That's gi'en or ta'en before folk.
Behave yoursel' before folk,
Behave yoursel' before folk—
Nor gi'e the tongue o' old and young
Occasion to come o'er folk.

I'm sure wi' you I've been as free
As ony modest lass should be;
But yet it doesna' do to see

Sic freedom used before folk.
Behave yoursel' before folk,
Behave yoursel' before folk-
I'll ne'er submit again to it;

So mind you that-before folk!

Ye tell me that my face is fair:
It may be sae-I dinna care-
But ne'er again gar't blush so sair
As ye hae done before folk.
Behave yoursel' before folk,
Behave yoursel' before folk-

Nor heat my cheeks wi' your mad freaks,
But aye be douce before folk!

Ye tell me that my lips are sweet;
Sic tales, I doubt, are a' deceit-
At ony rate, it's hardly meet

To prie their sweets before folk.
Behave yoursel' before folk,

Behave yoursel' before folk

Gin that's the case, there's time and place,

But surely no before folk!

But gin you really do insist

That I should suffer to be kissed,

Gae get a license frae the priest,

And mak' me yours before folk!
Behave yoursel' before folk,-

Behave yoursel' before folk

And when we're ane, baith flesh and bane,
Ye may tak' ten-before folk!

CCLXV

A. RODGER.

A HUMAN SKULL

A HUMAN skull! I bought it passing cheap,-
Indeed 'twas dearer to its first employer!

I thought mortality did well to keep

Some mute memento of the old destroyer.

It is a ghostly monitor, and most

Experienced our wasting sand in summing;

It is a grave domestic finger-post

That warning points the way to kingdom-coming.

Time was, some may have prized its blooming skin;
Here lips were woo'd, perhaps, in transport tender;
Some may have chuck'd what was a dimpled chin,
And never had my doubt about its gender!

Did she live yesterday or ages back?

What colour were the eyes when bright and waking? And were your ringlets fair, or brown, or black,

Poor little head! that long has done with aching?

It may have held (to shoot some random shots)
Thy brains, Eliza Fry, or Baron Byron's;
The wits of Nelly Gwynn, or Dr. Watts,—
Two quoted bards! two philanthropic syrens!

But this I surely knew before I closed

The bargain on the morning that I bought it ;

It was not half so bad as some supposed,
Nor quite as good as many may have thought it.

Who love, can need no special type of death;

Death steals his icy hand where Love reposes. Alas for love, alas for fleeting breath,

Immortelles bloom with Beauty's bridal roses.

O, true love mine, what lines of care are these?
The heart still lingers with its golden hours,
But fading tints are on the chestnut trees,

And where is all that lavish wealth of flowers?

The end is near.

Life lacks what once it gave,

Yet death has promises that call for praises;

A very worthless rogue may dig the grave,

But hands unseen will dress the turf with daisies.

F. L. LAMPSON.

CCLXVI

THINK NOT OF THE FUTURE

THINK not of the future, the prospect is uncertain;

Laugh away the present, while laughing hours remain : Those who gaze too boldly through Time's mystic

curtain

Soon will wish to close it, and dream of joy again. I, like thee, was happy, and, on hope relying,

Thought the present pleasure might revive again; But receive my counsel! time is always flying,

Then laugh away the present, while laughing hours remain.

I have felt unkindness, keen as that which hurts thee;
I have met with friendship fickle as the wind;
Take what friendship offers ere its warmth deserts thee;
Well I know the kindest may not long be kind.

Would you waste the pleasure of the summer season,
Thinking that the winter must return again?

If our summer's fleeting, surely that's a reason

For laughing off the present, while laughing hours remain.

T. HAYNES BAYLY.

CCLXVII

A LIFE IN THE COUNTRY

"OH! a life in the country how joyous,
How ineffably charming it is;
With no ill-mannered crowds to annoy us
Nor odious neighbours to quiz!"

So murmured the beautiful Harriet

To the fondly affectionate Brown,

As they rolled in the flame-coloured chariot
From the nasty detestable town:

Singing, "Oh, a life in the country how joyous,
How ineffably charming it is!"

"I shall take a portfolio quite full
Of the sweetest conceivable glees;
And at times manufacture delightful

Little Odes to the doves on the trees.
There'll be dear little stockingless wretches
In those hats that are so picturesque,
Who will make the deliciousest sketches,
Which I'll place in my Theodore's desk.