His titty she was baith wylie and slee: She spied me as I cam owre the lea; And then she ran in and made a loud din-- Believe your ain e’en, an ye trow not me. His bonnet stood ay fu’ round on his brow, His auld ane look’d ay as well as some’s new: But now he lets ’t wear ony gait it will hing, And casts himsel dowie upon the corn bing. And now he gaes daund’ring about the dykes, And a’ he dow do is to hund the tykes: The live-lang nicht he ne’er steeks his e’e-- And werena my heart’s licht, I wad dee. Were I but young for thee, as I hae been, We should hae been gallopin’ doun in yon green, And linkin’ it owre the lily-white lea-- And wow, gin I were but young for thee! _430._ hing] hang. dowie] dejectedly. hund the tykes] direct the dogs. steeks] closes. linkin’] tripping. WILLIAM CONGREVE 1670-1729. _431._ _False though She be_ False though she be to me and love, I’ll ne’er pursue revenge; For still the charmer I approve, Though I deplore her change. In hours of bliss we oft have met: They could not always last; And though the present I regret, I’m grateful for the past. _432._ _A Hue and Cry after Fair Amoret_ Fair Amoret is gone astray-- Pursue and seek her, ev’ry lover; I’ll tell the signs by which you may The wand’ring Shepherdess discover. Coquette and coy at once her air, Both studied, tho’ both seem neglected; Careless she is, with artful care, Affecting to seem unaffected. With skill her eyes dart ev’ry glance, Yet change so soon you’d ne’er suspect them, For she’d persuade they wound by chance, Tho’ certain aim and art direct them. She likes herself, yet others hates For that which in herself she prizes; And, while she laughs at them, forgets She is the thing that she despises. JOSEPH ADDISON 1672-1719 _433._ _Hymn_ The spacious firmament on high, With all the blue ethereal sky, And spangled heavens, a shining frame, Their great Original proclaim. Th’ unwearied Sun from day to day Does his Creator’s power display; And publishes to every land The work of an Almighty hand. Soon as the evening shades prevail, The Moon takes up the wondrous tale; And nightly to the listening Earth Repeats the story of her birth: Whilst all the stars that round her burn, And all the planets in their turn, Confirm the tidings as they roll, And spread the truth from pole to pole. What though in solemn silence all Move round the dark terrestrial ball; What though nor real voice nor sound Amidst their radiant orbs be found? In Reason’s ear they all rejoice, And utter forth a glorious voice; For ever singing as they shine, ‘The Hand that made us is divine.’ ISAAC WATTS 1674-1748 _434._ _The Day of Judgement_