(4)
And ask a fond Lover, where wisdom he places,
To be sure in his mistress, her charms, and her graces;
But let the free Lad speak the joy of his soul,
’Tis a sparkling Glass, and a smiling full Bowl.
The Miser is wretched, unhappy, and poor;
He suffers great want in the midst of his store:
The Lover’s disconsolate, mopish and sad,
For that which when gain’d, would soon make him mad,
The Misers a Foo’, and the Lover s an Ass,
And be only’s Wife, who adores the full Glass.
Let the Miser then hug up his ill-gotten Pelf,
And to reed empty bags, he may starve his ownself,
Let the Lover still languish ’twixt hope and despair,
And doat on a face as inconstant as fair:
But still may his bliss be as great as his soul,
Who pays no devoir but to Wine and the bowl.
Wallace's Lament after the Battle of Falkirk.
Tune—Maids of Arrochar.
THOU dark winding Carton once pleasing to see,
To me thou can’st never give pleasure again,
My brave Caledonians lie low on the lee,
And thy streams are deep ting’d with the blood of the slain.
’Twas base hearted treachery that doom’d our undoing,
My poor bleeding country, what more can I do?
Ev’n Valour looks pale o’er the red field of ruin,
And freedom beholds her best warriors laid low.
Farewel ye dear partners of peril! farewel!
Tho’ buried ye lie in one wide bloody grave,
Your deeds shall ennoble the place where you fell,
And your names be enroll’d with the sons of the brave.
But I, a poor outcast, in exile must wander,
Perhaps, like a traitor ignobly must die!
On thy wrongs, O my country! indignant I ponder—
Ah! (illegible text)to the hour when thy Wallace must fly!
