8
Her arms white round and fmooth, breafts rifing in their dawn, To age it would give youth, to pref them with his hand! Thro‘ all thy fpirits ran an extafy of blifs, When I fuch fweetnefs fand, wrapt in a balmy kifs.
Without the help of art, like flowers which grace the wild. She did her fweets impart, when e'er fhe fpoke or fmiled Her looks they were fo mild, free from affected pride, She me to love beguil'd, I wift'd her for my bride.
O had I all the wealth Hoptouns high mountains fill, Infured long life and health, and pleafure at my will; I‘d promife and fufil, that none but bonny fhe he Lafs of Peaties mill, fhould fhare the fame with me. FINIS.
