First printed in 1789 by David Sillar, in his own collection of poems.
AULD NIBOR, old neighbour
I’m three times, doubly, o’er your debtor,
For your auld-farrant, frien’ly letter; old-fashioned
Tho’ I maun say’t, I doubt ye flatter, shall/must
5 Ye speak sae fair; so
For my puir, silly, rhymin’ clatter poor, noise
Some less maun sair. must, serve
Hale be your heart, hale be your fiddle;
Lang may your elbuck jink an’ diddle, elbow, move fast, jig
10 To cheer you thro’ the weary widdle struggle
O’ war’ly cares, worldly
Till bairns’ bairns kindly cuddle children’s children
Your auld grey hairs. old
But DAVIE, lad, I’m red ye’re glaikit; informed, careless/foolish
15 I’m tauld the MUSE ye hae negleckit; told, have, neglected
An’ gif it’s sae, ye sud be lickit if, so, should, beaten
Until ye fyke; fidget
Sic hauns as you sud ne’er be faiket, such hands, should, excused
Be hain’t wha like. spared
20 For me, I’m on Parnassus brink,
Rivin the words to gar them clink; tearing at, make, rhyme
Whyles daez’t wi’ love, whyles daez’t wi’ drink, sometimes dazed
Wi’ jads or masons; lasses
An’ whyles, but ay owre late, I think, sometimes, always over
25 Braw sober lessons. fine
Of a’ the thoughtless sons o’ man,
Commen’ me to the Bardie clan; commend
Except it be some idle plan
O’ rhymin clink, noise
30 The devil-haet, that I sud ban, -have it/should
They never think.
Nae thought, nae view, nae scheme o’ livin’, no,
Nae cares to gie us joy or grievin’, no, give
But just the pouchie put the nieve in, pocket, hand/fist
35 An’ while ought’s there,
Then, hiltie, skiltie, we gae scrivin’, helter-skelter, go writing
An’ fash nae mair. trouble/bother no more
Leeze me on rhyme! It’s ay a treasure, commend me to/give me
My chief, amaist my only pleasure, almost
40 At hame, a-fiel’, at wark or leisure, home, in the field, work
The Muse, poor hizzie! hussy
Tho’ rough an’ raploch be her measure, coarse
She’s seldom lazy.
Haud to the Muse, my dainty Davie: hold
45 The warl’ may play you [monie] a shavie; world, many, trick
But for the Muse, she’ll never leave ye,
Tho’ e’er sae puir, so poor
Na, even tho’ limpan wi’ the spavie no, spavin/worn joints
Frae door to door. from
Although this first appeared courtesy of David Sillar it did not enter the Burns canon until published by Dr James Currie in 1800. Sillar’s own volume appeared in 1789, but the poem by Burns is generally dated to the 1785 period. It is an epistle in colloquial language written to encourage a friend to keep writing poetry. See the first Epistle to Davie for notes on David Sillar.