G 1721. RICHY AND SANDY : ON THE DEATH OF MR. ADDISON. RICHY. WHAT gars thee look fae dowf, dear Sandy say? SANDY. Na, na, it winna do; leave me to mane : This aught days twice o'er tell'd I'll whistle nane. RICHY. Sir Richard Steele and Mr. Alexander Pope. B 2 RICHY. Wow, man, that 's unco' fad !-Is 't that ye'r jo Has ta'en the ftrunt? Or has fome bogle-bo, Glowrin frae 'mang auld waws, gi'en ye a fleg? Or has fome dauted wedder broke his leg? SANDY. Naithing like that, fic troubles eith were borne: What 's bogles, wedders, or what Maufy's scorn? Our lofs is meikle mair, and past remead: Adie, that play'd and fang fae sweet, is dead. RICHY. Dead! fay'ft thou?-Oh, had up my heart, O Pan! Ye gods, what laids ye lay on feckless man! I'll bear ye company for year and day. SANDY. SANDY. That's true indeed; but now thae days are gane, And, with him, a' that 's pleasant on the plain. A fummer day I never thought it lang, To hear him make a roundel or a fang. How fweet he fung where vines and myrtles grow, RICHY. * His poetic epiftle from Italy to the Earl of Halifax. † An opera wrote by him. His Campaign, an heroic poem. |