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Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me,
Sair do I fear that despair maun abide me ;
But tho’ fell fortune should fate us to sever,
Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever.

Mary, I'm thine wi' a passion sincerest,
And thou hast plighted me love the dearest!
And thou’rt the angel that never can alter,
Sooner the sun in his motion would falter.

Let me hear from you.

No. LXXIII.

MR. THOMSON to Mr. BURNS.

You must not think, my good Sir, that I have any intention to enhance the value of

my gift, when I say, in justice to the ingenious and worthy artist, that the design and execution of the Cotter's Saturday night is, in my opinion, one of the happiest productions of Allan's

pencil. I shall be grievously disappointed if you are not quite pleased with it.

The

The figure intended for your portrait, I think strikingly like you, as far as I can remember your phiz. This should make the piece interesting to your family every way. Tell me whether Mrs. Burns finds you out among the figures.

I cannot express the feeling of admiration with which I have read your pathetic Address to the Wood-lark, your elegant Panegyric on Caledonia, and your affecting verses on Chloris's illness. Every repeated perusal of these gives new delight. The other song to “ Laddie lie near me,” though not equal to these, is very pleas, ing

No.

No. LXXIV.

MR. BURNS to MR. THOMSON.

Altered from an old English song.

Tune--" JOHN ANDERSON MY JO.”

How cruel are the parents

Who riches only prize, And to the wealthy booby,

Poor woman sacrifice. Meanwhile the hapless daughter

Has but a choice of strife; To shun a tyrant father's hate,

Become a wretched wife.

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The ravening hawk pursuing,

The trembling dove thus flies, To shun impelling ruin

A while her pinions tries;
Till of escape despairing,

No shelter or retreat,
She trusts the ruthless falconer,

And drops beneath his feet.

SONG,

SONG

Tune-6. DEIL TAK THE WARS."

MARK yonder pomp of costly fashion,

Round the wealthy, titled bride :
But when compar’d with real passion,

Poor is all that princely pride.
What are the showy treasures ?

What are the noisy pleasures ?
The

gay, gaudy glare of vanity and art:
The polish'd jewel's blaze,
May draw the wond'ring gaze,
And courtly grandeur bright,

The fancy inay delight,
But never, never can come near the heart.

But did you see my dearest Chloris,

In simplicity's array;
Lovely as yonder sweet op'ning flower is,

Shrinking from the gaze of day.
O then, the heart alarming,
And all resistless charming,

(soul! In Love's delightful fetters she chains the willing

Ambition would disown
The world's imperial crown,
Even Av’rice would deny

His worshipp'd deity,
And feel thro' ev'ry vein Love's raptures roll.

Well !

Well! this is not amiss. You see how I answer your orders: your tailor could not be more punctual. I am just now in a high fit for poetizing, provided that the strait jacket of criticism don't cure me. If you can in a post or two administer a little of the intoxicating portion of your applause, it will raise your humble servant's phrenzy to any height you want. I am at this moment “holding high converse" with the Muses, and have not a word to throw away on such a prosaic dog as you are.

No. LXXV.

MR. BURNS to MR. THOMSON.

May, 1795.

Ten thousand thanks for your elegant present: though I am ashamed of the value of it, being bestowed on a man who has not by any means merited such an instance of kindness. I have shewn it to two or three judges of the first abilities here, and they all agree with me in class

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