Auld chuckieReekie’s^1sairdistrest,
Down droops her anceweel burnish’d crest,
Nae joy her boniebuskit nest
Can yield ava,
Her darling bird that she lo’es best-
Willie’s awa!

O Willie was a witty wight,
And had o’ things an unco’ sleight,
Auld Reekieaye he keepit tight,
And trigan’braw:
But now they’ll buskher like a fright, –
Willie’s awa!

The stiffest o’ them a’ he bow’d,
The bauldesto’ them a’ he cow’d;
They durst nae mair than he allow’d,
That was a law:
We’ve lost a birkieweelworthgowd;
Willie’s awa!

Now gawkies, tawpies, gowks and fools,
Frae colleges and boarding schools,
May sprout like simmerpuddock-stools
In glen orshaw;
He wha could brush them down to mools-
Willie’s awa!

The brethren o’ the Commerce-chaumer
May mourn their loss wi’ doolfu’clamour;
He was a dictionar and grammar
Among them a’;
I fear they’ll now makmony a stammer;
Willie’s awa!

Naemairwe see his levee door
Philosophers and poets pour,
And toothy critics by the score,
In bloody raw!
The adjutant o’a’ the core-
Willie’s awa!

Now worthy Gregory’s Latin face,
Tytler’s and Greenfield’s modest grace;
Mackenzie, Stewart, such a brace
As Rome ne’er saw;
They a’maunmeet some itherplace,
Willie’s awa!

Poor Burns ev’n Scotch Drink cannaquicken,
He cheeps like some bewilder’d chicken
Scar’d fraeit’s minnieand the cleckin,
Byhoodie-craw;
Grieg’s gienhis heart anuncokickin,
Willie’s awa!

Now ev’ry sour-mou’d girnin blellum,
And Calvin’s folk, are fitto fellhim;
Ilkself-conceited critic skellum
His quill may draw;
He whacould brawlieward their bellum-
Willie’s awa!

Up wimpling stately Tweed I’ve sped,
And Eden scenes on crystal Jed,
And Ettrick banks, now roaring red,
While tempests blaw;
Butevery joy and pleasure’s fled,
Willie’s awa!

May I be Slander’s common speech;
A text for Infamy to preach;
And lastly, streekitout to bleach
In winter snaw;
When I forget thee, Willie Creech,
Tho’ far awa!

May never wicked Fortune touzle him!
May never wicked men bamboozle him!
Until a powas auld’s Methusalem
He canty claw!
Then to the blessed new Jerusalem,
Fleet wing awa!

Note To Mr. Renton Of Lamerton

Your billet, Sir, I grant receipt;
Wi’you I’ll canter ony gate,
Tho’ ’twere a trip to yonblue warl’,
Whare birkies march on burning marl:
Then, Sir, God willing, I’ll attend ye,
And to his goodness I commend ye.

R. Burns