i rhyme for fun.
the star that rules my luckless lot,
has fated me the russet coat,
an' damn'd my fortuo the groat;
but, i,
has blest me with a random-shot
o'tra wit.
this while my notion's taen a sklent,
to try my fate in guid, bck prent;
but still the mair i'm that way bent,
something cries “hooklie!”
i red you, ho man, tak tent?
ye'll shaw your folly;
“there's ither poets, much your betters,
far seen in greek, deep men o' letters,
hae thought they had ensur'd their debtors,
a' future
Epistle To James Smith(3/11)