42.

As when, amidst the rites divine,
I took thy troth, and plighted mine),
To thee, sweet girl, my second ring
A token, and a pledge, I bring;
With this I wed, till death us part,
Thy riper virtues to my heart;
These virtues, which, before untry'd,
The wife has added to the bride;
Those virtues, whose progressive claim
Endearing wedlock's very name,
My soul enjoys, my song approves,
For Conscience's sake, as well as Love's.

For why? They show me every hour,
Honour's high thought, affection's power,
Discretion's deed, sound Judgment's sentence,
And teach me all things but Repentance.
S. Bishop

The Sailor's Wife

AND are ye sure the news is true?

And are ye sure he's weel?

Is this a time to talk o' wark?

Ye jades, lay by your wheel!
Is this the time to spin a thread,

When Colin's at the door?

Reach down my cloak

- I'll to the quay,

And see him come ashore.

For there's no luck about the house,

There's nae luck ava',

There's little pleasure in the house,
When our gudeman's awa'.

And gi'e to me my bigonet,
My bishop's saint gown;
For I maun tell the baillie's wife
That Colin's in the town..

My Turkey slippers maun gae on,
My stockins pearly blue;
It's a' to pleasure our gudeman,
For he's baith leal and true.

Rise, lass, and mak' a clean fireside,
Put on the muckle pot;

Gi'e little Kate her button gown,
And Jock his Sunday coat.
And mak' their shoon as black as slaes,
Their hose as white as snaw;

It's a' to please my ain gudeman,

He likes to see them braw.

There is twa hens upon the bauk,

Been fed this month and mair;

Mak' haste and thraw their necks about
That Colin weel may fare!

And spread the table neat and clean,
Gar ilka thing look braw;

For wha can tell how Colin fared,

When he was far awa'?

Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech, His breath like caller air;

43.

His

very

foot has music in't

As he comes up the stair.
And will I see his face again?
And will I hear him speak?
I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought,
In troth I'm like to greet!

Since Colin's weel, and weel content,
I ha'e nae mair to crave;
And gin I live to keep him sae,
I'm blest abune the lave.

And will I see his face again?
And will I hear him speak?
I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought,
In troth I'm like to greet!

For there's nae luck about the house,
There's nae luck ava';

There's little pleasure in the house
When our gudeman's awa'.

The Complaint

AWAY! away!

W. J. Mickle

Tempt me no more, insidious love:

Thy soothing sway

Long did my youthful bosom prove:

At length thy treason is discern'd,

At length some dear-bought caution earn'd: Away! nor hope my riper age to move.

I know, I see

Her merit.

Needs it now be shown,

44.

Alas, to me?

How often to myself unknown,
The graceful, gentle, virtuous maid
Have I admir'd! How often said,
What joy to call a heart like hers one's own!

But, flattering God,

O squanderer of content and ease,
In thy abode

Will care's rude lesson learn to please?
O say, deceiver, hast thou won

Proud Fortune to attend thy throne,

Or plac'd thy friends above her stern decrees?

Song

M. Akenside

OH!

H! forbear to bid me slight her,
Soul and senses take her part;
Could my death itself delight her,

Life should leap to leave my heart.
Strong, though soft, a lover's chain,
Charm'd with woe, and pleas'd with pain.

Though the tender flame were dying,
Love would light it at her eyes;
Or, her tuneful voice applying,
Through my ear my soul surprise.
Deaf, I see the fate I shun;
Blind, I hear I am undone.

A. Hill

45. To Fix Her,

'Twere a Task as Vain

To fix her, 'twere a task as vain

To count the April drops of rain,
To sow in Afric's barren soil,
Or tempests hold within a toil.

I know it, friend, she's light as air,
False as the fowler's artful snare,
Inconstant as the passing wind,
As winter's dreary frost unkind.

She's such a miser too, in love,
Its joys she'll neither share nor prove;
Though hundreds of gallants await
From her victorious eyes their fate.

Blushing at such inglorious reign,
I sometimes strive to break her chain;
My reason summon to my aid,
Resolved no more to be betray'd.

Ah, friend! 'tis but a short-lived trance,
Dispell'd by one enchanting glance;
She need but look, and I confess
Those looks completely curse, or bless.

So soft, so elegant, so fair,

Sure, something more than human's there;
I must submit, for strife is vain,

'Twas destiny that forged the chain.

T. Smollett