Ne'er fash your thumb what gods decree To be the weird o' you or me, Nor deal in cantrup's kittle cunning To spier how fast your days are running, But patient lippen for the best, Nor be in dowy thought opprest, Whether we see mair winters come Than this that spits wi canker'd foam. Now moisten weel your geyzen'd waas Wi couthy friends and hearty blaws; Ne'er lat your hope owrgang your days, For eild and thraldom never stays; The day looks gash, toot aff your horn, Nor care yae strae about the morn. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VOYAGE A L'INFINI by WALTER CONRAD ARENSBERG HOLY SONNET: ANNUNCIATION by JOHN DONNE TO SIR HENRY CARY by BEN JONSON THE BUOY-BELL by CHARLES TENNYSON TURNER THE ENTHUSIAST, OR, THE LOVER OF NATURE by JOSEPH WARTON FORTUNATUS NIMIUM by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES |