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Climes where the goddess reigns throughout the

To that rare soil, where virtues clust'ring grow

What mighty blessings doth not England owe?

And which no face so well as his can show;

Flow'rs, which once flourish'd fair in Greece and Ty Fergon Deserve the pref'rence ;-Garrick, take the chair; Rome,

joonteh rent Nor quit it-till thou place an equal there." More fair revive in England's meads to bloom; lode give

Skies without cloud exotic suns adorn;

And roses blush, but blush without a thorn; THE PROPHECY OF FAMINE.

Landscapes unknown to dowdy nature rise, sind ber

And new creations strike our wond'ring eyes.
A SCOTS PASTORAL,

For bards like these, who neither sing nor say,
INSCRIBED TO JOIN WILKES, ESQUIRE.

Grave without thought, and without feeling gay; 2 sot

Whose numbers in one even tenor flow, When Cupid first instructs his darts to fly

Minge as Attun'd to pleasure, and attun'd to woe;

Oples out From the sly corner of some cook-maid's eye, Who, if plain common sense her visit pays,

weaks The stripling raw, just enter'd in bis teens,

And mars one couplet in their happy lays, Receives the wound, and wonders what it means,

As at some ghost affrighted, start and stare, His heart, like dripping, melts, and new desire

And ask the meaning of her coming there; wa Home Within him stirs, each time she stirs the fire;

For bards like these a wreath shall Mason bring, Trembling and blushing he the fair-one views,

Lin’d with the sostest down of folly's wing; ng issued And fain would speak, but can't--without a Muse. In love's pagoda shall they ever doze, So to the sacred mount he takes his way,

And Gisbal kindly rock them to repose;

z Wallo Prunes his young wings, and tunes his infant lay,

My lord- to letters as to faith most trueHis oaten reed to rural ditties frames,

At once their patron and example tooTo flocks and rocks, to hills and rills proclaims,

Shall quaintly fashion his love-labour'd dreams, In simplest notes, and all unpolish'd strains,

Sigh with sad winds, and weep with weeping The loves of nymphs, and eke the loves of swains.

streams; Clad, as your nymphs were always clad of yore, Curious in grief (for real grief, we know, In rustic weedsa cook-maid now no more

Is curious to dress up the tale of woe), Beneath an aged oak Lardella lies,

From the green umbrage of some Druid's seat, Green moss her couch; her canopy the skies. Shall his own works in his own way repeat. From aromatic shrubs the roguish gale (vale:

Me, whom no Muse of heav'nly birth inspires, Steals young perfumes, and wafts them through the

No judgment tempers when rash genius fires; The youth, turn’d swain, and skill'd in rustic lays, Who boast no merit but mere knack of rhyme, Fast by her side his am'rous descant plays.

Short gleams of sense, and satire out of time ; Herds low, flocks bleat, pies chatter, ravens scream, Who cannot follow where trim fancy leads And the full chorus dies a-down the stream.

By pratiling streams o'er flow'r-empurpled meads; The streams, with music freighted, as they pass, Who often, but without success, have pray'd Present the fair Lardella with a glass ;

For apt alliteration's artful aid; And Zephyr, to complete the love-sick plan,

Who would, but cannot, with a master's skill, Waves his light wings, and serves her for a fan. Coin fine new epithets, which mean no ill; But, when maturer judgment takes the lead,

Me, thus uncouth, thus ev'ry way unfit These childish toys on reason’s altar bleed; [awe,

For pacing poesy, and ambling wit, Form'd after some great man, whose name breeds

Taste with contempt beholds, nor deigns to place Whose ev'ry sentence fashion makes a law,

Amongst the lowest of her favour'd race. Who on mere credit his vain trophies rears,

Thou, nature, art my goddess--to thy law And founds his merit on our servile fears;

Myself I dedicate.--Hence, slavish awe, Then we discard the workings of the heart,

Which bends to fashion, and obeys the rules, And nature's banislı'd by mechanic art;

Impos'd at first, and since observ'd by fools. Then, deeply read, our reading must be shown ;

Hence those vile tricks which mar fair nature's hue, Vain is that knowledge which remains unknown.

And bring the sober matron forth to view Then ostentation marches to our aid,

With all that artificial tawdry glare, And letter'd pride stalks forth in full parade;

Which virtue scorns, and none but strumpets wear, Beneath their care behold the work refine, Pointed each sentence, polish'd ev'ry line:

Sick of those pomps, those vanities, that waste

Of toil, which critics now mistake for taste,
Trifles are dignified, and taught to wear

Of false refinements sick, and labour'd ease,
The robes of ancients with a modern air,
Nonsense with classic ornaments is grac'd,

Which art, too thinly veil'd, forbids to please, And passes current with the stamp of taste.

By nature's charms (inglorious truth!) subdu’d, Then the rude Theocrite is ransack'd o'er,

However plain her dress, and 'haviour rude,

To northern climes my happier course 1 steer, And courtly Maro call’d from Mincio's shore; Sicilian Muses ou our mountains roam,

Where, undisturb'd by art's rebellious plan, [year; Easy and free as if they were at home : Nymphs, naiads, nereids, dryads, satyrs, fauns,

She rules the loyal laird, and faithful clan. Sport in our foods, and trip it o'er our lawns;

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Exti: What waggon loads of courage, wealth and sense, With thee good-humour tempers lively wit;

Doth each revolving day import from thence ? Enthron'd with judgment, candour loves to sit; ingiza To us she gives, disinterested friend,

And nature gave thee, open to distress, ettoFaith without fraud, and Stuarts without end. A heart to pity, and a hand to bless. Entre: When we prosperity's rich trappings wear,

Oft have I heard thee mourn the wretched lot in de Come not her gen'rous sons and take a share ? Of the poor, mean, despis’d, insulted Scot, karuAnd if, by some disastrous turn of fate,

Who, might calm reason credit idle tales Change should ensue, and ruin seize the state, By rancour forg'd where prejudice prevails, vedee shall we not find, safe in that hallow'd ground, Or starves at home, or practises, through fear te zošuch refuge as the Holy Martyr found?

Of starving, arts which damn all conscience here. Nor less our debt in science, though deny'd When scribblers, to the charge by int'rest led, -By the weak slaves of prejudice and pride.

The fierce North-Briton foaming at their head, Thence came the Ramsays, names of worthy note, Pour forth invectives, deaf to candour's call, Of whom one paints, as well as t other wrote ; And injur'd by one alieni, rail at all; Thence Home, disbanded from the sons of pray'r On Northern Pisgah when they take their stand, For loving plays, though no dull dean was there; To mark the weakness of that holy land, Chence issued forth at great Macpherson's call, With needless truths their libels to adorn, That old, new, epic pastoral Fingal ;

And hang a nation up to public scorn ; Thence Malloch, friend alike of church and state, Thy gen'rous soul condemns the frantic rage, of Christ and liberty, by grateful fate

And hates the faithful but ill-natur'd page. Rais'd to rewards, which in a pious reign

The Scots are poor, cries surly English pride; All darling infidels should seek in vain;

True is the charge, nor by themselves deny'd. Thence simple bards, by simple prudence taught, Are they not then in strictest reason clear, To this wise town by simple patrons brought,

Who wisely come to mend their fortunes here? In simple manner utter simple lays,

If, by low supple arts successful grown, meals and take, with simple pensions, simple praise. They sapp'd our vigour to increase their own,

Waft me some Muse to Tweed's inspiring stream, If, mean in want, and insolent in pow'r, Where all the little loves and graces dream, They only fawn'd more surely to devour, Where slowly winding the dull waters creep, Rous'd by such wrongs should reason take alarm, And seem themselves to own the power of sleep; And e'en the Muse for public safety arm; Where on the surface lead, like feathers, swims, But if they own ingenuous virtue's sway, There let me bathe my yet unhallow'd limbs, And follow where true honour points the way, As once a Syrian bath'd in Jordan's flood,

If they revere the hand by which they're fed, Wash off my native stains, correct that blood And bless the donors for their daily bread, Which mutinies at call of English pride,

Or by vast debts of higher import bound,
And deaf to prudence, rolls a patriot tide.

Are always humble, always grateful found;
From solemn thought which overhangs the brow If they, directed by Paul's holy pen,

of patriot care, when things are-God knows how; Become discreetly all things to all men, plyny From nice trim points, where honour, slave to rule, That all men may become all things to them; Time In compl i ment to folly, plays the fool;

Envy may hate, but justice can't condemn. *** From those gay scenes where mirth exalts his pow'r, “ Into our places, states, and beds they creep;"

And easy humour wings the laughing hour; They've sense to get, what we want sense to keep. From those soft better moments, when desire

Once, be the hour accurs’d, accurs’d the place, Beats high, and all the world of man's on fire, I ventur'd to blaspheme the chosen race. When mutual ardours of the melting fair

Into those traps, which men call'd patriots laid, More than repay us for whole years of care ;

By specious arts unwarily betray'd,
At friendship's summons will my Wilkes retreat, Madly I leagu'd against that sacred earth,
And see, once seen before, that ancient seat, Vile parricide! which gave a parent birth.
That ancient seat, where majesty display'd

But shall I meanly error's path pursue,
Her ensigns, long before the world was made ! When heavenly truth presents her friendly clue?

Mean Darrow maxims, which enslave mankind, Once plung'd in ill, shall I go farther in ?
Ne'er from its bias warp thy settled mind.

To make the oath was rash; to keep it, sin. Not dup'd by party, nor opinion's slave,

Backward I tread the paths I trod before, Those faculties which bounteous nature gave, And calm reflection hates what passion swore. Thy honest spirit into practice brings,

Converted (blessed are the souls which know Nor courts the smile, nor dreads the frown of kings. Those pleasures which from true conversion flow, Let rude licentious Englishmen comply

Whether to reason, who now rules my breast, With tumult's voice, and curse they know not why; Or to pure faith, like Lyttleton and West), Unwilling to condemn, thy soul disdains

Past crimes to expiate, be my present aim To wear vile faction's arbitrary chains,

To raise new trophies to the Scottish name, And strictly weighs, in apprehension clear, To make (what can the proudest Muse do more?) Things as they are, and not as they appear.

E'en faction's sons her brighter worth adore,

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To make her glories, stamp'd with honest rhymes,

Earth, clad in russet, scorn'd the lively green. In fullest tide roll down to latest times.

Beforget [thine, The plague of locusts they secure defy, “ Presumptuous wretch! and shall a Muse like For in three hours a grasshopper must die.

saps of g An English Muse, the meanest of the nine,

No living thing, whate'er its food, seasts there, Attempt a theme like this? Can her weak strain But the cameleon, who can seast on air, Expect indulgence from the mighty Thane? No birds, except as birds of passage, flew, Should he from toils of government retire,

No bee was known to hum, no dove to coo. And for a moment fan the poet's fire,

No streams as amber smooth, as amber clear, Should he, of sciences the moral friend,

Were seen to glide, or heard to warble here. Each curious, each important search suspend, Rebellion's spring, which through the country ran, skraid ng Leave unassisted Hill of herbs to tell,

Furnish'd, with bitter draughts, the steady clau. And all the wonders of a cockle-shell,

No flow'rs embalm'd the air, but one white rose, Having the Lord's good grace before his eyes; Which on the tenth of June by instinct blows, Would not he Home step forth, and gain the prize? By instinct blows at morn, and, when the shades Or, if this wreath of honour might adorn

Of drizzly eve prevail, by instinct fades. The humble brows of one in England born,

One, and but one poor solitary cave,

re Presumptuous still thy daring must appear; Too sparing of her favours, nature gave; Vain all thy tow'ring hopes, whilst I am here." That one alone (hard tax on Scottish pride :)

Thus spake a form, by silken smile, and tone Shelter at once for man and beast supplied. Dull and unyaried, for the laureat known,

Their snares without entangling briers spread; Folly's chief friend, decorum's eldest son,

And thistles, arm’d against th' invader's head, In ev'ry party found, and yet of none.

Stood in close ranks all entrance to oppose, This airy substance, this substantial shade,

Thistles now held more precious than the rose.

Est choic Abash'd I heard, and with respect obey'd.

All creatures which on nature's earliest plan, From themes too lofty for a bard so mean,

Were form'd to lothe, and to be loth'd by man, Discretion beckons to an humbler scene.

Which ow'd their birth to nastiness and spite, The restless fever of ambition laid,

Deadly to touch, and hateful to the sight, Calm I retire, and seek the sylvan shade.

Creatures, which when admitted in the ark, Now be the Muse disrob’d of all her pride,

Their saviour shunn'd, and rankled in the dark, Be all the glare of verse by truth supplied;

Found place within : marking her noisome road And if plain nature pours a simple strain,

With poison's trail, here crawlid the bloated toad; Which Bute may praise, and Ossian not disdain, There webs were spread of more than common sz, Ossian, sublimest, simplest bard of all,

And half-starv'd spiders prey'd on half-starr'd fies; Whom English infidels Macpherson call,

In quest of food, efts strove in vain to crawl; Then round my head shall honour's ensigns wave, Slugs, pinch'd with hunger, smear’d the slimy wall; And pensions mark me for a willing slave.

The cave around with hissing serpents rung;

On the damp roof uphealthy vapour hung; Two boys, whose birth beyond all question And Famine, by her children always known, springs

As proud as poor, here fix'd her native throne. From great and glorious, though forgotten, kings, Here, for the sullen sky was overcast, Shepherds of Scottish lineage, born and bred And summer shrunk beneath a wintry blast, On the same bleak and barren mountain's head; A native blast, which, arm'd with hail and rain, By niggard nature doom'd on the same rocks Beat unrelenting on the naked swain, To spin out life, and starve themselves and flocks; The boys for shelter made; behind-the sheep, Fresh as the morning, which, enrob’d in mist, of which those shepherds every day take keep, The mountain's top with usual dulness kiss'd, Sickly crept on, and with complainings rude, Jockey and Sawney to their labours rose;

On nature seem'd to call, and bleat for food. Soon clad I ween, where nature needs no clothes ;

Jockey. Where, from their youth inur'd to winter skies, Sith to this cave, by tempest, we're confia'd, Dress and her vain refinements they despise. And within ken our flocks, under the wind,

Jockey, whose manly high-bon'd cheeks to crown Safe from the pelting of this perilous storm, With freckles spotted flam'd the goldeo down,

Are laid emong yon thistles, dry and warm, With mickle art could on the bagpipes play, What, Sawney, if by shepherd's art we try E'en from the rising to the setting day;

To mock the rigour of this cruel sky? Sawney as long without remorse could bawl

What if we tune some merry roundelay? Home's madrigals, and ditties from Fingal.

Well dost thou sing, nor ill doth Jockey play. Oft at his strains, all natural though rude,

Sawney. The Highland lass forgot her want of food,

Ah, Jockey, ill adviseth thou, I wis, And, whilst she scratch'd her lover into rest,

To think of songs at such a time as this. Sunk pleas'd, though hungry, on her Sawney's

Sooner shall herbage crown these barren rocks, breast.

Sooner shall fleeces clothe these ragged flocks, Far as the eye could reach, no tree was seen,

Sooner shall want seize shepherds of the soulli,

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? And we forget to live from hand to mouth,

Her hollow cheeks were each a deep-sunk cell, in der Than Sawney, out of season, shall impart

Where wretchedness and horror lov'd to dwell; 1922 The songs of gladness with an aching heart. With double rows of useless teeth supplied, Jockey.

Her mouth, from ear to ear, extended wide, Still have I known thee for a silly swain: Which, when for want of food her entrails pin'd, sa Of things past help what boots it to complain? She op'd, and, cursing, swallow'd nought but wind;

Nothing but mirth can conquer fortune's spite; All shrivell’d was her skin, and here and there, az No sky is heavy, if the heart be light:

Making their way by force, her bones lay bare: * Patience is sorrow's salve; what can't be cur'd, Such filthy sight to hide from human view, . So Donald right arreads, must be endur'd.

O'er her foul limbs a tatter'd plaid she threw. Sawney.

Cease, cried the goddess, cease, despairing swains, Full silly swain, I wot, is Jockey now;

And from a parent hear what Jove ordains ! How didst thou hear thy Maggy's falsehood ? how, Pent in this barren corner of the isle, When with a foreign loon she stole away,

Where partial fortune never deign'd to smile; Didst thou forswear thy pipe and shepherd's lay? Like nature's bastards, reaping for our share Where was thy boasted wisdom then, when I What was rejected by the lawful heir; Applied those proverbs, which you now apply? Unknown amongst the nations of the earth, Jockey.

Or only known to raise contempt and mirth; O she was bonny! All the Highlands round, Long free, because the race of Roman braves Was there a rival to my Maggy found!

Thought it not worth their while to make us slaves; More precious (though that precious is to all) Then into bondage by that nation brought, Than the rure med'cine which we brimstone call, Whose ruin we for ages vainly sought; Or that choice plant, so grateful to the nose,

Whom still with unslack'd hate we view, and still, Which in I know not what far country grows, The pow'r of mischief lost, retain the will; Was Maggy unto me; dear do I rue,

Consider'd as the refuse of mankind,
A lass so fair should ever prove untrue.

A mass till the last moment left behind,
Sawney.

Which frugal nature doubted, as it lay,
Whether with pipe or song to charm the ear, Whether to stamp with life, or throw away;
Through all the land did Jamie find a peer? Which, form'd in haste, was planted in this nook,
Curs'd be that year by ev'ry honest Scot,

But never enter'd in creation's book; And in the shepherd's calendar forgot,

Branded as traitors, who for love of gold That fatal year, when Jamie, hapless swain, Would sell their God, as once their king they sold; In evil hour forsook the peaceful plain.

Long have we borne this mighty weight of ill, Jamie, when our young laird discreetly fled, These vile injurious taunts, and bear them still. Was seiz'd and hang'd till he was dead, dead, dead. But times of happier note are now at hand, Jockey.

And the full promise of a better land:
Full sorely may we all lament that day;

There, like the sons of Israel, having trod,
For all were losers in the deadly fray.

For the fix'd term of years ordain'd by God, Five brothers had I on the Scottish plains, (swains; A barren desart, we shall seize rich plains, Well dost thou know were none more hopeful

Where milk with honey flows, and plenty reigns. Five brothers there I lost, in manhood's pride,

With some few natives join'd, some pliant few, Two in the field, and three on gibbets died: Who worship intrest, and our track pursue, Ah! silly swains, to follow war's alarms!

There shall we, though the wretched people grieve Ah! what hath shepherd's life to do with arms! Ravage at large, nor ask the owners leave. Sawney.

For us, the earth shall bring forth her increase; Mention it not—There saw I strangers clad

For us, the flocks shall wear a golden fleece; In all the honours of our ravish'd plaid;

Fat beeves shall yield us dainties not our own, Saw the ferrara, too, our nation's pride,

And the grape bleed a nectar yet unknown; Unwilling grace the awkward victor's side.

For our advantage shall their harvests grow, There fell our choicest youth, and from that day

And Scotsmen reap what they disdain'd to sow; Mote never Sawney tune the merry lay; (survive, For

us,

the sun shall climb the eastern hill; Bless'd those which fell! curs'd those which still

For us, the rain shall fall, the dew distil; To mourn fifteen renew'd in forty-five.

When to our wishes nature cannot rise,

Art shall be task'd to grant us fresh supplies.
Thus plain’d the boys,when from her throne of turf,

His brawny arm shall drudging labour strain, With boils emboss'd, and overgrown with scurf,

And for our pleasure suffer daily pain; (Vile humours, which in life's corrupted well,

Trade shall for us exert her utmost pow'rs, Mix'd at the birth, not abstinence could quell,)

Her's all the toil, and all the profit our's; Pale Famine rear'd the head: her eager eyes,

For us, the oak shall from his native steep Where hunger ev'n to madness seem'd to rise,

Descend, and fearless travel through the deep;

The sail of commerce, for our use unfurl'd, Speaking aloud her throes and pangs of heart,

Shall waft the treasures of each distant world; Strain'd to get loose, and from their orbs to start;

ing with a

thon for Tath

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To make her glories, stamp'd with honest rhymes,

Earth, clad in russet, scorn'd the lively green. In fullest tide roll down to latest times.

bir kaget [thine, The plague of locusts they secure defy, “ Presumptuous wretch! and shall a Muse like

sowney,

For in three hours a grasshopper must die. An English Muse, the meanest of the nine,

vagy of

No living thing, whate'er its food, feasts there, Attempt a theme like this? Can her weak strain But the cameleon, who can feast on air. Expect indulgence from the mighty Thane? No birds, except as birds of passage, flex, Should he from toils of government retire,

No bee was known to hum, no dove to coo. And for a moment fan the poet's fire,

No streams as amber smooth, as amber clear, satis bear Should he, of sciences the moral friend,

Were seen to glide, or heard to warble here. Each curious, each important search suspend, Rebellion's spring, which through the country ran, Leave unassisted Hill of herbs to tell,

Furnish'd, with bitter draughts, the steady clan. And all the wonders of a cockle-shell,

No flow'rs embalm'd the air, but one white rose, Having the Lord's good grace before his eyes; Which on the tenth of June by instinct blows, an order the Would not he Home step forth, and gain the prize? By instinct blows at morn, and, when the shades Or, if this wreath of hovour might adorn

Of drizzly eve prevail, by instinct fades. The humble brows of one in England born,

One, and but one poor solitary care, Presumptuous still thy daring must appear; Too sparing of her favours, nature gave; Vain all thy tow'ring hopes, whilst I am here." That one alone (hard tax on Scottish pride!)

Thus spake a form, by silken smile, and tone Shelter at once for man and beast supplied. Dull and unvaried, for the laureat known,

Their snares without entangling briers spread; Folly's chief friend, decorum's eldest son,

And thistles, arm'd against th' invader's head, In ev'ry party found, and yet of none.

Stood in close ranks all entrance to oppose, This airy substance, this substantial shade,

Thistles now held more precious than the rose. Abash'd I heard, and with respect obey'd.

All creatures which on nature's earliest plan, From themes too lofty for a bard so mean, Were form'd to lothe, and to be loth'd by man, Discretion beckons to an humbler scene.

Which ow'd their birth to nastiness and spite, as fait The restless fever of ambition laid,

Deadly to touch, and hateful to the sight, Calm I retire, and seek the sylvan shade.

Creatures, which when admitted in the ark, Now be the Muse disrob’d of all her pride,

Their saviour shunn'd, and rankled in the dark, Be all the glare of verse by truth supplied;

Found place within : marking her noisome road And if plain nature pours a simple strain,

With poison's trail, here crawl'd the bloated toad; Which Bute may praise, and Ossian not disdain,

There webs were spread of more than common size, Ossian, sublimest, simplest bard of all,

And half-starv'd spiders prey'd on half-starr'd fies; Whom English infidels Macpherson call,

In quest of food, efts strove in vain to crawl; Then round my head shall honour's ensigns wave, Slugs, pinch'd with hunger, smeard the slimy wall; And pensions mark me for a willing slave.

The cave around with hissing serpents rung;

On the damp roof unhealthy vapour hung; Two boys, whose birth beyond all question And Famine, by her children always known, springs

As proud as poor, here fix'd ber native throne. From great and glorious, though forgotten, kings, Here, for the sullen sky was overcast, Shepherds of Scottish lineage, born and bred And summer shrunk beneath a wintry blast, On the same bleak and barren mountain's head; A native blast, which, arm'd with hail and rain, By niggard nature doom'd on the same rocks Beat unrelenting on the naked swain, To spin out life, and starve themselves and flocks; The boys for shelter made; behind-the sheep, Fresh as the morning, which, enrob’d in mnist, Of which those shepherds every day take keep, The mountain's top with usual dulness kiss'd, Sickly crept on, and with complainings rude, Jockey and Sawney to their labours rose;

On nature seem'd to call, and bleat for food. Soon clad I ween, where nature needs no clothes ;

Jockey. Where, from their youth inur'd to winter skies, Sith to this cave, by tempest, we're confir'd, Dress and her vain refinements they despise. And within ken our docks, under the wind,

Jockey, whose manly high-bon’d cheeks to crown Şafe from the pelting of this perilous storm, With freckles spotted flam'd the golden down,

Are laid emong yon thistles, dry and warm, With mickle art could on the bagpipes play,

What, Sawney, if by shepherd's art we try E'en from the rising to the setting day;

To mock the rigour of this cruel sky? Sawney as long without remorse could bawl

What if we tune some merry roundelay? Home's madrigals, and ditties from Fingal.

Well dost thou sing, nor ill doth Jockey play. Oft at his strains, all natural though rude,

Sawney. The Highland lass forgot her want of food,

Ah, Jockey, ill adviseth thou, I wis, And, whilst she scratch'd her lover into rest,

To think of songs at such a time as this. Sunk pleas'd, though hungry, on her Sawney's

Sooner shall herbage crown these barren rocks, breast.

Sooner shall fleeces clothe these ragged flocks, Far as the eye could reach, no tree was seen,

Sooner shall want seize shepherds of the south,

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