Verses to a Stationer
A Present perhaps ye'll conclude this to be,
But open't and keek down the brink—
Surpris'd ye're nae doubt at a message sae wee,
A dorty bit bottlie for ink.
Yet sma' tho' it seem, 'tis a manifest truth,
That Castles frae out o't hae risen,
An' claughins, an' mountains, maun start frae its mouth,
An' Critics in mony a stern dozen.
Then since sic a terrible squad's to be drawn,
Siccan thrangs o' corruption an' evil;
Let the liquor, gude Sir, that ye sen' owre the lawn,
Be as smooth, an' as black as the d—l.
But open't and keek down the brink—
Surpris'd ye're nae doubt at a message sae wee,
A dorty bit bottlie for ink.
Yet sma' tho' it seem, 'tis a manifest truth,
That Castles frae out o't hae risen,
An' claughins, an' mountains, maun start frae its mouth,
An' Critics in mony a stern dozen.
Then since sic a terrible squad's to be drawn,
Siccan thrangs o' corruption an' evil;
Let the liquor, gude Sir, that ye sen' owre the lawn,
Be as smooth, an' as black as the d—l.
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