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But still keep something to yoursel
Ye scarcely tell to ony,
Frae critical diffection ;
Wi' sharpen'd lly inspection.
The sacred lowe o' weel-plac'd love,
Luxuriantly indulge it;
Tho' naething should divulge it :
The hazard of concealing ; But Och! it hardens a' within,
And petrifies the feeling!
To catch Dame Fortune's golden smile,
wait upon her;
And gather gear by ev'ry wile
That's justify'd by Honor : Not for to hide it in a hedge,
Nor for a train-attendant ; But for the glorious privilege
Of being independent.
The fear o' Hell's a hangman's whip,
To haud the wretch in order;
Let that ay be your border :
Debar a' fide pretences;
The great Creator to revere,
Mult sure become the creature ;
But still the preaching cant forbear,
And ev’n the rigid feature:
Be complaisance extended ;
For Deity offended !
When ranting round in Pleasure's ring,
Religion may be blinded ; Or if she gie a random sting,
It may be little minded ;
A Conscience but a canker-
Is fure a noble ancbor!
Adieu, dear, amiable Youth !
May Prudence, Fortitude, and Truth,
Erect your brow undaunting!
Still daily to grow wifer;
Than ever did th' Adviser.