DEAR SIR, at ony time or tide,
I'd rather sit wi' you than ride,
Though 'twere wi' royal Geordie:
And trowth, your kindness, soon and late,
Aft gars me to mysel' look blate—
The Lord in Heav'n reward ye!R. BURNS.ELLISLAND.
More verses by Robert Burns
- To Alex. Cunningham, Esq., Writer, Edinburgh
- Epistle To The Rev. John M'Math
- Sonnet On The Death Of Robert Riddell
- Song—yonder Pomp Of Costly Fashion
- Song—in The Character Of A Ruined Farmer