Giver in the gift I'll bless her, and wiss her wish above, sky TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY, ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH IN APRIL 1786. WEE, modest, crimson-tippèd flower, Thou's met me in an evil hour; Thy slender stein: To spare thee now is past my power, Alas! it's no thy neibor sweet, must, dust |