Lines to a Gentleman who sent a Newspaper
Kind Sir, Ive read your paper through,
And faith, to me, twas really new!
How guessed ye, Sir, what maist I wanted?
This mony a day Ive graind and gaunted,
To ken what French mischief was brewin;
Or what the drumlie Dutch were doin;
That vile doup-skelper, Emperor Joseph,
If Venus yet had got his nose off;
Or how the collieshangie works
Atween the Russians and the Turks,
Or if the Swede, before he halt,
Would play anither Charles the twalt;
If Denmark, any body spak ot;
Or Poland, wha had now the tack ot:
How cut-throat Prussian blades were hingin;
How libbet Italy was singin;
If Spaniard, Portuguese, or Swiss,
Were sayin or takin aught amiss;
Or how our merry lads at hame,
In Britains court kept up the game;
How royal George, the Lord leuk oer him!
Was managing St. Stephens quorum;
If sleekit Chatham Will was livin,
Or glaikit Charlie got his nieve in;
How daddie Burke the plea was cookin,
If Warren Hastings neck was yeukin;
How cesses, stents, and fees were raxd.
Or if bare a yet were taxd;
The news o princes, dukes, and earls,
Pimps, sharpers, bawds, and opera-girls;
If that daft buckie, Geordie Wales,
Was threshing still at hizzies tails;
Or if he was grown oughtlins douser,
And no a perfect kintra cooser:
A this and mair I never heard of;
And, but for you, I might despaird of.
So, gratefu, back your news I send you,
And pray a gude things may attend you.
ELLISLAND, Monday Morning, 1790.
Poems by Robert Burns
