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O! bear a wretch's pray'r!
No more I shrink appalld, afraid;
I court, I beg thy friendly aid,

To close this scene of care!
When shall my soul, in filent peace,

Resign Life's joyless'day?
My weary heart its throbbings cease,,
Cold-mould'ring in the clay?
No fear more, no tear morey

To stain my lifefeless face,
Enclasped, and grasped,

Within thy cold embrace !!

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M I S S L-s,

With BEATTIE'S POEMS for a New Year's Cifi

Jan. 1, 1787.


GAIN the filent wheels of time
Their annual round have driv'n,
And you, tho' scarce in maiden prime ,

Are so much nearer Heav'n.,

No gifts have I from Indian coafts

The Infant year to hail;
I send you more than India-boasts

In Edwin's fimple tale.

Our Sex with guile, and faithless love,,

Is charg'd, perhaps, too true;
But may dear Maid, each Lover prore

An Edwin still to you..

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I LANG hae thought, my youthfu' friend,',

A Something to have sent you,
Tho' it should ferve nae ither end

Than just a kind memento ;
But how the fubject theme may gang,

Let time and chance determine;
Perhaps it may turn out a Sang;
Perhaps, turn out a Sermon. -

Ye'll try the the world foon, my lady',

And Andrew dear, believe me,
Ye'll find mankind an unco squad,

And muckle they may grieve ye :
For care and trouble set your thought,

Ev'n when your end's attained ;
And a' your views may come to nought

Where ev'ry nerve is strained.

A man may

I'll no say, men are villains a';:

The real; harden'd wicked,
Wha hae nae check but human laws,

Are to a few restricked :
But Och, mankind are unco weak,

An'little to be trusted ;.
If Self the wavering balance shake,
Its rarely right adjusted !

Yet they wha fa’ in Fortune's ftrifeg,

Their fate we thould na' censure, For ftill th' impartant end of life, They equally may answer:


an honest heart,
Tho Poortith hourly ftare him ;
A man may tak a neebor's part,
Yet have nae casb to spare him.

Ay free, aff han’, your story tell; ,

When wi'a bosom crony;
But still keep something to yoursel

Ye scarcely tell to ony::
Conceal yoursel aš weel's you can :

Frae critical diffection ;
But keek thro' ev'ry other manj.
Wi' sharpen’d, ny inspection.

The sacred lowe o' weel-plac'd love,,

Luxuriently indulge it ;

But never tempt th' illicit rove,

Tho' naething should divulge it: I wave the quantum o'the fin;.

The hazard of concealing ; But Och it hardens a' within, And petrefies.the feeling!

VII. To catch Dame Fortune's golden smiley

Aflidious wait upon her; And gather gear by ev'ry wile

That's juftifi’d by Honor :: Not for to hide it in a hedge,

Nor for a train attendant ; But for the glorious privilege Of being independant,

VIII. The fear o' Hell's a hangman's whip,

To haud the wretch in order; But where ye feel your Honor grip Let that be


border: Its slightest touches, instant pause

.. Debar a' fide pretences. And resolutely keep its laws,.. Uncaring consequences.

IX. The great Creator to revere,

Must sure become the Creature ; But still the preaching cant fórbear,

And ev’n the rigid feature :


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