Mossgiel, October 25th.

THIS wot all ye whom it concerns,
I, rhymer Rab, alias BURNS,
October twenty-third,
A ne'er-to-be-forgotten day!
Sae far I sprackl'd up the brae,
I dinner'd wi' a Lord.

I've been at drucken Writers' feasts;
Nay, been bitch fou 'mang godly Priests;
(Wi' rev'rence be it spoken!)
I've even join'd the honour'd jorum,
When mighty Squireships of the Quorum,
Their hydra drouth did sloken.

But wi' a LORD! stand out my shin!
A LORD a PEER -an EARL's Son
Up higher yet, my bonnet!
An' such a LORD lang Scoth ell twa;
Our PEERAGE he o'er looks them a',
As I look o'er my sonnet.

But O! for Hogarth's magic pow'r,
To shew Sir Bardie's willyart glow'r,
An' how he star'd and stammer'd,
When goavin’s he ‘d been led wi' branks,
An' stumpan on his ploughman shanks,
He in the parlour hammer'd.

To meet good Stuart little pain is,
Or Scotia’s sacred Demosthenes,
Thinks I, they are but men!
But Burns, my Lord Guid God! I doited!
My knees on ane anither knoited,
As faultering I Gaed ben!

I sidling shelter'd in a neuk,
An' at his Lordship staw a look,
Like some portentous omen;
An' (what surpris'd me) MODESTY,
I marked nought uncommon.

I watch'd the symptoms o' the GREAT,
The arrogant assuming;
The fient a pride, nae pride had he,
Nor sauce, nor state, that I could see,
Mair than an honest Ploughman.

Then from his Lordship I shall learn,
Henceforth to meet with unconcern,
One rank as weel 's another;
Nae honest, worthy man need care,
To meet with noble youthful DAER,
For he but meets a BROTHER.