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Robert Burns - The Auld Farmer`s New-Year-Morning Salutation To His Auld Mare , Maggie
Work rating: Medium

A Guide New-year I wish thee, Maggie! 
Hae, there`s a ripp to thy auld baggie: 
Tho` thou`s howe-backit now, an` knaggie, 
I`ve seen the day 
There could hae gaen like ony staggie, 
Out-owre the lay. 
 
Tho` now thou`s dowie, stiff an` crazy, 
An` thy auld hide as white`s a daisie, 
I`ve seen the dappl`t, sleek an` glaizie, 
A bonie gray: 
He should been tight that daur`t to raize thee, 
Ance in a day. 
 
Thou ance was i` the foremost rank, 
A filly buirdly, steeve an` swank; 
An` set weel down a shapely shank, 
As e`er tread yird; 
An` could hae flown out-owre a stank, 
Like ony bird. 
 
It`s now some nine-an`-twe nty year, 
Sin` thou was my guid-father` s mear; 
He gied me thee, o` tocher clear, 
An` fifty mark; 
Tho` it was sma`, `twas weel-won gear, 
An` thou was stark. 
 
When first I gaed to woo my Jenny, 
Ye then was trotting wi` your minnie: 
Tho` ye was trickie, slee, an funnie, 
Ye ne`er was donsie; 
But hamely, tawie, quiet, an` cannie, 
An` unco sonsie. 
 
That day, ye pranc`d wi` muckle pride, 
When ye bure hame my bonie bride: 
An` sweet an` gracefu` she did ride, 
Wi` maiden air! 
Kyle-Stewart  I could bragged wide 
For sic a pair. 
 
Tho` now ye dow but hoyte and hobble, 
An` wintle like a saumont coble, 
That day, ye was a jinker noble, 
For heels an` win`! 
An` ran them till they a` did wauble, 
Far, far, behin`! 
 
When thou an` I were young an` skeigh 
An` stable-meals  at fairs were dreigh, 
How thou wad prance, and snore, an` skreigh 
An` tak the road! 
Town`s-bodie s ran, an` stood abeigh, 
An` ca`t thee mad. 
 
When thou was corn`t, an` I was mellow, 
We took the road aye like a swallow: 
At brooses thou had ne`er a fellow, 
For pith an` speed; 
But ev`ry tail thou pay`t them hollow, 
Whare`er thou gaed. 
 
The sma`, droop-rumpl` t, hunter cattle 
Might aiblins waurt thee for a brattle; 
But sax Scotch mile, thou try`t their mettle, 
An` gar`t them whaizle: 
Nae whip nor spur, but just a wattle 
O` saugh or hazel. 
 
Thou was a noble fittie-lan`,  
As e`er in tug or tow was drawn! 
Aft thee an` I, in aught hours` gaun, 
In guid March-weathe r, 
Hae turn`d sax rood beside our han`, 
For days thegither. 
 
Thou never braing`t, an` fetch`t, an` fliskit; 
But thy auld tail thou wad hae whiskit, 
An` spread abreed thy weel-fill`d brisket, 
Wi` pith an` power; 
Till sprittie knowes wad rair`t an` riskit 
An` slypet owre. 
 
When frosts lay lang, an` snaws were deep, 
An` threaten`d labour back to keep, 
I gied thy cog a wee bit heap 
Aboon the timmer: 
I ken`d my Maggie wad na sleep, 
For that, or simmer. 
 
In cart or car thou never reestit; 
The steyest brae thou wad hae fac`t it; 
Thou never lap, an` sten`t, and breastit, 
Then stood to blaw; 
But just thy step a wee thing hastit, 
Thou snoov`t awa. 
 
My pleugh is now thy bairn-time a`, 
Four gallant brutes as e`er did draw; 
Forbye sax mae I`ve sell`t awa, 
That thou hast nurst: 
They drew me thretteen pund an` twa, 
The vera warst. 
 
Mony a sair daurk we twa hae wrought, 
An` wi` the weary warl` fought! 
An` mony an anxious day, I thought 
We wad be beat! 
Yet here to crazy age we`re brought, 
Wi` something yet. 
 
An` think na`, my auld trusty servan`, 
That now perhaps thou`s less deservin, 
An` thy auld days may end in starvin; 
For my last fow, 
A heapit stimpart, I`ll reserve ane 
Laid by for you. 
 
We`ve worn to crazy years thegither; 
We`ll toyte about wi` ane anither; 
Wi` tentie care I`ll flit thy tether 
To some hain`d rig, 
Whare ye may nobly rax your leather, 
Wi` sma` fatigue.
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