For the Black, for the Fair: In what Clime, in what Nation,
Hast thou not felt a Fit of Pitapatation?
Thus accus'd, the wild Thing gave this serious Reply; 5 See the Heart without Motion, tho' Celia pass by;
Not the Beauty she has, nor the Wit that she borrows,
Gives the Eye any Joys, or the Heart any Sorrows.
When our Sappho appears, whose Wit's so refined,
I am forced to admire with the rest of Mankind: 10 Whatever she says is with Spirit and Fire;
Every Word I attend, but I only admire.
Prudentia, as vainly too, puts in her Claim;
Ever gazing on Heaven, tho' Man is her Aim.
'Tis Love, not Devotion, that turns up her Eyes: 15 Those Stars of the World are too good for the Skies.
But my Chloe, so lovely, so easy, so fair;
Her Wit so genteel, without Art, without Care;
When she comes in my Way, Oh! the Motion and Pain,
The Leapings and Achings, they return all again. 20
Thou wonderful Creature! A Woman of Reason!
Never grave out of Pride, never gay out of Season!
When so easy to guess, who this Angel should be,
Would one think that my Chloe ne'er thought it was she.
____________________The Braes of Yarrow, To Lady Jane Home, in Imitation of the Ancient Scottish Manner1
A. BUSK ye, busk ye, my bony bony bride,
Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow?
Busk ye, busk ye, my bony bony bride,
And think nae mair on the Braes of Yarrow.