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CHIEFLY

SCOTTISH.

WRITTEN

IN

FRIARS-CARSE HERMITAGE,

ON NITH-SIDE.

THOU

HOU whom chance may hither lead

Be thou clad in ruffet weed,

Be thou deckt in filken ftole,

Grave these counfels on thy foul.

Life is but a day at most,

Sprung from night, in darkness loft;
Hope not funfhine every hour,
Fear not clouds will always lour,

As Youth and Love with fprightly dance, Feneath thy morning ftar advance,

Pleasure with her firen air

May delude the thoughtless pair;
Let Prudence blefs Enjoyment's cup,
Then raptured fip and fip it up.

As thy day grows warm and high,
Life's meridian flaming nigh,
Doft thou fpurn the humble vale?
Life's proud fummits wouldft thou fcale?
Check thy climbing ftep elate,

Evils lurk in felon wait:

Dangers, eagle-pinioned, bold,
Soar around each cliffy hold,

While cheatful peace, with linnet fong,
Chants the lowly dells among.

As thy fhades of evening clofe, Peck'ning thee to long repofe; As life itself becomes difeafe, Seek the chimney-nook of ease.

There ruminate with fober thought;

On all thou'st feen, and heard, and wrought;
And teach the fportive younkers round,
Saws of experience, fage and found.
Say, man's true, genuine eftimate,
The grand criterion of his fate,
Is not, art thou high or low?
Did thy fortune ebb or flow?

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