To my Harpsichord

Wha shorten’d mony a longsome hoor,
An’ sweeten’d me when I was sour,
Or ill wi’ toothache and was dour? —
                              My Harpsichord.

Wha gar’d dooce auld folk kick and fling,
Flee roond an’ roond in mad-like ring,
An’ made the young anes sweetly sing? —
                              My Harpsichord.

Wha drew the fiddle to soond its “A”,
An’ then burst forth the gude strathspey,
Or “Tibbie”, I ha’e seen the day? —
                              My Harpsichord.

I’ve played on thee richt, left, pell-mell,
Since ever I ha’e kent mysel’,
But noo’ I’m gaun to soond your knell —
                              My Harpsichord.

Farewell, my spinet; fare ye well,
On thee I hae played mony a reel,
I’ll like ye aye an’ loe ye weel —
                              My Harpsichord.

Y’er gaun to Crail to cheer my Auntie.
A player may ye never want aye,
To keep her cheerie, cosh, an’ cantie —
                              My gude auld Harpsichord.