Our sex with guile and faithless love

Is charg'd, perhaps, too true;
But may, dear maid, each lover prove

An Edwin still to you!

EPISTLE

I

LANG hae thought, my youthfu' friend,

A something to have sent you,
Tho' it should serve nae other end

Than just a kind memento;
But how the subject-theme may gang,

Let time and chance determine;
Perhaps it may turn out a sang,

Perhaps turn out a sermon.

II.

Ye'll try the world soon, my lad,

And, Andrew dear, believe me, Ye'll find mankind an unco squad,

And muckle they may grieve ye:
For care and trouble set your thought,

Ev’n when your end's attained ;
And a' your views may come to nought,

Where ev'ry nerve is strained.

III.

I'll no say, men are villains a';

The real, harden'd wicked,
Wha hae nae check but human law,

Are to a few restricked:
But och, mankind are unco weak,

An' little to be trusted ;
If self the wavering balance shake,

It's rarely right adjusted !

IV.

1

Yet they wha fa' in fortune's strife,

Their fate we should na censure, For still th' important end of life

They equally may answer ; VOL. III.

P

A man

A man may hae an honest heart,

Tho' poortith hourly stare him; A man may tak a neebor's part,

Yet hae nae cash to spare him.

V.

Ay free, aff han' your story tell,

When wi' a bosom crony; But still keep something to yoursel

Ye scarcely tell to ony.
Conceal yoursel as weel's ye can

Frae critical dissection ;
But keek thro' ev'ry other man,

Wi' sharpen'd sly inspection.

VI.

The sacred lowe o' weel-plac'd love,

Luxuriantly indulge it;
But never tempt th’illicit rove,

Tho' naething should divulge it: I wave the quantum o' the sin,

The hazard of concealing; But och! it hardens a' within,

And petrifies the feeling!

VII.

To catch dame Fortune's golden smile, Assiduous wait upon her;

; And gather gear by ev'ry wile

That's justified by honour; Not for to hide it in a hedge,

Nor for a train-attendant; But for the glorious privilege

Of being independent.

a

a

VIII.

The fear o'hell's a hangman's whip

To haud the wretch in order; .
But where ye feel your honour grip,
Let that ay

be
your

border:
Its slightest touches, instant pause-

Debar a' side pretences ; And resolutely keep its laws,

Uncaring consequences.

IX.

The great Creator to revere,

Must sure become the creature; But still the preaching cant forbear And ev’n the rigid feature: