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Far beyond a Plantagenet,
a Tudor, or Naſſau, Sir;
Let the ſceptre be ſway’d by
the ſon or the fire, Sir,
May their race rule this land
till the globe is on fire, Sir;
And may their future days, in glory & ſucceſs,
Far ſurpaſs the golden days we now poſſeſs.
SYLVIA’S MARRIAGE.
SYLVIA was tender, ſoft and young,
the wonder of the plain;
The theme of every ſhepherd’s ſong,
and author of his pain.
To gaze on her, each am’rous boy,
would waſte the live long day;
Let wolves his helpleſs lambs deſtroy,
and flocks unheaded ſtray.
But Sylvia, raſh, unthinking maid,
too fondly turn’d a wife;
Let all her blooming beauties fade,
and loſt the ſweets of life.
So on the tree the blooming roſe,
charms all beholding eyes,
But pluck’d and torn from whence it grows,
it withers, faints, and dies.
GLASGOW,
Printed by J. & M. Robertſon, Saltmarket, 1803
