I gae then, my lafs, to win honour and fame,
And if I fhould luck to come gloriously hame,
I'll bring a heart to thee with love running o'er,
And then I'll leave thee and Lochaber no more.

L

The auld Goodman.

Ate in an evening forth I went,
A little before the fun ga'd down,
And there I chanc'd by accident,
To light on a battle new begun.

A man and his wife was fa'n in a strife,
I canna well tell you how it began;
fhe wail'd her wretched life,

But ay

And cry'd ever, Alake, my auld goodinan.

H E.

Thy auld goodman that thou tells of,
The country kens where he was born,
Was but a filly poor vagabond,

And ilka ane leugh him to fcorn ;
For he did fpend, and make an end
Of gear that his forefathers wan,
gart the poor ftand frae the door,
Sae tell nae mair of thy auld goodman.

He

SHE.

My heart, alake, is liken to break,

When I think on my winfome John,

His blinkin eye, and gate fae free,

Was naething like thee, thou dosen'd drone.

His rofie face, and flaxen hair,

And a skin as white as ony fwan,

Was large and tall, and comely withal,

And thou'lt never be like my auld goodman.

H E.

Why doft thou pleen? I thee maintain,
For meal and mawt thou difna want;
But thy wild bees I canna please,

Now when our gear 'gins to grow fcant.
Of household ftuff thou haft enough,
Thou wants for neither pot nor pan;
Of fiklike ware he left thee bare,
Sae teil nae mair of thy auld goodman.

SHE.

Yes, I may tell, and fret myfell,
To think on these blyth days I had,
When he and I together lay

In arms into a well-made bed;
But now I figh and may be fad,

Thy courage is cauld, thy colour wan,
Thou falds thy feet, and fa's afleep,
And thou'lt ne'er be like my

auld goodman.

Then coming was the night fae dark,
And gane was a' the light o' day;
The carl was fear'd to mifs his mark,

And therefore wad nae langer stay;
Then up he gat, and he ran his way,
I trow the wife the day she wan,
And ay the o'erword of the fray
Was ever, Alake, my auld goodman.

SONG.

To the tune of, Valiant Jocky.

On a beautiful, but very young Lady.

Beauty from fancy takes its arms

And ev'ry common face fome breast may move.

Some in a look, a fhape, or air find charms,

To justify their choice, or boaft their love.

Z.

But

But had the great Apelles feen that face,

When he the Cyprian goddess drew,
He had neglected all the female race,
Thrown his firft Venus by, and copied you.
In that defign,

Great nature would combine

To fix the ftandard of her facred coin;
The charming figure had enhanc'd his fame,
And fhrines been rais'd to Seraphina's name.

II.

But fince no painter e'er could take

That face which baffles all his curious art;
And he that strives the bold attempt to make,
As well might paint the fecrets of the heart;
O happy glass, I'll thee prefer,

Content to be, like thee, inanimate,
Since only to be gaz'd on thus by her,
A better life and motion would create.
Her eyes would infpire,

And like Prometheus' fire,

At once inform the piece and give defire, The charming phantom I would grafp, and fly → O'er all the orb, though in that moment die,

III.

Let meaner beauties fear the day,

Whose charms are fading, and submit to time; The graces which from them it steals away,

It with a lavish hand still adds to thine.

The god of love in ambush lies,

And with his arms furrounds the fair,

He points his conquering arrows in these eyes,
Then hangs a fharpen'd dart at every hair,
As with fatal skill,

Turn which way you will,

Like Eden's flaming fword each way you kill;
So rip'ning years improve rich nature's store,
And gives perfection to the golden ore.

K 3

P.

Lafs

Lafs with a Lump of Land.

I'E me a lafs with a lump of land,

GE

And we for life fhall gang the gither,
Though daft or wife, I'll never demand,
Or black or fair, it makfna whether.
I'm aff with wit, and beauty will fade,
And bloom alane is na worth a fhilling;
But fhe that's rich, her market's made,
For ilka charm about her is killing.

Gi'e me a lafs with a lump of land,
And in my bofom I'll hug my treafure;
Gin I had anes her gear in my hand,

Should love turn dowf, it will find pleafure.
Laugh on wha likes, but there's my hand,

I hate with poortith, though bonny, to meddle, Unless they bring cash, or a lump of land, They'se never get me to dance to their fiddle.

There's meikle good love in bands and bags,
And filler and gowd's a fweet complexion ;
But beauty, and wit, and virtue in rags,
Have tint the art of gaining affection :
Love tips his arrows with woods and parks,
And caftles, and riggs, and muirs, and meadows,
And naithing can catch our modern fparks,
But well-tocher'd laffes, or jointur'd widows.

TH

The Shepherd ADONIS.

I.

HE fhepherd Adonis
Being weary'd with sport,

He, for a retirement,

To the woods did refort.
He threw by his club,
And he laid himself down;
Te envy'd no monarch,
Nor wifh'd for a crown.

He