Epistle To Davie, A Brother Poet
ind her where.
but tent me, davie, ace o' hearts!
(to say aught less wad wrang the cartes,
and ftt'ry i detest)
this life has joys for you and i;
an' joys that riches ne'er could buy,
an' joys the very best.
there's a' the pleasures o' the heart,
the lover an' the frien';
ye hae y, your dearest part,
and i my darling jean!
it warms me, it charms me,
to mention but her name:
it heats me, it beets me,
an' sets me a' on fme!
o all ye pow'rs who rule above!
o thou whose very self ar
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