Whilst he with manly merits ftor'd,
Shall rise the glory of his clan;
She for celeftial sweets ador'd,

Shall ever charm the gracefu' man.

Soon may their royal bird * extend
His fable plumes, and lordships claim,
Which to his valiant fires pertain❜d,
Ere earls in Albion were a name.

Ye parents of the happy pair,

With gen'rous fmiles confenting, own That they deferve your kindest care:

Thus, with the gods, their pleasure crown.

Hafte, ev'ry Grace, each Love, and Smile,
From fragrant Cyprus fpread the wing;
To deck their couch, exhaust your ifle
Of all the beauties of the fpring.

On them attend with homage due,
In him are Mars and Phoebus seen;
And in the noble nymph you 'll view
The fage Minerva and your Queen.

* The spread eagle fable, or a field argent, in the arms of the earl of Dalhousie.

BETTY AND KATE:

A PASTORAL FAREWELL TO MR. AIKMAN,

WHEN HE WENT FOR LONDON.

BETTY.

DEAR Katie, Willy 's e'en away!
Willy, of herds the wale,
To feed his flock, and make his hay,
Upon a diftant dale.

Far to the fouthward of this height
Where now we dowie stray,

Ay heartfome when he cheer'd our fight,
And leugh with us a' day.

KATE.

O Willy! can dale dainties please
Thee mair than moorland ream?

Does Ifis flow with fweeter ease

Than Fortha's gentle stream?

Or takes thou rather mair delyt
In the ftrae-hatted maid,

Than in the blooming red and whyt
Of her that wears the plaid?

BETTY.

BETTY.

Na, Kate, for that we needna mourn,
He is not giv'n to change;
But fauls of fic a fhining turn,

For honour like to range:
Our laird, and a' the gentry round,
Wha mauna be faid nay,
Sic pleasure in his art have found,
They winna let him stay.
Blyth I have stood frae morn to een,
To see how true and weel

He cou'd delyt us on the green
With a piece cawk and keel;
On a flid stane, or fmoother flate,
He can the picture draw
Of you or me, or sheep or gait,
The likeft e'er ye faw.

Lafs, think na fhame to ease your mind,

I fee ye 're like to greet:

Let these tears,

gae

'tis justly kind,

For fhepherd fae complete.

ΚΑΤΕ.

Far, far, o'er far frae Spey and Clyde,

Stands that great town of Lud,

To whilk our best lads rin and ride,

That's like to put us wood;

For findle times they e'er come back,

Wha anes are heftit there :

Sure, Befs, their hills are nae fae black,
Nor yet their howms fae bare.

BETTY.

Our rigs are rich, and green our heights,
And well our cares reward;

But yield, nae doubt, far lefs delights,
In abfence of our laird:

But we maun cawmly now fubmit,
And our ill luck lament,
And leave 't to his ain fenfe and wit,
To find his heart's content.
A thousand gates he had to win
The love of auld and young,

Did a' he did with little din,

And in nae deed was dung.

KATE.

William and Mary never fail'd
To welcome with a smile,
And hearten us, when aught we ail'd,
Without defigning guile.

Lang may she happily poffefs,

Wha 's in his breast infeft,

And may their bonny bairns increase,

And a' with rowth be left.

O, William !

O, William ! win your laurels fast,
And fyne we 'll a' be fain,

Soon as your wand'ring days are past,
And you 're return'd again.

BETTY.

Revive her joys by your return,
To whom you first gave pain;
Judge how her paffions for you burn,
By these you bear your ain.

Sae may your kirn with fatnefs flow,

And a' your kye be fleek;

And may your hearts with gladnefs glow, ye feek.

In finding what