The Author's Address to his Auld Dog Hector 



COME, my auld, towzy, trusty friend, 

 What gars ye look sae dung wi' wae ? 

 D'ye think my favour's at an end, 

 Because thy head is turnin' gray ? 



Although thy strength begins to fail, 



Its best was spent in serving me ; 

 An' can I grudge thy wee bit meal, 



Some comfort in thy age to gie ? 



For mony a day, frae sun to sun, 



We've toiled fu' hard wi' ane anither, 



An' mony a thousand mile thou'st run, 

 To keep my thraward flock thegither. 



To nae thrawn boy nor naughty wife 

 Shall thy auld banes become a drudge ; 



At cats an' callans a' thy life 



You ever bor'st a mortal grudge. 



An' whiles thy surly look declared 

 Thou lo'ed the women warst of a' ; 



Because my love wi' thee they shared, 

 A matter out o' right or law. 



When sittin' wi' my bonny Meg, 

 Mair happy than a prince could be, 



Thou placed'st thee by her other leg, 

 An' watched her wi' a jealous e'e. 

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