Post 14: Robert Burns Supper and Extra Credit
Epistle to a Young Friend. May, 1786 I lang hae thought, my youthfu’ friend, A Something to have sent you, Tho’ it should serve nae other end Than just a kind memento; But how the subject theme may gang, Let time and chance determine; Perhaps it may turn out a Sang; Perhaps, turn out a Sermon. Ye’ll try the world soon my lad, And Andrew dear believe me, Ye’ll find mankind an unco squad, And muckle they may grieve ye; For care and trouble set your thought, Ev’n when your end’s attained; And a’ your views may come to nought, Where ev’ry nerve is strained. I’ll no say, men are villains a’; The real, harden’d wicked, Wha hae nae check but human law, Are to a few restricked: But Och, mankind are unco weak, An’ little to be trusted; If Self the wavering balance shake, It’s rarely right adjusted Yet they wha fa’ in Fortune’s strife, Their fate we should na censure, For still th’ important end of life, They equally may answer: A man may hae an honest heart, Tho’ Poortith hourly stare