Epistle to Dr John Mackenzie

Dr thinker John,

Your creed, I like it past expression,
I'm sure o' truth it's nae transgression
To say the great Westminster Vession,
Wi' a; their clatter,
In carraches, or large confession
Ne'er made a better.

For me, I ken a weel plough'd rigg,
I ken a handsome hizzie's leg
When, springing taper straught an' trig,
It fires my fancy;
But system-Sandy mills to bigg
Is nae that chancy.

Sma' skill in holy war I boast;
My wee-bit spunk o' Latin's losst,
An' Logic gies me ay the hoast
An' cuts my win,
So I maun tak the rear-guard post,
Far, far behind.

I see the poopet ance a week,
An' carefu' ev'ry sentence cleek;
Or if frae -- a smirking keek
Spoil my devotion,