Poem by James Fisher

Epistle II. To Mr. Thomas Walker

1.

Honest Tamie, dainty chiel, 
I got your lines, whilk I loot weel,
Fu’ blythly I brak up the seal
	To get them read;
Could I Parnassus like you speel,
	I wad be glad.

2.

I wat in them were bonny words,
Some o’ whilk maist wad charm’d the birds,
An’ ither some, amaist like swords,
	Did keenly cut
The ways o’ these, I mean absurds,
	Wha wild have wrote.

3.

I waited not to look the date,
But blythly I a march did beat,
E’en straught awa, Tam, down the gate,
	Whilk ye ken weel,
And shaw’n them to our neighbour Pate,
	That couthie chiel,

4.

About the time the school did scale,
Afore the laddie got his kail,
To read them o’er he did na fail,
	An’ thought wi’ me,
That ye could tell a knacky tale
	In poetrie.

5.

Dear Tam, whare got you sic a pow?
Did it down frae Parnassus row?
An’ on your shouthers, i’ the how,
	Light wi’ a dad?
Whether or no, may ye lang clow
	The same, my lad.

6.

For deep it is like ony dungeon;
Gaed ye to Heli’s well e’er slunging?
An’ o’er the lugs fa in it plunging,
	To drink great sooth;
For sips o’ it seem to come sponging
	Out frae your mouth.

7.

Not sips, but jaus o’ wit and glee:
O man, ye’re rare at poetrie!
An’ aboon a’, ye seem to be
	Soun i’ your morals,
Coud I clim the poetic tree
	Wi’ bonny laurels.

8.

I soon wad crown thy witty pash.
Sure, Tam, gif e’er thou wert to fash,
Thou coud indeed ilk senseless hash
	Foil bra’ly souse,
That wi’ their gab cry at thee, snash,
	Or prick the louse.

9.

I say, gif e’er ye were to crab,
Ye soon coud mak’ ilk worthless bab,
Wha cries sic like, to had their gab,
	Or I’m to blame;
An’ wi’ your quill right fairly sab,
	Or blush for shame.

10.

I ken few like ye ony where,
Ye’re sic a denty chiel an’ rare –
Wi’ ony bard ye may compare
	That I do ken.
Let me, when ye hae time to spare
	Ken how ye fen.

				JAMES FISHER.

1. An Epistle to Mr. John Lapraik
2. The Devil’s Advice to Swearers
3. Epistle I. To Mr. Thomas Walker
4. On Halloween

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