Our dadies and our mammies thay,

Were fill'd wi' mickle joy, To think upon the bridal day, Twixt me and Gilderoy.

For Gilderoy that luve of mine,
Gude faith, I freely bought
A wedding sark of holland fine,
Wi' silken flowers wrought:
And he gied me a wedding ring,
Which I receiv'd wi' joy,

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Nae lad nor lassie eir could sing,
Like me and Gilderoy.

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Wi' mickle joy we spent our prime,
Till we were baith sixteen,
And aft we past the langsome time,

Among the leaves sae green;

Aft on the banks we'd sit us thair,

And sweetly kiss and toy,

We garlands gay wad deck my hair

My handsome Gilderoy.

Oh! that he still had been content,

Wi' me to lead his life;

But, ah! his manfu' heart was bent,

To stir in feates of strife:

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And he in many a venturous deed,

His courage bauld wad try;

And now this gars mine heart to bleed,
For my dear Gilderoy.

And when of me his leave he tuik,

The tears they wat mine ee,

I gave tull him a parting luik,

"My benison gang wi' thee;

God speed thee weil, mine ain dear heart

For gane is all my joy;

My heart is rent sith we maun part,

My handsome Gilderoy."

To hang sike handsome men:

To hang the flower o' Scottish land,

Sae sweet and fair a boy;

Nae lady had sae white a hand,

He was sae trim a boy;

Thair dyed the youth whom I lued best,
My handsome Gilderoy.

Thus having yielded up his breath,

I bare his corpse away,

Wi' tears, that trickled for his death,

I washt his comelye clay;

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And siker in a grave sae deep,

I laid the dear-lued boy,
And now for evir maun I weep,
My winsome Gilderoy.

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XIII.

WINIFREDA.

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This beautiful address to conjugal love, a subject too much neglected by the libertine Muses, was, I believe, first printed in a volume of Miscellaneous Poems, by several hands, published by D. [David] Lewis, 1726, 8vo."

It is there said, how truly I know not, to be a translation "from the ancient British language."

AWAY; let nought to love displeasing,
My Winifreda, move your care;
Let nought delay the heavenly blessing,
Nor squeamish pride, nor gloomy fear.

What tho' no grants of royal donors
With pompous titles grace our blood;
We'll shine in more substantial honors,
And to be noble we'll be good.

Our name, while virtue thus we tender,

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Will sweetly sound where-e'er 'tis spoke: 10 And all the great ones, they shall wonder

How they respect such little folk.

What though from fortune's lavish bounty
No mighty treasures we possess ;
We'll find within our pittance plenty,
And be content without excess.

Still shall each returning season
Sufficient for our wishes give;
For we will live a life of reason,

And that's the only life to live.

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Through youth and age in love excelling.
We'll hand in hand together tread;
Sweet-smiling peace shall crown our dwelling,
And babes, sweet smiling babes, our bed.

How should I love the pretty creatures,
While round my knees they fondly clung;
To see them look their mothers features,
To hear them lisp their mothers tongue.

And when with envy time transported,
Shall think to rob us of our joys,
You'll in your girls again be courted,

And I'll go a wooing in my boys.

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