Why not, then, new things to the gnu,
And trews to Highland clansmen true?
'Twas thus your kindly thought decreed
These weeds to one who is indeed,
And feels himself, a very weed,—
A weed from which, when bruised and shent,
Though some faint perfume may be rent,
Yet oftener much without a cent.
But imp, O Muse, a stronger wing
Mount, leaving self below, and sing