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Thine affections, in an instant,
Struggle which shall first be new :

This and that, and here and there,
Only in thy thoughts appear.

Thou art weary, thou art wavering,

Coy, and in a while as kind;
All thy passions, in a turning,
Shift as often as the wind.

To and fro, and up and down;
Change doth all thy actions crown.

But to me thou ne'er art chang’d

In thy wonted cruelty !
Still from me thou keeps estrang’d;
There's thy only constancy.

Oh then, let thy next change be
From neglect to love of me!

If in that mind I could find ye,

I would hold thee fast enow.
This should be my trick to bind ye:
Change I would as oft as you.

Then, by my example taught,
Thou shouldst see that change is naught.

Cupid and the Clown. .

[From the same MS.)

As Cupid took his bow and bolt,

Some birding sport to find,
He chanced on a country swain

Which was some yeoman's hind.

Clown. “ Well met, fair boy! what sport abroad ?

“ It is a goodly day;
" The birds will sit this frosty morn,

“ You cannot choose but slay.

“ Gadzooks ! your eyes are both put out!

5. You will not bird, I trow?
“ Alas, go home, or else I think

“ The birds will laugh at you."

Cupid. “ Why man, thou dost deceive thyself,

" Or else my mother lies,
“ Who said, altho' that I were blind,

My arrows should have eyes."

A copy of this, with some variations, is printed in “ Wit restored."

Clown. “ Wby then thy mother is a fool,

" And thou art but an elf,
“ To let thy arrows to have eyes

" And go without, thyself.”

Cupid. “ Not so, sir swain, but hold your prate ;

" If I do take a shaft
66 I'll make thee ken what I can do !"

With that the ploughman laugh’d.

Then angry Cupid drew his bow. Clown. “ For God's sake slay me not!” Cupid. “ I'll make thy lither liver ache." Clown. “ Nay! I'll be loth of that!”

The stinging arrow hit the mark,

And pierc'd his silly soul :
You might know by his hollow eyes

Where Love had made a hole.

And so the clown went bleeding home;

(To stay it was no boot)
And found, that he could see to hit,

That could not see to shoot,

Inconstancy reproved. *

(Vide " A choice Collection of comic and serious Scots

Poems, both ancient and modern," in three parts, Edinburgh, Watson, 1709-1711, 8vo. and “The Hive,”(4 small volumes of songs)frequently printed before the middle of the last century. I can at present produce no earlier authorities, though the copy given in the first edition of this work was taken, I believe, from some more ancient miscellany. However, from the internal evidence of style and sentiment, I have no difficulty in referring this poem

to the reign of Charles I.] I DO confess thou’rt smooth and fair,

And I might have gone near to love thee; Had I not found the slightest prayer

That lips could speak, had power to move thee ; But I can let thee now alone As worthy to be lov’d by none.

I do confess thou’rt sweet, yet find

Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets,
Thy favours are but like the wind

That kisseth every thing it meets.
And since thou canst with ' more than one,
Thou’rt worthy to be kiss'da by none.

* This is the title given in Watson's collection. In the Hive it is “ To his cheap mistress."

* So the Hive. " love," Watson's Coll. * So the Hive. " lov’d,” Watson,

The morning rose, that untouch'd stands,

Arm'd with her briars, how sweetly smells ! But pluck'd and strain'd through ruder hands,

Her sweets no longer with her dwells; But scent and beauty both are gone, And leaves fall from her, one by one.

Such fate, ere long, will thee betide,

When thou hast handled been a while !
Like sere-flowers 2 to be thrown aside,

And I shall sigh, while some will smile,
To see thy love to every one
Hath brought thee to be lov'd by none!

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To the Moon. •

[From a MS.]

Trou silent Moon, that look’st so pale,

So much exhausted, and so faint,

• So Watson. “ most," the Hive.

• To the best of my recollection, this is the reading of my original copy. Watson gives "fair flowers," and the Hive " those flowers," both much inferior.

3 So the Hive. “ you shall sigh when I shall smile," Watson.

* The editor has to apologize to the authoress of the two following beautiful little poems, Miss Scott, of Ancram, for

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