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of a much coarser grain than his pastoral drama. The admirers of the Gentle Shepherd must perhaps be contented to share some suspicion of national partiality, while they do justice to their own feeling of its merit. Yet as this drama is a picture of rustic Scotland, it would perhaps be saying little for its fidelity, if it yielded no more agreeableness to the breast of a native than he could expound to a stranger by the strict letter of criticism. We should think the painter had finished the likeness of a mother very indifferently, if it did not bring home to her children traits of indefinable expression which had escaped every eye but that of familiar affection. Ramsay had not the force of Burns; but, neither, in just proportion to his merits, is he likely to be felt by an English reader. The fire of Burns's wit and passion glows through an obscure dialect by its confinement to short and concentrated bursts. The interest which Ramsay excites is spread over a long poem, delineating manners more than passions; and the mind must be at home both in the language and manners, to appreciate the skill and comic archness with which he has heightened the display of rustic character without giving it vulgarity, and refined the view of peasant life by situations of sweetness and tenderness, without departing in the least degree from its simplicity. The Gentle Shepherd stands quite apart from the

general pastoral poetry of modern Europe. It has no satyrs, nor featureless simpletons, nor drowsy and still landscapes of nature, but distinct characters and amusing incidents. The principal shepherd never speaks out of consistency with the habits of a peasant; but he moves in that sphere with such a manly spirit, with so much cheerful sensibility to its humble joys, with maxims of life so rational and independent, and with an ascendancy over his fellow swains so well maintained by his force of character, that if we could suppose the pacific scenes of the drama to be suddenly changed into situations of trouble and danger, we should, in exact consistency with our former idea of him, expect him to become the leader of the peasants, and the Tell of his native hamlet. Nor is the character of his mistress less beautifully conceived. She is represented, like himself, as elevated, by a fortunate discovery, from obscure to opulent life, yet as equally capable of being the ornament of either. A Richardson or a D'Arblay, had they continued her history, might have heightened the portrait, but they would not have altered its outline. Like the poetry of Tasso and Ariosto, that of the Gentle Shepherd is engraven on the memory of its native country. Its verses have passed into proverbs; and it continues to be the delight and solace of the peasantry whom it describes.

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A flowrie howm d between twa verdant braes,
Where lasses use to wash and spread their claiths,
A trotting burnie wimpling throw the ground,
Its channel peebles shining smooth and round:
Here view twa barefoot beauties clean and clear;
First please your eye, then gratify your ear;
While Jenny what she wishes discommends,
And Meg with better sense true love defends.

PEGGY and JENNY.

Jenny. COME, Meg, let 's fa'to wark upon this This shining day will bleach our linen clean; [green, The water's clear, the liftf unclouded blue, Will make them like a lily wet with dew.

Peggy. Gae farrer up the burn to Habbie's How, Where a' that's sweet in spring and simmer grow: Between twa birks out o'er a little linn, The water fa's, and makes a singin' din : A pool breast-deep, beneath as clear as glass, Kisses with easy whirls the bord❜ring grass. We'll end our washing while the morning's cool, And when the day grows het we'll to the pool, There wash oursells; 'tis healthfu' now in May, And sweetly caller on sae warm a day.

d The level low ground on the banks of a stream. e Clothes.

f Sky.-g A pool beneath a waterfall.

Jenny. Daft lassie, when we're naked, what'll ye

say,

Giff our twa herds come brattling down the brae,
And see us sae ?-that jeering fellow, Pate,
Wad taunting say, "Haith, lasses, ye're no blate."
Peggy. We're far frae ony road, and out of sight;
The lads they're feeding far beyont the hight;
But tell me now, dear Jenny, we're our lane,
What gars ye plague your wooer with disdain?
The neighbours a' tent this as well as I ;
That Roger lo'es ye, yet ye care na by.
What ails ye at him? Troth, between us twa,
He's wordy you the best day e'er ye saw.
Jenny. I dinna like him, Peggy, there's an end;
A herd mair sheepish yet I never ken'd.
He kames his hair, indeed, and gaes right snug,
With ribbon-knots at his blue bonnet lug;
Whilk pensylie he wears a thought a-jee,
And spreads his garters diced beneath his knee.
He falds his owrelay down his breast with care,
And few gangs trigger to the kirk or fair;
For a' that, he can neither sing nor say, [day."
Except, "How d'ye ?"— or, "There's a bonny
Peggy. Ye dash the lad with constant slighting
Hatred for love is unco sair to bide: [pride,

h Modest.-i Sprucely. To one side.-k Cravat.

But ye'll repent ye, if his love grow cauld,
Wha likes a dorty' maiden when she's auld?
Like dawted wean that tarrows at its meat,"
That for some feckless whim will orp and greet:
The lave laugh at it till the dinner's past,
And syne the fool thing is obliged to fast,
Or scart anither's leavings at the last.
Fy, Jenny think, and dinna sit your time.

Jenny. I never thought a single life a crime. Peggy. Nor I: but love in whispers lets us ken That men were made for us, and we for men.

Jenny. If Roger is my jo, he kens himsell,
For sic a tale I never heard him tell.

He glowrs and sighs, and I can guess the cause:
But wha's obliged to spell his hums and haws?
Whene'er he likes to tell his mind mair plain,
I'se tell him frankly ne'er to do't again.
They're fools that slav'ry like, and may be free;
The chiels may a' knit up themselves for me.
Peggy. Be doing your ways: for me, I have a
To be as yielding as my Patie's kind. [mind

Jenny. Heh! lass, how can ye lo'e that rattleskull?

A very deil, that ay maun have his will!
We soon will hear what a poor feightan life
You twa will lead, sae soon's ye're man and wife.
Peggy. I'll rin the risk; nor have I ony fear,
But rather think ilk langsome day a year,
"Till I with pleasure mount my bridal-bed,
Where on my Patie's breast I'll lay my head.
There he may kiss as lang as kissing 's good,
And what we do there's nane dare call it rude.
He's get his will; why no? 'tis good my part
To give him that, and he'll give me his heart.
Jenny. He may indeed for ten or fifteen days
Mak meikle o' ye, with an unco fraise,
And daut ye baith afore fowk and your lane :
But soon as your newfangleness is gane,
He'll look upon you as his tether-stake,
And think he's tint his freedom for your sake.
Instead then of lang days of sweet delyte,
Ae day be dumb, and a' the neist he'll flyte :
And may be in his barlichoods', ne'er stick
To lend his loving wife a loundering lick.
Peggy. Sic coarse-spun thoughts as that want
pith to move

My settled mind; I'm o'er far gane in love.
Patie to me is dearer than my breath,
But want of him I dread nae other skaith".
There's name of a' the herds that tread the green
Has sie a smile, or sic twa glancing een.
And then he speaks with sic a taking art,
His words they thirle like music through my heart.
How blythly can he sport, and gently rave,
And jest at little fears that fright the lave.
Ilk day that he's alane upon the hill,

He reads feilt books that teach him meikle skill;
He is but what need I say that or this,
I'd spend a month to tell you what he is!

1 Pettish. Spoilt child." Pettishly refuses its food.— • Silly.- Fret.- Stares. Cross-moods. Harm. Many.

In a' he says or does there's sic a gate,
The rest seem coofs compared with my dear Pate;
His better sense will lang his love secure:
Ill-nature hefts in sauls are weak and poor.

Jenny. Hey, "bonny lass of Branksome!" or 't
Your witty Pate will put you in a sang. [be lang.
O'tis a pleasant thing to be a bride!
Syne whinging gets about your ingle-side,
Yelping for this or that with fasheous din:
To make them brats then ye maun toil and spin.
Ae wean fa's sick, and scads itself wi' brue",
Ane breaks his shin, anither tines his shoe : [hell,
The "Deil gaes o'er John Wabster":" hame grows
When Pate misca's ye waur than tongue can teil.

Peggy. Yes, it's a heartsome thing to be a wife, When round the ingle-edge young sprouts are rife. Gif I'm sae happy, I shall have delight

To hear their little plaints, and keep them right.
Wow, Jenny! can there greater pleasure be,
Than see sic wee tots toolying at your knee;
When a' they ettle at, their greatest wish,
Is to be made of, and obtain a kiss?
Can there be toil in tenting day and night
The like of them, when love makes care delight!
Jenny. But poortith, Peggy, is the warst of a',
Gif o'er your heads ill chance should begg'ry draw:
There little love or canty cheer can come
Frae duddy doublets, and a pantry toom3.
Your nowt may die; the speat may bear away
Frae aff the howms your dainty rucks of hay;
The thick-blawn wreaths of snaw, or blashy thows,
May smoor your wethers, and may rot your ewes;
A dyvour2 buys your butter, woo', and cheese,
But or the day of payment breaks and flees;
With gloomin' brow the laird seeks in his rent,
'Tis no to gie, your merchant's to the bent;
His honour maunna want, he poinds your gear;
Syne driven frae house and hald, where will ye
Dear Meg, be wise, and lead a single life; [steer!—
Troth, it's nae mows to be a married wife.

Peggy. May sic ill luck befa' that silly she,
Wha has sic fears, for that was never me.
Let fowk bode weel, and strive to do their best ;
Nae mair's required-let heaven make out the rest.
I've heard my honest uncle aften say,

That lads should a' for wives that's vertuous pray;
For the maist thrifty man could never get
A well-stored room, unless his wife wad let :
Wherefore nocht shall be wanting on my part
To gather wealth to raise my shepherd's heart.
Whate'er he wins I'll guide with canny care,
And win the vogue at market, tron, or fair,
For healsome, clean, cheap, and sufficient ware.
A flock of lambs, cheese, butter, and some woo',
Shall first be sald to pay the laird his due ;
Syne a' behind 's our ain.-Thus without fear,
With love and rowth we thro' the warld will steer; 1
And when my Pate in bairns and gear grows rife, ¦
He'll bless the day he gat me for his wife.

4

u Troublesome - Scalds itself with broth.—” A Scotch proverb when all goes wrong. Empty - Land-flood — T 2 Bankrupt. It is no slight calamity.-b Plenty.

Jenny. But what if some young giglet on the green,

With dimpled cheeks, and twa bewitching een,
Should gar your Patie think his half-worn Meg,
And her ken'd kisses, hardly worth a feg?
Peggy. Nae mair of that :-dear Jenny, to be
free,

There's some men constanter in love than we :
Nor is the ferly great, when nature kind
Has blest them with solidity of mind;
They'll reason caulmly, and with kindness smile,
When our short passions wad our peace beguile :
Sae, whensoe'er they slight their maiksd at hame,
"Tis ten to ane their wives are maist to blame.
Then I'll employ with pleasure a' my art
To keep him cheerfu', and secure his heart.
At ev'n, when he comes weary frae the hill,
I'll have a' things made ready to his will:
In winter, when he toils thro' wind and rain,
A bleezing ingle, and a clean hearth-stane :
And soon as he flings by his plaid and staff,
The seething-pot 's be ready to take aff;
Clean hag-abage I'll spread upon his board,
And serve him with the best we can afford:
Good-humour and white bigonets shall be
Guards to my face, to keep his love for me.
Jenny. A dish of married love right soon grows
cauld,

And dozins down to nane, as fowk grow auld. Peggy. But we'll grow auld together, and ne'er find

The loss of youth, when love grows on the mind.
Bairns and their bairns make sure a firmer tie,
Than aught in love the like of us can spy.
See yon twa elms that grow up side by side,
Suppose them some years syne bridegroom and
bride;

Nearer and nearer ilka year they've prest,
Till wide their spreading branches are increased,
And in their mixture now are fully blest:
This shields the other frae the eastlin blast;
That in return defends it frae the wast.
Sic as stand single, (a state sae liked by you,)
Beneath ilk storm frae every airth maun bow.
c Mates. -d Huckaback. -e
! Dwindles.

Linen caps or coifs.g Quarter.

Jenny. I've done,-I yield, dear lasssie; I maun yield,

Your better sense has fairly won the field.
With the assistance of a little fae

Lies dern'd within my breast this mony a day. Peggy. Alake, poor pris'ner!-Jenny, that's no fair,

That ye'll no let the wee thing take the air: Haste, let him out; we'll tent as well 's we can, Gif he be Bauldy's,'or poor Roger's man.

Jenny. Anither time's as good; for see the sun Is right far up, and we're not yet begun To freath the graith: if canker'd Madge, our aunt, Come up the burn, she'll gie us a wicked rant; But when we've done, I'll tell you a' my mind; For this seems true-nae lass can be unkind.

SONG.

[Exeunt.

FAREWELL to Lochaber, farewell to my Jean,
Where heartsome with thee I have mony a day
To Lochaber no more, to Lochaber no more, [been:
We'll maybe return to Lochaber no more.
These tears that I shed they are a' for my dear,
And not for the dangers attending on weir;
Though borne on rough seas to a far bloody shore,
Maybe to return to Lochaber no more!

Though hurricanes rise, and rise every wind,
No tempest can equal the storm in my mind:
Though loudest of thunders on louder waves roar,
That's naething like leaving my love on the shore.
To leave thee behind me my heart is sair pain'd,
But by ease that's inglorious no fame can be gain'd:
And beauty and love's the reward of the brave;
And I maun deserve it before I can crave.

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ODE.

TO A GREAT NUMBER OF GREAT MEN, NEWLY MADE.

SEE, a new progeny descends

From Heaven, of Britain's truest friends :
O Muse! attend my call!
To one of these direct thy flight,
Or, to be sure that we are right,
Direct it to them all.

O Clio! these are golden times!
I shall get money for my rhymes;

And thou no more go tatter'd :
Make haste then, lead the way, begin,
For here are people just come in,

Who never yet were flatter'd.

But first to Carteret fain you'd sing ;
Indeed he's nearest to the King,

Yet careless how you use him;
Give him, I beg, no labour'd lays;
He will but promise if you praise,
And laugh if you abuse him.

Then (but there's a vast space betwixt)
The new-made Earl of Bath comes next,
Stiff in his popular pride :

His step, his gait, describe the man ;
They paint him better than I can,

Waddling from side to side.

Each hour a different face he wears,
Now in a fury, now in tears,

Now laughing, now in sorrow;
Now he'll command, and now obey,
Bellows for liberty to-day,

And roars for power to-morrow.
At noon the Tories had him tight,
With staunchest Whigs he supp'd at night,

Each party tried to 'ave won him ;
But he himself did so divide,
Shuffled and cut from side to side,
That now both parties shun him.
See yon old, dull, important Lord,
Who at the long'd-for money-board
Sits first, but does not lead:
His younger brethren all things make;
So that the Treasury's like a snake,
And the tail moves the head.
Why did you cross God's good intent?
He made you for a President;

Back to that station go;
Nor longer act this farce of power,
We know you miss'd the thing before,
And have not got it now.

See valiant Cobham, valorous Stair,
Britain's two thunderbolts of war,

Now strike my ravish'd eye:

But oh! their strength and spirits flown,
They, like their conquering swords, are grown
Rusty with lying by.

Dear Bat, I'm glad you've got a place,
And since things thus have changed their face,
You'll give opposing o'er :

'Tis comfortable to be in,

And think what a damn'd while you've been,
Like Peter, at the door.

See who comes next-I kiss thy hands,
But not in flattery, Samuel Sandys;
For since you are in power,

That gives you knowledge, judgment, parts,
The courtier's wiles, the statesman's arts,
Of which you'd none before,

When great impending dangers shook
Its state, old Rome dictators took
Judiciously from plough :

So we, (but at a pinch thou knowest)
To make the highest of the lowest,
Th' Exchequer gave to you.

When in your hands the seals you found,
Did they not make your brains go round!
Did they not turn your head?

I fancy (but you hate a joke)
You felt as Nell did when she woke

In Lady Loverule's bed.

See Harry Vane in pomp appear,
And, since he's made Vice-Treasurer,

Grown taller by some inches;
See Tweedale follow Carteret's call ;
See Hanoverian Gower, and all

The black funereal Finches.

And see with that important face
Berenger's clerk, to take his place,

Into the Treasury come :

With pride and meanness act thy part,
Thou look'st the very thing thou art,
Thou Bourgeois Gentilhomme.

Oh, my poor Country! is this all
You've gain'd by the long-labour'd fall
Of Walpole and his tools?
He was a knave indeed-what then?
He'd parts but this new set of men

A'nt only knaves, but fools.

More changes, better times this isle
Demands: Oh! Chesterfield, Argyll,

To bleeding Britain bring 'em :
Unite all hearts, appease each storm;
"Tis yours such actions to perform,
My pride shall be to sing 'em.

[* This is sorry stuff, but Williams did not always write this way. Witness his famous quatrain on Pulteney: When you touch on his Lordship, &c. Leave a blank here and there in each page, To enrol the fair deeds of his youth! When you mention the acts of his ageLeave a blank for his honour and truth!]

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AIR.

When summer suns grow red with heat,
Tobacco tempers Phoebus' ire;

When wintry storms around us beat,
Tobacco cheers with gentle fire.
Yellow autumn, youthful spring,
In thy praises jointly sing.

RECITATIVO.

Like Neptune, Cæsar guards Virginian fleets,
Fraught with Tobacco's balmy sweets;
Old Ocean trembles at Britannia's power,
And Boreas is afraid to roar,

AIR.

Happy mortal! he who knows Pleasure which a Pipe bestows;

Curling eddies climb the room, Wafting round a mild perfume.

RECITATIVO.

Let foreign climes the wine and orange boast,
While wastes of war deform the teeming coast;
Britannia, distant from each hostile sound,
Enjoys a Pipe, with ease and freedom crown'd:
E'en restless faction finds itself most free,
Or if a slave, a slave to liberty.

AIR.

Smiling years that gaily run
Round the zodiac with the sun,
Tell if ever you have seen
Realms so quiet and serene.
British sons no longer now
Hurl the bar, or twang the bow,
Nor of crimson combat think,
But securely smoke and drink.

IMITATION II.-AMB. PHILIPS.

Tenues fugit ceu fumus in auras.

VIRG.

LITTLE tube of mighty power,
Charmer of an idle hour,
Object of my warm desire,
Lip of wax and eye of fire;
And thy snowy taper waist,
With my finger gently braced;
And thy pretty swelling crest,
With my little stopper prest,
And the sweetest bliss of blisses,
Breathing from thy balmy kisses.
Happy thrice, and thrice agen,
Happiest he of happy men ;
Who when again the night returns,
When again the taper burns,
When again the cricket's gay
(Little cricket full of play),
Can afford his tube to feed
With the fragrant Indian weed:
Pleasure for a nose divine,
Incense of the god of wine.
Happy thrice, and thrice again,
Happiest he of happy men.

[* Browne was an entertaining companion when he had drunk his bottle, but not before; this proved a snare to him, and he would sometimes drink too much; but I know not that he was chargeable with any other irregularities. He had those among his intimates, who would not have been such had he been otherwise viciously inclined; the Duncombes, in particular, father and son, who were of unblemished morals.-CowPER, Letter to Rose, 20 May, 1789.]

[† Mr. Hawkins Browne, the author of these, had no good original manner of his own, yet we see how well he succeeds when he turns an imitator; for the following are rather imitations, than ridiculous parodies.-GOLDSMITH.]

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