She lean'd upon a flow'ry brae,
By which a burnie trotted;
On her I glowr'd my saul away,
While on her fweets I doated.
A thousand beauties of defert
Before had scarce alarm'd me,
Till this dear artlefs ftruck my heart,
And but defigning, charm'd me.
Hurry'd by love, close to my breast
I grafp'd this fund of bliffes
Wha fmil'd, and faid, without a priest,
Sir, hope for nought but kiffes.
I had nae heart to do her harm,
And yet I couldna want her;
What she demanded, ilka charm
Of her's pled, I should grant her.
Since heaven had dealt to me a routh,
Straight to the kirk I led her,
There plighted her my faith and troth,
And a young lady made her.
A cock laird fou cadgie,
With Jenny did meet,
He haws'd her, he kiss'd her,
And ca'd her his sweet.
Wilt thou gae alang
Wi' me, Jenny, Jenny? Thouse be my ane lemmane, Jo Jenny, quoth he.
If I gae alang wi' ye,
Ye manna fail,
To feast me with caddels
And good hacket-kail. The deel 's in your nicety,
Jenny, quoth he;
Mayna bannocks of bear-meal
Be as good for thee?
And I man hae pinners
With pearling fet round,
A skirt of puddy,
And a waftcoat of broun.
Awa with fic vanities,
Jenny, quoth he,
For kurchis and kirtles
Are fitter for thee.
My lairdship can yield me
As meikle a year,
As had us in pottage
And good knockit beer:
But having nae tenants,
O Jenny, Jenny!
To buy ought I ne'er have
A penny, quoth he.
The borrowftoun merchants
Will fell ye on tick,
For we man hae braw things,
Abeit they foud break.
When broken, frae care
The fools are set free,
When we make them lairds
In the Abbey, quoth fhe.
LET MEANER BEAUTIES USE THEIR ART.
LET meaner beauties use their art,
And range both Indies for their dress;
Our fair can captivate the heart,
In native weeds, nor look the lefs.
More bright unborrow'd beauties fhine,
The artless sweetness of each face
Sparkles with luftres more divine,
When freed of every foreign grace.
The tawny nymph, on scorching plains,
May use the aid of gems and paint,
Deck with brocade and Tyrian stains
Features of ruder form and taint :
What Caledonian ladies wear,
Or from the lint or woolen twine,
Adorn'd by all their sweets, appear
Whate'er we can imagine fine.
Apparel neat becomes the fair,
The dirty dress may lovers cool,
But clean, our maids need have no care,
If clad in linen, filk, or wool.
T'adore Myrtilla who can cease?
Her active charms our praife demand,
Clad in a mantua, from the fleece
Spun by her own delightful hand.
Who can behold Califta's eyes,
Her breast, her cheek, and fnowy arms,
And mind what artists can devise
To rival more fuperior charms?
Compar'd with thofe, the diamond 's dull,
Lawns, fatins, and the velvets fade,
The foul with her attractions full
Can never be by these betray'd.
Saphira, all o'er native sweets,
Not the false glare of drefs regards, Her wit her character completes,
Her smile her lover's fighs rewards. When fuch first beauties lead the way, The inferior rank will follow foon; Then arts no longer shall decay,
But trade encouraged be in tune.
Millions of fleeces fhall be wove,
And flax that on the vallies blooms,
Shall make the naked nations love
And bless the labours of our looms.
We have enough, nor want from them
But trifles hardly worth our care;
Yet for these trifles let them claim
What food and cloth we have to spare.
How happy 's Scotland in her fair!
Her amiable daughters fhall,
By acting thus with virtuous care,
Again the golden age recal:
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