3
O were I but some shepherd swain,
To feed my flocks beside thee
At bughting-time to leave the plain,
In milking to abide thee;
I'd think myself a happier man
Wi Kate, my club, and dogie,
Than he that hugs bis thousand ten,
Had I but Cathrine Ogie.
Then I'd despise th' imperial throne,
And statemens dangerous stations;
I'd be no king. I'll wear no crown,
I'd smile at conquering nations,
Might I caress and still posess
This lass of whom I'm vogie,
For they are toys, and still look less,
Compar'd with Cathrine Ogie.
I fear the gods have not decreed
For me so fine a creature
Whose beauty rare makes her exceed
All other works in Nature.
Clouds of despair surround my love,
They are both dark and foggie;
Pity my case, ye powers above!
Else I die for Cathrine Ogie.
THE SPINNING O T.
Now, Sandy, the winter's cauld blasts are awa',
And simmer we're seen the beginning o't;
I've lang been wearied o' frost and o' snaw,
