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TO ROBERT BURNS.
I wish ye mony a happy year,
Wi' routh o' fame and walth o' gear,
Abundant health to crown your cheer,
            An' a' that's good;
I wad be glad frae you to hear
            In merry mood.

To Robert Burns.

There was an impression abroad during one period of Burns' career, that his rustic manners were assumed, and that the statement of his being a plain, untutored ploughman was a mere trick of the trade.

"'Tis education makes the genius bright."

Rab, when ye crack about the nine,
And how to you they hae been kin',
By helpin' ay your day to shine
      Wi' weel waled wordies,
Then ye work up a tale o'er fine
      For Scottish worthies.

Though prints, newspapers, and reviews,
Frae time to time may still you rooze,
And say ye're heaven-taught, and your views
      Are unco fair,
And a' your ain, gi'en by the muse
      On banks o' Ayr.

In faith, for a' the sough you've made
I doubt ye are some sleeket blade
That never handled shool, or spade,
      Or huik, or plough,
But, for bauld ends, would hae that said
      For praise to you.

You've surely noticed this yoursel'—
Afore we read we ay maun spell,
An' till cock-chuckie brak' the spell
      Whar he is hidden,
He canna craw a momin' knell
      Upo' the middin.

If grain ye t'ither month did saw,
Ye ken, a while 'twas smoored in snaw,

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