LXXIII. [These lines seem to owe their origin to the precept of Mickle. "The present moment is our ain, HERE'S a bottle and an honest friend! What his share may be o' care, man? And comes not ay when sought, man. LXXIV. [The sentiment which these lines express, was one familiar to Burns, in the early, as well as concluding days of his life.] THOUGH fickle Fortune has deceived me, She promis'd fair and perform'd but ill; Of mistress, friends, and wealth bereav'd me, Yet I bear a heart shall support me still. I'll act with prudence as far's I'm able, LXXV. TO JOHN KENNEDY. [The John Kennedy to whom these verses and the succeeding lines were addressed, lived, in 1796, at Dumfrieshouse, and his taste was so much esteemed by the poet, that he submitted his "Cotter's Saturday Night" and the "Mountain Daisy" to his judgment: he seems to have been of a social disposition.] Now, Kennedy, if foot or horse And down the gate in faith they're worse It's no I like to sit an' swallow, And spunkie ance to make us mellow, Now if ye're ane o' warl's folk, Wi' you nae friendship I will troke, But if, as I'm informed weel, Come, Sir, here's tae you! Hae, there's my haun, I wiss you weel, And gude be wi' you. ROBERT BUrness. Mossgiel, 3 March, 1786. LXXVI. TO JOHN KENNEDY. FAREWELL, dear friend! may guid luck hit you, May nane believe him! Good Lord deceive him! R. B. Kilmarnock, August, 1786 LXXVII. [Cromek found these characteristic lines among the poet's papers.] THERE's naethin like the honest nappy! 'Tween morn an' morn As them wha like to taste the drappie In glass or horn? THOU flattering work of friendship kind, Still may thy pages call to mind The dear, the beauteous donor; Though sweetly female every part, Yet such a head, and more the heart, Does both the sexes honour. She showed her taste refined and just, When she selected thee, Yet deviating, own I must, For so approving me! But kind still, I'll mind still I'll bless her, and wiss her A Friend above the Lift. Mossgiel, April, 1786. LXXIX. TO THE MEN AND BRETHREN OF THE MASONIC LODGE AT TARBOLTON. WITHIN your dear mansion may wayward contention, Or withering envy ne'er enter: May secrecy round be the mystical bound, Come bumpers high, express your joy, My foes be strang, and friends be slack, May woman on him turn her back, LXXXI. PRAYER FOR ADAM ARMOUR. [The origin of this prayer is curious. In 1785, the maid-servant of an innkeeper at Mauchline, having been caught in what old ballad-makers delicately call “the deed of shame," Adam Armour, the brother of the poet's bonnie Jean, with one or two more of his comrades, executed a rustic act of justice upon her, by parading her perforce through the village, placed on a rough, unpruned piece of wood : an unpleasant ceremony, vulgarly called "Riding the Stang." This was resented by Geordie and Nanse, the girl's master and mistress : law was resorted to, and as Adam had to hide till the matter was settled, he durst not venture home till late on the Saturday nights. In one of these home-comings he met Burns, who laughed when he heard the story, and said, "You have need of some one to pray for you." "No one can do that better than yourself," was the reply, and this humorous intercession was made on the instant, and, as it is said, "clean off loof." From Adam Armour I obtained the verses, and when he wrote them out, he told the story in which the prayer originated.] LORD, pity me, for I am little, An elf of mischief and of mettle, That can like ony wabster's shuttle, Jink there or here, Though scarce as lang's a gude kale-whittle, I'm unco queer. II. LUCKLESS FORTUNE. [These lines, as Burns informs us, were written to a tune of his own composing, consisting of three parts, and the words were the echo of the air.] O RAGING fortune's withering blast IV. TIBBIE, I HAE SEEN THE DAY. Tune-"Invercald's Reel." [The Tibbie who "spak na, but gaed by like stoure," was, it is said, the daughter of a man who was laird of three acres of peatmoss, and thought it became her to put on airs in consequence.]· CHORUS. O Tibbie, I hae seen the day, I. YESTREEN I met you on the moor, |