Again the tone is one of affectionate familiarity:
Leeze me on rhyme! It's aye a treasure, Blessings on
My chief, amaist my only pleasure; almost
At hame, a-fiel', at wark or leisure,
The Muse, poor hizzie,
Tho' rough an' raploch be her measure, homespun
She's seldom lazy.
Haud to the Muse, my dainty Davie:
The warl' may play you monie a shavie, ill turn
But for the Muse, she'll never leave ye,