5
How vaft the diffirence then, between the twain:
Since pleaſure ever is purſu'd by pain.
Pleaſure's a Syren, with inviting arms,
Sweet is her voice, and, pow'rful are her charms:
Lur'd by her call, we tread her flow'ry ground,
Joy wings out ſteps, and muſic warbles round;
Lull'd in her arms, we loſe the flying hours,
And lie enboſom'd midft her blooming bow'rs,
Till-arm'd with death, the watches our undoing,
Stabs while ſhe ſings, and triumphs in our ruin.
END OF RAB AND RINGAN.
The following Tale was recited by the Author at the Pantheon, in a Debate on the Queſtion, "Whether is Diſappointment in Love, or the Loſſ of Fortune hardeſt to bear."
THE LOSS O' THE PACK,
A TRUE TALE.
(Recited in the Character of a poor Pedlar.)
'Boutgates I hate, quo' girning Maggy Pringle,
Syne harl'd Watty, greeting, thro' the ingle.
Since this fell queſtion ſeems ſae lang to hing on,
In twa-three words I'll gie ye my opinion.
I wha ſtand here in this bare ſcoury coat,
Was ance a Packman, wordy mony a groat:
I've carried Packs as big's your muckle table;
I've ſcarted pats, and fleepet in a ſtable:
Six pounds I wadna for my pack ance ta’en,
And I could bauldly brag 'twas a' mine ain.
