'Tho' large the foreft's Monarch throws His army fhade, 'Yet green the juicy Hawthorn grows, 'Adown the glade. 'THEN never murmur nor repine; Strive in thy humble sphere to shine; 'Nor King's regard, * Can give a bliss o'ermatching thine, < A rustic Bard. 'To give my counfels all in one, 'Preferve the dignity of Man, And wear thou this'-fhe folemn faid, And bound the Holly round my head: The polish'd leaves, and berries red, Did ruftling play; C ADDRESS TO THE UNCO GUID, OR THE RIGIDLY RIGHTEOUS. My Son, these maxims make a rule, And lump them ay thegither; The Rigid Righteous is a fool, The Rigid Wife anitber: The cleanest corn that e'er was dight May bae some piles o' caff in ; So ne'er a fellow-creature slight For random fits o' daffin. SOLOMON-Ecclef, ch. vii. verf. 16. 1. OYE wha are fae guid yourfel, Sae pious and fae holy, Ye've nought to do but mark and tell Your Neebours' fauts and folly! Whafe life is like a weel-gaun mill, The heaped happer's ebbing ftill, II. HEAR me, ye venerable Core, As counsel for poor mortals, That frequent pafs douce Wisdom's door I, for their thoughtlefs, carelefs fakes Would here propone defences, Their donfie tricks, their black mistakes, Their failings and mifchances, P3 III. III. YE fee your fate wi' their's compar'd, And fhudder at the niffer, But caft a moment's fair regard What maks the mighty differ; Difcount what fcant occafion gave, And (what's aft mair than a' the lave) IV. THINK, when your caftigated pulfe Gies now and then a wallop, What ragings muft his veins convulfe, That still eternal gallop: Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail, Right on ye fcud your fea-way; But, in the teeth o' baith to fail, It maks an unco leeway, |