NOW Robin 1 lies in his last lair, <br />He'll gabble rhyme, nor sing nae mair; <br />Cauld poverty, wi' hungry stare, <br />Nae mair shall fear him; <br />Nor anxious fear, nor cankert care, <br />E'er mair come near him. <br /> <br /> <br />To tell the truth, they seldom fash'd him, <br />Except the moment that they crush'd him; <br />For sune as chance or fate had hush'd 'em <br />Tho' e'er sae short. <br />Then wi' a rhyme or sang he lash'd 'em, <br />And thought it sport. <br /> <br /> <br />Tho'he was bred to kintra-wark, <br />And counted was baith wight and stark, <br />Yet that was never Robin's mark <br />To mak a man; <br />But tell him, he was learn'd and clark, <br />Ye roos'd him then!<br /><br />Robert Burns<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/elegy-on-the-death-of-robert-ruisseaux-2/
