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The knaves set off on the same day,
But very different was their speed, I wot:
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, :
[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.".
A MOUNTAIN DAISY,
On turning one down with the Plough, in April 1786..
W EE, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r,
Thou bonnie gem!
Alaş! its no thy neebor sweet
. Wi’ spreckled breast,
The purpling east:
Cauld blew the bitter-biting north
Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth
Amid the storm,
Thy tender form.
The flaunting flow’rs our gardens yield,
O clod or stane,
There, in thy scanty mantle clad,
In humble guise ;
And low thou lies!
Such is the fate of artless maid,
By love's simplicity 'betray'd,
And guiltless trust,
Low i' the dust.
Such is the fate of simple bard,
Of prudent lore,
And whelm him o'er !
Such fate to suffering Worth is given,
To Mis’ry's brink,
He, ruin'd, sink !
Ev'n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate, That fate is thine-Bo distant date :