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Thy handsome air, and graceful look,
Excels a clownish rogie;
Thou'rt match for laird, or lord, or duke,
My charming Kath'rine Ogie.

O were I but some shepherd swain;
To feed my flock beside thee,
At bughting-time to leave the plain,
In milking to abide thee,
I'd think myself a happier man,
With Kate, my club, and dogie,
Than he that hugs his thousands ten,
Had I but Kath'rine Ogie.

Then I'd despise the imperial throne,
And statesmen's dangerous station
I'd be no king, I'd wear no crown,
I'd smile at conquering nations;
Might I caress, and still possess
This lass of whom I'm vogie;
For these are toys, and still look less,
Compar'd wi' Kath'rine Ogie.

I fear the gods have not decreed
For me so fine a creature,
Whose beauty rare makes her exceed
All other works of nature.
Clouds of despair surround my love,
That are both dark and fogie: