ODES I, 31. THE POET'S WISH by QUINTUS HORATIUS FLACCUS

Frae great Apollo, poet, say,
What is thy wish, what wadst thou hae
When thou bows at his shrine?
Not Carse o' Gowrie's fertile field,
Nor a' the flocks the Grampians yield,
That are baith sleek and fine:
Not costly things brought frae afar,
As ivory, pearl, and gems;
Nor those fair straths that watered are
With Tay and Tweed's smooth streams.
Which gentily and daintily
Eat down the flowery braes;
As greatly and quietly
They wimple to the seas.

Whaetever by his canny fate
Is master of a good estate,
That can ilk thing afford,
Let him enjoy't withouten care,
And with the wale of curious fare
Cover his ample board.
Much dawted by the gods is he
Wha to the Indian plain
Successfu' ploughs the wally sea
And safe returns again,
With riches that hitches
Him high aboon the rest
Of sma' fowk, and a' fowk
That are wi' poortith prest.

For me I can be well content
To eat my bannock on the bent,
And kitchen't wi' fresh air;
Of lang-kail I can make a feast,
And cantily had up my crest,
And laugh at dishes rare.
Nought frae Apollo I demand,
But through a lengthened life
My outer fabric firm may stand,
And saul clear without strife.
May he then but gie then
Those blessings for my skair,
I'll fairly and squairly
Quite a' and seek nae mair.

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