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Prithee quit that caprice, and as old Falstaff says,
 let's talk a little like folks of this world.

How can'st thou presume thou hast leave to destroy,
 the beauties which Venus but lent to thy keeping?
Those looks were design'd to inspire love and joy;
 more ordinary eyes may serve people for weeping.

To be vex'd at a trifle or two that I writ,
 my judgement at once and my passion you wrong,
You take that for fact which will scarce be found wit;
 on's life; must one swear to the truth of a song?

The God of us verse-men you know child the—Sun,
 how after his journey he lets up his rest;
If at morning o'er earth 'tis his fancy to run,
 at night he reclines on his Thetis's breast.

So when I quite wearied with wandering all day,
 to thee my delight in the evening ⟨I⟩ come;
No matter what beauties I meet in the way,
 they were but my visits, but thou art my home!

Then finish dear Chloe, this pastoral war,
 and let us like Horas and Lydia agree,
For thou art than Lydia, much brighter by far,
 as he was a poet superior to me.

Divider from 'The Snug Bit of Land in the Ocean', a chapbook printed in Glasgow in 1800

RUNDY'S SONG in the FARMER.

A Flaxen headed cow-boy, as simple as may be,
And next a simple plow-boy I whistled o'er the lee,
But now a saucy footman, I strut in worsted lace,
And soon I'll be a butler, and wag my jolly face!