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An thou wert my ain Thing.

AN thou wert mine ain thing,

I would lue thee, I would lue thee;
An thou wert mine ain thing,
How dearly would I lue thee.

Of race divine thou needs must be,
Since naething earthly equals thee;
For Heaven's fake, oh! favour me,
Who only live to lue thee.

An thou wert, etc.

The gods ae thing peculiar have,
To ruin nane wham they can save;
O! for their fake support a slave,
Who only lives to lue thee.

An thou wert, etc.

To merit I nae claim can make,
But that I lue; and, for thy fake,

What man can name I'll undertake,
So dearly do I lue thee.

An thou wert, etc.

My paffion, conftant as the fun,

Flames stronger ftill, will ne'er have done,
Till Fates my thread o' life hae fpun,
Which breathing out I'll lue thee.
An thou wert, etc.

Like bees that fuck the morning-dew
Frae flours o' sweetest scent and hue,
Sae wad I dwell upo' thy mou,
And gar the gods envy me.

An thou wert, etc.

Sae lang's I had the use o' light,
I'd on thy beauties feast my fight,
Syne in faft whispers thro' the night,
I'd tell how much I loo'd thee.
And thou wert, etc.

How fair and ruddy is my JEAN!
She muves a goddess o'er the green!
Were I a king, thou shou'd be queen,
Nane but myfell aboon thee.

An thou wert, etc.

I'd grafp thee to this breast o' mine,
Whilst thou, like ivy, or the vine,
Around my stronger limbs fhou'd twine,
Form'd hardy to defend thee.

An thou wert, etc.

Time's on the wing, and will not stay,
In fhining youth let's mak our hay;
Since luve admits of nae delay,

O let nae fcorn undo thee.

An thou wert, etc.

While Luve does at his altar ftand,
Hae there's my heart, gie me thy hand,
And with ilk fmile thou fhalt command
The will o' him wha lues thee.
An thou wert, etc.

Same Tune.

WERT thou but mine ain thing,

I would lue thee, I would lue thee;

Wert thou but mine ain thing,
How dearly would I lue thee!

As round the elm th' enamour'd vine
Delights wi' wanton arms to twine,
Sae I'd encircle thee in mine,

And show how much I lue thee.
Wert thou but, etc.

This earth my paradife shou'd be ;
I'd grafp a heav'n of joys in thee,
For thou art a' thy fex to me,

So fondly do I lue thee.

Wert thou but, etc.

Shou'd thunder roar its loud alarms,
Anang the clash of hostile arms,
I'd faftly fink amang thy charms,
And only live to lue thee.

Wert thou but, etc.

Let Fortune drive me far away,
Or make me fa' to foes a prey,
My flame for thee shall ne'er decay,
And dying I would lue thee.
Wert thou but, etc.

Tho' I were number'd wi' the dead,
My faul should hover round thy head:
I may be turn'd a filent shade,

But never cease to lue thee.
Wert thou but, etc.

M

To the Tune of Apron, Deary.

sheep I neglected, I loft my sheep-hook,

And all the gay haunts of my youth I forfook,

Nae mair for AMYNTA fresh garlands I wove,
For ambition, I faid, would foon cure me of love.

O what had my youth with ambition to do?
Why left I AMYNTA? why broke I my vow?
O gi' me my sheep, and my sheep-hook restore,
I'll wander frae love and AMYNTA no more.

Through regions remote in vain do I rove,
And bid the wild ocean fecure me from love!
O fool! to imagine that aught can fubdue
A love fo well founded, a paffion so true.
O what had my youth, etc.

Alas! 'tis o'er late at thy fate to repine;
Poor fhepherd, AMYNTA nae mair can be thine:
Thy tears are a' fruitless, thy wishes are vain,
The moments neglected return nae again.

O what had my youth with ambition to do?
Why left I AMYNTA? why broke I my vow?
O gi' me my sheep, and my sheep-hook restore,
I'll wander frae love and AMYNTA no more.

THE

Alloa-Houfe.

HE fpring-time returns, and clothes the green plains,
And Alloa fhines more chearful and gay;

The lark tunes his throat, and the neighbouring fwains
Sing merrily round me where-ever I ftray :

But SANDY nae mair returns to my view;

Nae fpring-time me chears, nae music can charm;
He's gane! and, I fear me, for ever: adieu!
Adieu every pleasure this bofom can warm!

O Alloa-house! how much art thou chang'd!
How filent, how dull to me is each grove!
Alane I here wander where ance we both rang'd,
Alas! where to please me my SANDY ance ftrove!
Here, SANDY, I heard the tales that you tauld,

Here lift'ned too fond whenever you fung;

Am I grown less fair then, that you are turn'd cauld?
Or foolish, believ'd a false, flattering tongue ?

So fpoke the fair maid, when Sorrow's keen pain,

And Shame, her last fault'ring accents fuppreft; For Fate, at that moment, brought back her dear swain, Who heard, and, wi' rapture, his NELLY addrest: My NELLY! my fair, I come; O my luve !

Nae power fhall thee tear again from my arms, And NELLY, nae mair thy fond shepherd reprove, Who knows thy fair worth, and adores a' thy charms.

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