early,
we're frail backsliding mortals merely,
eve's bonie squad, priests wyte them sheerly
for rand fa';
but still, but still, i like them dearly—
god bless them a'!
oe for poor castalian drinkers,
when they fa' foul o' earthly jinkers!
the witg, curs'd, delicious blinkers
hae put me hyte,
and gart me weet my waukrife winkers,
wi' girnin'spite.
by by yon moon!—and that's high swearin—
an' every star within my hearin!
an' by her een wha was a dear ane!
i'll ne'er fet;
i hop
Epistle To Major Logan(4/6)