Such Nymph, would Fortune grant my choice,
I fain would wish to call my own,

As charms with Wit and Beauty both;
But charms me not with these alone :

The tender heart, the speaking eye,
The feelings which can ne'er deceive,
That sympathy which prompts the sigh,
And pities where it can't relieve.

These are the charms to win my heart,
Which Fate, tho' changing, can't impair;
Beauty may owe some charms to Art,
But Nature's boon exalts the Fair.

I wish one blest with common sense,
Not very old, nor very young,
One who can speak when reason calls,
Yet knows to regulate her tongue.

I'd wish for one of temper mild,
And virtuous, too, if I could get her;
And, if she were not lame or blind,
I'm pretty sure I'd love her better.

I wish to prove the golden mean,
To learn the happy art of saving;

Yet, if my Fair had store of gold,
She would be none the worse of having.

I'd wish for one whose careful hand
Could sooth the anxious cares of Life,
Halve every joy, and share my woe,
Nor blush to own herself my wife.

Oft such a Nymph in vain I've sought,
With serious critical review:
Now,, I close the long pursuit,

By cent'ring all my soul in you.

EPIGRAM.

TO ONE OF THE GENTLEMEN OF THE THIMBLE.

Ae cauld misty mornin', whan cranreugh had fa'n,
An' I was right timeously up;

Ere Phoebus's ray had begladden'd the lawn,
Or drunkards had stown frae their cup,
+.

At distance, by chance, I was castin' my eyes,

Whar winter had frozen the mud,

Whan something, that struck me wi' instant surprise, Began to appear like a clud.

The Phantom advanc'd at a moderate pace,
In hight like a yard and a span;

I saw it, but flinch'd na ae jot frae the place;
Because I suppos'd it a man.

At last the queer spectre drew near like a warth,
An' settl'd just straught i' my view;

But I ne'er was sae muckle surpris'd i' the earth,,
It was not a man-it was YOU.

SONG.

PRETTY MALLY.

PRETTY Mally be inclined

When young Colin tak's the field, Since, for granting you're design'd, your lover bid ye yield;

Let

Nor sae shy

Frae him fly,

If ye wish him not to die.

Dont the Lammies let ye see,
As they frisk about the plain;
Ye war form'd for Love an' me,
An' war made to be my ain:
Then be kind;

Let me find

Lovely Mally to my mind.

Did my Mally view the dove Round his marrow how he coo'd,

While, in answer to his love,

Ay she courtit to be woo'd;

Then reply

To my sigh,

If ye wish me not to die.

Tho' my lammies frisk an' play,
Tho' they gambol on the mead,
While aneath the birken spray
I attune my aiten reed,

All I see,

Without thee,

Can but little pleasure gie.

Wad ye, Mally, but enjoy

A' the pleasures o' content;

Be nae langer hauf sae coy,

Nor refuse me your consent;
Dont deny

To comply,

If ye wish me not to die.