A thousand more from various views, The gliding meteor swift pursues. The Patriot toils, in pensive mood, For honour and Britannia’s good. The Courtier deems his Sov’reign’s smile Would all his anxious cares beguile. O Janet, shun the coxing tribe, Who barter virtue for a bribe. The Coxcomb’s care we well can guess; He thinks the charm consists in dress, Pomatum, powder, linens white, Wash-balls, perfumes, and mirrors bright. The Miser hopes his joys to hold, Fast lock’d within his bags of gold: Thieves, moth and rust, corrupt his rest; May all his sorrows be your jest. The plodding sage long years has spent In searching for the gem content, Which often does, I know not why, In heaps of rustic rubbish lie. And may my honest friend just now, Without much quest be found by you; May your old shoes, your staff and plaidy, Be always for the journey ready: And blithly may ilk neighbour greet you; May cakes, and scones, and kibbocks meet you; And may they weel ilk pocket cram, And in your bottle slip a dram. May your wee glass, your pipe and specks, Be ay preserv’d frae doleful wrecks. May your wee house, baith snug and warm, Be safe frae ev’ry rude alarm Of wandering lovers, who’d essay To make soft innocence their prey: Or ruffians, cast in rougher mould, Whose sordid bosoms beat for gold. Content grows joy, in meeting there } The little, lovely, blooming fair, } Who makes thy cot and thee her care; } Whose gentle, gen’rous, noble mind, Tho’ great and rich, can here prove kind; Whose footsteps mark her path with peace, Whose smile bids ev’ry sorrow cease; For age and want, and wo provides And over misery presides. Her father’s worth, and mother’s charms Esteem and fond affection warms, While kind D--f--s, with rapture spies, The sighing breast and swimming eyes; Whose rays have found in James and thee, The melting charm of misery. That charm much more the cherub moves, Than did his gift of cooing doves; Whose hearts, less tender than her own, Breathe forth their ever pleasing moan. Sweet innocence, in her we find; Bright truth illuminates her mind: Each action says, for her to give It is more joy than to receive. Let James and you for Loudoun pray, Whose charms have lur’d me from my lay. Janet farewel, you’ve lint and tow, O keep your rock ay frae the low; Tho’ turmoils torture land and sea, Content may smoke a pipe with thee. _ALCANZAR._