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　　Lines To A Gentleman,

　　Who had sent the Poet a Newspaper, and offered

　　to continue it free of Expense.

　　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 twa<

　　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 arses 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. Poems and Songs of Robert Burns