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If ony whiggish whingin fot,

To blame poor Matthew dare, man; May dool and forrow be his lot,

For Matthew was a rare man.

LAMENT

MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS,

ON THE

APPROACH OF SPRING.

Now

OW Nature hangs her mantle green

On every blooming tree.

And spreads her sheets o' daifies white

Out o'er the graffy lea:

Now Phoebus chears the cryftal ftreams,

And glads the azure skies;

But nought can glad the weary wight

That faft in durance lies.

Now laverocks wake the merry morn,

Aloft on dewy wing;

The merle, in his noontide bower,

Makes woodland echoes ring;
The Mavis wild wi' many a note,
Sings drowfy day to reft:

In love and freedom they rejoice,
Wi' care nor thrall oppreft.

Now blooms the lily by the bank,
The primrose down the brae;

The hawthorns budding in the glen,
And milk-white is the flae:

The meaneft hind in fair Scotland May rove their sweets amang ; But I, the Queen of a' Scotland, Maun lie in prifon strang.

I was the Queen o' bonie France,
Where happy I has been;
Fu' lightly rafe I on the morn,
As blythe lay, down at e'en :
And I'm the fovereign of Scotland,
And mony a traitor there;
Yet here I lie in foreign bands,
And never ending care.

But as for thee, thou false woman,
My fifter and my fae,

Grim vengeance, yet, fhall whet a fword
That thro' thy foul shall gae:

The weeping blood in woman's breaft
Was never known to thee;

Nor th' balm that draps on wounds of woe
Frae woman's pitying e'e.

My fon! my fon! may kinder ftars
Upon thy fortune fine!

And may thofe pleasures gild thy reign,

That ne'er wad blink on mine!
God keep thee frae thy mother's facs,
Or turn their hearts to thee:

And where thou meet'f thy mother's friend,
Remember him for me!

O foon, to me, may fummer funs
Nac mair light up the morn!
Nae mair, to me, the autumn winds
Wave' o'er the yellow corn!

And in the narrow houfe o' death

Let winter round me rave;

And the next flowers, that deck the spring, Bloom on my peaceful grave.

то

ŔG OF F

EsQ:

LATE Cr

ATE crippled of an arm, and now a leg, About to beg a pass for leave to beg; Dull, liftlefs, teafed, dejected, and depreft, (Nature is adverse to a criple's reft); Will generous G***** lift to his Poet's wail? (It foothes poor Mifery, hearkening to her tale), And hear him curfe the light he first surveyed,

1

And doubly curfe the lucklefs rhyming trade.

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