To Burns’s praise.
Did Addison or Pope but hear,
Or Sam, that critic most severe,
A plough-boy sing, wi’ throat sae clear,
They, in a rage,
Their works wad a’ in pieces tear
An’ curse your page.
If I should strain my rupy throat,
To raise thy praise wi’ swelling note,
My rude, unpolish’d strokes wad blot