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epistle to rs stt

gudewife of wauchope—hoe, roxburghshire

gudewife,

i d it weel early date,

when i was bardless, young, and bte,

an&039; first uld thresh the barn,

or haud a yok&039; at the pleugh;

an, tho&039; forfoughten sair eneugh,

yet un proud to learn:

when first aang the yellow rn

a an i reckon&039;d was,

an&039; wi&039; the ve ilk rry orn

uld rank y rig and ss,

still shearg, and clearg

the tither stooked raw,

wi&039; civers, an&039; haivers,

wearg the day awa

e&039;en then, a wish, (i d its pow&039;r),

a wish that to y test hour

shall strongly heave y breast,

that i for poor auld stnd&039;s sake

efu&039; pn or book uld ake,

or sg a sang at least

the rough burr-thistle, spreadg wide

aang the bearded bear,

i turn&039;d the weeder-clips aside,

an&039; spar&039;d the sybol dear:

no nation, no station,

y envy e&039;er uld raise;

a st still, but blot still,

i knew nae higher praise

but still the elents o&039; sang,

forless juble, right an&039; wrang,

wild floated y bra;

&039;till on that har&039;st i said before,

ay partner the rry re,

she ro&039;d the forg stra;

i see her yet, the nsie ean,

that lighted up y jgle,

her witchg sile, her pawky een

that gart y heart-strgs tgle;

i fired, spired,

at every kdlg keek,

but bashg, and dashg,

i feared aye to speak

health to the sex! ilk guid chiel says:

wi&039; rry dance ter days,

an&039; we to share on;

the gt o&039; joy, the bal of woe,

the saul o&039; life, the heaven below,

is rapture-givg woan

ye surly suphs, who hate the na,

be dfu&039; o&039; your ither;

she, honest woan, ay thk sha

that ye&039;re nnected with her:

ye&039;re wae n