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MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS,
APPROACH OF SPRING.
Now Nature hangs her mantle green
On every blooming tree
Out o'er the graffy lea:
And glads the azure skies;
That fast in durance lies.
Now laverocks wake the merry morn,
Aloft on dewy wing;
Makes woodland echoes ring;
Sings drowfy day to rest :
Wi' care nor thrall oppreft.
Now blooms the lily by the bank,
The primrose down the brac ;
And milk-white is the fae :
May rove their sweets amang ; Bat I, the Queen of a' Scotland,
Maun lie in prison ftrang.
I was the Queen o'bonie France,
Where happy I has been; Fu' lightly rase I on the morn,
As blythe lay. down at e'en : And I'm the sovereign of Scotland,
And mony a traitor there; Yet here I lie in foreign bands,
And never ending care.
But as for thee, thou false woman,
My fifter and my fae,
That thro' thy soul shall gae :
Was never known to thee ;
Frae woman's pitying e'e.
My fon! my fon! may kinder stars
Upon thy fortune fine !
That ne'er wad blink on mine!
Or turn their hearts to thee:
Remember him for me!
O i foon, to me, may summer funs
Nac mair light up the morn!
Wave' o'er the yellow corn!
Let winter round me rave ; And the next flowers, that deck the spring,
Bloom on my peaceful grave.
LATE crippled of an arm, and now a leg,
a , About to beg a pass for leave to beg ; Dull, listless, teased, dejected, and deprest, (Nature is adverse to a criple's reft); Will generous G***** list to his Poet's wail? (It soothes poor Misery, hearkening to her tale), And hear him eurfe the light he first surveyed, And doubly curse the luckless rhyming trade.
Thou, Nature, partial Nature, I arraign ; Of thy caprice maternal I complain. The lion and the bull thy care have found, One shakes the forest, and one spurns the ground: Thou giv'it the ass his hide, the snail his shell, Th’envenomed wasp, victorious, guards his cell. -Thy minions, kings defend, controul, devour, In all th' omnipotence of rule and power. Foxes and statesmen, fubtile wiles enfure; The cit and polecat stink, and are secure. Toads with their poison, doctors with their drug, 'The priest and hedgehog in their robes are snug. Even filly woman has her warlike arts, Her tongue and eyes, her dreaded spear and darts.
But Oh! thou bitter step-mother and hard,
every Vampyre booksellers drain him to the heart, And scorpion Critics cureless venom dart.