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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=116564" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Epistle to Mrs. Scott</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Gudewife of Wauchope-House, Roxburghshire</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Gudewife,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I Mind it weel in early date,<br>When I was bardless, young, and blate,<br>An' first could thresh the barn,<br>Or haud a yokin' at the pleugh;<br>An, tho' forfoughten sair eneugh,<br>Yet unco proud to learn:<br>When first amang the yellow corn<br>A man I reckon'd was,<br>An' wi' the lave ilk merry morn<br>Could rank my rig and lass,<br>Still shearing, and clearing<br>The tither stooked raw,<br>Wi' claivers, an' haivers,<br>Wearing the day awa.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">E'en then, a wish, (I mind its pow'r),<br>A wish that to my latest hour<br>Shall strongly heave my breast,<br>That I for poor auld Scotland's sake<br>Some usefu' plan or book could make,<br>Or sing a sang at least.<br>The rough burr-thistle, spreading wide<br>Amang the bearded bear,<br>I turn'd the weeder-clips aside,<br>An' spar'd the symbol dear:<br>No nation, no station,<br>My envy e'er could raise;<br>A Scot still, but blot still,<br>I knew nae higher praise.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But still the elements o' sang,<br>In formless jumble, right an' wrang,<br>Wild floated in my brain;<br>'Till on that har'st I said before,<br>May partner in the merry core,<br>She rous'd the forming strain;<br>I see her yet, the sonsie quean,<br>That lighted up my jingle,<br>Her witching smile, her pawky een<br>That gart my heart-strings tingle;<br>I fired, inspired,<br>At every kindling keek,<br>But bashing, and dashing,<br>I feared aye to speak.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Health to the sex! ilk guid chiel says:<br>Wi' merry dance in winter days,<br>An' we to share in common;<br>The gust o' joy, the balm of woe,<br>The saul o' life, the heaven below,<br>Is rapture-giving woman.<br>Ye surly sumphs, who hate the name,<br>Be mindfu' o' your mither;<br>She, honest woman, may think shame<br>That ye're connected with her:<br>Ye're wae men, ye're nae men<br>That slight the lovely dears;<br>To shame ye, disclaim ye,<br>Ilk honest birkie swears.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For you, no bred to barn and byre,<br>Wha sweetly tune the Scottish lyre,<br>Thanks to you for your line:<br>The marled plaid ye kindly spare,<br>By me should gratefully be ware;<br>'Twad please me to the nine.<br>I'd be mair vauntie o' my hap,<br>Douce hingin owre my curple,<br>Than ony ermine ever lap,<br>Or proud imperial purple.<br>Farewell then, lang hale then,<br>An' plenty be your fa;<br>May losses and crosses<br>Ne'er at your hallan ca'!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Robert+Burns">Robert Burns</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=116564" data-title="Epistle to Mrs. Scott de Robert Burns" data-description="Gudewife of Wauchope-House, Roxburghshire/Gudewife,/I Mind it weel in early date,/When I was bardless, young, and blate,/An' first could thresh the barn,/Or haud a yokin' at the pleugh;/An, tho' forfoughten sair eneugh,/Yet unco proud to learn:/Wh..."></div>
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