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Epistle To Major Logan

HAIL, thairm-inspirin', rattlin' Willie!
Tho' fortune's road be rough an' hilly
To every fiddling, rhyming billie,
We never heed,
But take it like the unback'd filly,
Proud o' her speed.


When, idly goavin', whiles we saunter,
Yirr! fancy barks, awa we canter,

Up hill, down brae, till some mischanter,
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