and prose,
i rhyme away.
o ye douce folk that live by rule,
grave, tideless-blooded, calm an'cool,
par'd wi' you—o fool! fool! fool!
how mulike!
your hearts are just a standing pool,
your lives, a dyke!
nae hair-brain'd, seal traces
in your uer'd, nameless faces!
in arioso trills and graces
ye ray;
but gravissimo, solemn basses
ye hum away.
ye are sae grave, nae doubt ye're wise;
nae ferly tho' ye do despise
the hairum-scairum, ram-stam boys,
the rattling squad:
i see ye upward cast your eyes—
Epistle To James Smith(10/11)