by square an' rule,
but, as the clegs o' feeling stang,
are wise or fool.
my hand-waled curse keep hard in chase
the harpy, hoodock, purse-proud race,
wha t on poortith as disgrace;
their tuneless hearts,
may fireside discords jar a base
to a' their parts.
but e, your hand, my careless brither,
i' th' ither warl', if there's anither,
an' that there is, i've little swither
about the matter;
we, cheek for chow, shall jog thegither,
i'se ne'er bid better.
we've faults and failings—granted cl
Epistle To Major Logan(3/6)