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â’¼ CONTAINS SOME SCENES OF A SEXUAL NATURE

Ellisland, Saturday morning

Dear Sir,
Our Lucky humbly begs
Ye'll prie her caller, new-laid eggs:
Lord grant the Cock may keep his legs,
Aboon the Chuckies;
And wi' his kittle, forket clegs,
Claw weel their dockies!

Had Fate that curst me in her ledger,
A Poet poor, & poorer Gager,
Created me that feather'd Sodger,
A generous Cock,
How I wad craw and strut and roger
My kecklin Flock!

Buskit wi' mony a bien, braw feather,
I was defied the warst o' weather:
When corn or bear I could na gather
To gie my burdies;
I'd treated them wi' caller heather,
And week-knooz'd hurdies.

Nae cursed CLERICAL EXCISE
On honest Nature's laws and ties;
Free as the vernal breeze that flies
At early day,
We'd tasted Nature's richest joys,
But stint or stay.

But as this subject's something kittle,
Our wisest way's to say but little;
And while my Muse is at her mettle,
I am, most fervent,
Or may I die upon a whittle!
Your Friend and Servant
Robert Burns