If care arise (and cares will come!), And is there aught disturbs my Fair? Have I a joy? 'Tis all her own! 'Tis death to be disjoined! A HAPPY HUSBAND. Edinburgh, October II [1773]. TRUE BLUE. I HOPE there's no Soul But means honest ends to pursue! With the voice, go the heart! From the faith of an honest True Blue! For country and friends, Who are swayed by a bribe; Be honest, and ever True Blue! On the politic knave, Whose schemes the whole nation may rue; That cursed disgrace; Turn your backs, and be staunch! be True Blue! With hounds and with horn, We will chase till we die! 'Tis worthy a British True Blue! Here's a Health to all those And our trade both defend and renew! That concurs in the choice And support of an honest True Blue! ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF SCOTS MUSIC. [Thursday, March 5, 1772.] Mark it, CESARIO! It is old and plain! The Spinsters and the Knitters in the sun, And the free Maids that weave their thread with bones, Do use to chant it! SHAKESPEARE, Twelfth Night. ON Scotia's plains, in days of yore, But Harmony is now no more; Round her the feathered choir would wing, Sweet as the zephyrs of the Spring: Mourn, ilka Nymph, and ilka Swain! Let ECHO swell the dolefu' strain; Since Music 's dead! Whan the saft vernal breezes ca' On chaunter, or on aiten straw; Nae Lasses now, on Simmer days, Delight to chant their hameil Lays! At gloming now, the Bagpipe 's dumb, And Pibrachs skreed! We never hear its warlike hum, For Music 's dead! MACGIBBON 's gone! Ah! wae 's my heart! Wi' sic a slee and pawky art! But now he 's dead! |