And left the lasses on the banks of Tay;
Him to a neighbouring garden fortune sent,
Whom we beheld, aspiringly content: 
Patient and mild he sought the dame to please,
Who ruled the kitchen and who bore the keys. 
Fair Lucy first, the laundry’s grace and pride,
With smiles and gracious looks, her fortune tried;
But all in vain she praised his “pawky eyne,”
Where never fondness was for Lucy seen: 
Him the mild Susan, boast of dairies, loved,
And found him civil, cautious, and unmoved: 
From many a fragrant simple, Catherine’s skill
Drew oil and essence from the boiling still;
But not her warmth, nor all her winning ways,
From his cool phlegm could Donald’s spirit raise: 
Of beauty heedless, with the merry mute,
To Mistress Dobson he preferr’d his suit;
There proved his service, there address’d his vows,
And saw her mistress,—­friend,—­protectress,—­spouse;
A butler now, he thanks his powerful bride,
And, like her keys, keeps constant at her side. 
   Next at our altar stood a luckless pair,
Brought by strong passions and a warrant there;
By long rent cloak, hung loosely, strove the bride,
From every eye, what all perceived, to hide,
While the boy-bridegroom, shuffling in his pace,
Now hid awhile and then exposed his face;
As shame alternately with anger strove,
The brain confused with muddy ale, to move
In haste and stammering he perform’d his part,
And look’d the rage that rankled in his heart;
(So will each lover inly curse his fate,
Too soon made happy and made wise too late:)
I saw his features take a savage gloom,
And deeply threaten for the days to come. 
Low spake the lass, and lisp’d and minced the while,
Look’d on the lad, and faintly tried to smile;
With soften’d speech and humbled tone she strove
To stir the embers of departed love: 
While he, a tyrant, frowning walk’d before,
Felt the poor purse, and sought the public door,
She sadly following, in submission went,
And saw the final shilling foully spent;
Then to her father’s hut the pair withdrew,
And bade to love and comfort long adieu! 
   Ah! fly temptation, youth, refrain! refrain! 
I preach for ever; but I preach in vain! 
   Two summers since, I saw at Lammas Fair
The sweetest flower that ever blossom’d there,
When Phoebe Dawson gaily cross’d the Green,
In haste to see, and happy to be seen: 
Her air, her manners, all who saw admired;
Courteous though coy, and gentle though retired;
The joy of youth and health her eyes display’d,
And ease of heart her every look convey’d;
A native skill her simple robes express’d,
As with untutor’d elegance she dress’d;
The lads around admired so fair a sight,
And Phoebe felt, and felt she gave, delight. 
Admirers soon of every age she gain’d,
Her beauty won them and her worth retain’d;
Envy itself could no contempt display,