Classic Poem

THE AUTHOR'S ADDRESS TO THE TOWN-COUNCIL OF EDINBURGH.

Your poet humbly means and shaws,
That contrair to just rights and laws,
I've suffer'd muckle wrang,
By Lucky Reid and ballad-singers,
Wha thumb'd with their coarse dirty fingers
Sweet Adie's funeral sang;
They spoil'd my sense, and staw my cash,
My muse's pride murgully'd;
And printing it like their vile trash,
The honest lieges whilly'd.
Thus undone, to London
It gade to my disgrace,
Sae pimpin and limpin,
In rags wi' bluther'd face.

Yet gleg-eyed friends throw the disguise
Receiv'd it as a dainty prize,
For a' it was sae hav'ren.
Gart Lintot take it to his press,
And clead it in a braw new dress,
Syne took it to the tavern.
But tho' it was made clean and braw,
Sae fair it had been knoited,
It blather'd buff before them a',
And aftentimes turn'd doited.
It griev'd me, and reav'd me
Of kindly sleep and rest,
By carlings and gorling
To be sae sair opprest.

Wherefore to you, ne'er kend to guide ill,
But wisely had the good town's bridle,
My case I plainly tell;
And, as your ain, plead I may have
Your word of weight, when now I crave
To guide my gear mysel.

Then clean and fair the type shall be,
The paper like the snaw,
Nor shall our town think shame wi' me,
When we gang far awa.
What's wanted, if granted,
Beneath your honour'd wing,
Baith hantily and cantily
Your supplicant shall sing.