postcript
my memory's no worth a preen;
i had amaist fotten ,
ye bade me write you what they mean
by this “new-light,”
'bout which our herds sae aft hae been
maist like to fight.
in days when mankind were but s
at grammar, logi' sic talents,
they took nae pains their speech to bance,
or rules to gie;
but spak their thoughts in pin, braid lns,
like you or me.
in thae auld times, they thought the moon,
just like a sark, or pair o' shoon,
wore by degrees, till her st roon
gaed past their viewin;
an' shortly after she was done
they gat a new ane.
this passed for certain, undisputed;
it ne'er cam i' their heads to doubt it,
till chiels gat up an' wad fute it,
an' ca'd it wrang;
an' muckle din there was about it,
baith loud an' ng.
some herds, weel learn'd upo' the beuk,
wad threap auld folk the thing misteuk;
for 'twas the auld moon turn'd a neuk
an' out of' sight,
an' bas-in to the leuk
she grew mair bright.
this was deny'd, it was affirm'd;
the herds and hissels were arm'd
the rev'rend gray-beards rav'd an' storm'd,
that beardless ddies
should think they better wer inform'd,
than their auld daddies.
frae less to mair, it gaed to sticks;
frae words an' aiths to clours an' nicks;
an monie a fallow gat his licks,
wi' hearty t;
an' some, to learn them for their tricks,
were hang'd an' brunt.
this game y'd in mony nds,
an' auld-light caddies bure sids,
that faith, the youook the sands
wi' nimble shanks;
till irds forbad, by striands,
sic bluidy pranks.
but new-light herds gat sic a cowe,
folk thought them ruin'd sti-stowe;
till now, amaist on ev'ry knowe
ye'll find ane pc'd;
an' some their new-light fair avow,
just quite barefac'd.
nae doubt the auld-light flocks are bleatin;
their zealous herds are vex'd an' sweatin;
mysel', i've evehem greetin
wi' girnin spite,
to hear the moon sae sadly lied on
by word an' write.
but shortly they will cowe the louns!
some auld-light herds in neebor touns
are mind't, in things they ca' balloons,
to tak a flight;
an' stay ae month amang the moons
an' see them right.
guid observation they will gie them;
an' when the auld moon's gaun to lea'e them,
the hindmaist shaird, they'll fetch it wi' them
just i' their pouch;
an' when the new-light billies see them,
i think they'll crouch!
sae, ye observe that a' this ctter
is hing but a “moonshiter”;
but tho' dull prose-folk tin sptter
in logic tulyie,
i hope we bardies ken some better
than mind sic brulyie.