Chapter XXVII: BROW-ON-SOLWAY, 4th July 1796

My Dear Sir,--I received your songs; but my health is so precarious, nay, dangerously situated, that, as a last effort, I am here at sea-bathing quarters. Besides an inveterate rheumatism, my appetite is quite gone, and I am so emaciated as to be scarce able to support myself on my own legs. Alas! Is this a time for me to woo the muses? However, I am still anxiously willing to serve your work, and if possible shall try. I would not like to see another employed--unless you could lay your hand upon a poet whose productions would be equal to the rest. Farewell, and God bless you.

R. BURNS.

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