This text comes from The Poetical Works of Robert Burns, a historical songbook transcribed on Wikisource and reproduced from the pinned revision linked below.
Ellisland, Monday Evening.
Your News and Review, Sir, I've read through and through, Sir,
With little admiring or blaming;
The papers are barren of home-news or foreign,
No murders or rapes worth the naming.
Our friends the Reviewers, those chippers and hewers,
Are judges of mortar and stone, Sir;
But of meet, or unmeet, in a fabrick complete,
I'll boldly pronounce they are none, Sir.
My goose-quill too rude is to tell all your goodness
Bestow'd on your servant, the Poet;
Would to God I had one like a beam of the sun,
And then all the world, Sir, should know it!