I’d think myself a happier man,
Wi’ Kate, my club, and dogie,
Than he who hugs his thousands ten.
Had I but Kath’rine Ogie.
Then I’d despise th’ imperial throne.
And statesmen’s dangerous stations,
I’d be no king, I’d wear no crown,
I’d smile at conquering nations,
Might I caress, and stil possess
This lass of whom I’m vogie ;
For these are toys, and still look less,
Compar’d wirh Kath’rine Ogie.
I fear the gods have not decreed
For me so fine a creature,
Whose beauty rare makes her exceed
All other works of nature,
Clouds of despair surround my love.
That are both dark and foggie ;
Pity my case, ye Powers above!
I die for Kath’rine Ogie.
THE LOVER’S DEPARTURE.
FAREWELL to sweet Kilmarnock,
Wherein much pleasure I have had ;
Thy fruitful fields, thy flowery vales.
To go and leave it makes me sad.
When aged sixteen, my heart was fond
My luck in foreign climes to try,
Four years and more have passed o’er.
And I’m returned back with joy.