Robert Burns (1759–1796). Poems and Songs.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.

301 . Lines to a Gentleman who sent a Newspaper

KIND Sir, I’ve read your paper through,

And faith, to me, ’twas really new!

How guessed ye, Sir, what maist I wanted?

This mony a day I’ve grain’d 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 o’t;

Or Poland, wha had now the tack o’t:

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 Britain’s court kept up the game;

How royal George, the Lord leuk o’er him!

Was managing St. Stephen’s quorum;

If sleekit Chatham Will was livin,

Or glaikit Charlie got his nieve in;

How daddie Burke the plea was cookin,

If Warren Hasting’s neck was yeukin;

How cesses, stents, and fees were rax’d.

Or if bare a—— yet were tax’d;

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 despair’d of.

So, gratefu’, back your news I send you,

And pray a’ gude things may attend you.

ELLISLAND, Monday Morning, 1790.