Nocht paid, I saw, save arrogant abuse.
“Blind fule,” I cried, “to fling your pearls to swine.
Awa’ wi’ dreams o’ laurell’d days divine!
Bid Fame guid-bye, and a’ sic feckless trash,—
Henceforth write naething but what brings ye cash.”
I glower’d about for something worth my while—
Some thing held dear—on whilk to “spew” my bile,
An’ fixt my e’e upo’ a certain bard,
Syne bocht a Jamieson, an’ studied hard;
An’ wha that hears me the vernacular speak