Classic Poem

My bestbelovit Brother of the craft
God if ye kneu the stait that I am in!
Tho' ye be deif, I knau ye ar not daft,
But kynd aneugh to any of your kin;
If ye bot sau me in this winter win
With old bogogers hotching on a sped
Draiglit in Dirt whylis wat evin to the [skin],
I trou thair suld be tears or we tua shed.
Bot maist of all that hes my bailis bred,
To heir hou ye on that syde of the Mure
Birlis at the wyne, and blythlie gois to [bed]
Foryetting me, Pure Pleuman, I am sure:
So sillie I opprest with barmie jugg is ,
Invyis your state, that's pouing Bacchus [luggis.]