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The knaves set off on the same day,
Peas in their shoes, to go and pray ;

But very different was their speed, I wot:
One of the sinners gallop'd on
Light as a bullet from a gun;
The other limp'd as if he had been shot.

One saw the Virgin soon- peccavi cried

Had his soul white-wash'd all so clever ; Then home again he nimbly hied,

Made fit with saints above to live for ever.

In coming back, however, let me say, :
He met his brother rogue about half way,
Hobbling with outstretch'd bum and bending
Damning the souls and bodies of the peas; [knees,
His eyes in tears, his cheeks and brows in sweat,
Deep sympathizing with his groaning feet.
“ How now," the light-toed, white-wash'd pilgrim
“ You lazy lubber?"-

[broke, " Odds curse it !” cried the other, “ tis no joke: My feet, once hard as any rock,

“ Are now as soft as blubber.

« Excuse me, Virgin Mary, that I swear“ As for Loretto, I shall not get there: “ No! to the Devil my sinful soul must go, “ For damme if I ha'n't lost ev'ry toe. “ But, brother sinner, do explain : * How 'tis that you are not in pain; . .

“What Pow'r hath work'd a wonder for your

“ Whilst I just like a snail am crawling, (toes; « Now swearing, now on saints devoutly bawling,

“ Whilst not a rascal comes to ease my woes? * How is't that you can like a greyhound go, “ Merry, as if that nought had happen’d, burn “ ye"

[know, " Why,” cried the other grinning, “ you must “ That, just before I ventur'd-on my journey,

“ To walk a little more at ease, i'. .“ I took the liberty to boil my peas.".



On turning one down with the Plough, in April 1786..


W EE, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r,
Thou's met me in an evil hour;
For I maun crush amang the stoure
· Thy slender stem : :
To spare thee now is past my pow'r,

Thou bonnie gem!

Alaş! its no thy neebor sweet
The bonię lark, companion meet!
Bending thee .'mang the dewy weet !

. Wi’ spreckled breast,
When upward springing, blythe, to greet

The purpling east:

Cauld blew the bitter-biting north
Upon thy early, humble birth;

Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth

Amid the storm,
Scarce reard above the parent-carth

Thy tender form.

The flaunting flow’rs our gardens yield,
High sheltering woods an’ wa's maun shield;
But thou, beneath the random bield

O clod or stane,
Adorns the histie stibble-field,

Unseen, alane.

There, in thy scanty mantle clad,
Thy snawie bosom sunward spread,
Thou lifts thy unassuming head

In humble guise ;
But now the share up tears thy bed,

And low thou lies!

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Such is the fate of artless maid,
Sweet flowret of the rural shade !

By love's simplicity 'betray'd,

And guiltless trust,
Till she, like thee, all soild, is laid

Low i' the dust.

Such is the fate of simple bard,
On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd;
Unskilful he to note the card

Of prudent lore,
Till billows rage, and gales blow hard,

And whelm him o'er !

Such fate to suffering Worth is given,
Who long with wants and woes has striv'n,
By human pride or cunning driv'n

To Mis’ry's brink,
Till wrench'd of ev'ry stay but Heaven,

He, ruin'd, sink !

Ev'n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate, That fate is thine-Bo distant date :

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