Heh ma! Ye little ken my bonnie wee lassie, what an unco thing it is to me to clink my words we rhyme — in truth it was sic easy wark, to gar them till my thoughts [???] in common plain prose — when my heart wad be speaking. And my heart wad fain speak if it could find guid language to make it understood — for I feel a’the kindness o’ the guid hearts that tried to life up ane who kens right wae she ahd nae pretensions agant what benevolence is aye ready to allow — and ye my ain dear lassie; possessing that same spirit — I doubt, mistake it for approval, when you profess to like could kale, and bid me send anitther dish o’t — Ohon! it cannot be that an English palate can relish a scotch haggis and no that the Gentle Shepherds who used to furnish saie monie dainties for the Norlands and the Southlands frae the bonnie banks of the Tay, the Tweed, and the Tiviot are nae mair — and the melody of the sweet Pipe of air has ceased for ever — Ye maun gang to Wyoming, to Flodden Field, or Benvenue before you can get anything from poor Calidonia worthy a place in the Attic Chest.
Jess Macfarland
wha cou’d nae read
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