My lay shall merit your regard, ODE to the Memory of Mrs FORBES, the late Lady New Hall. Written in 1728, The same year in which his second quarto issued from the press with the Pastoral Comedy completed, and the first scene reprinted as part of the drama, having a Note, by Ramsay, subjoined to it, informing his readers that he had, now, " carried the Pastoral the length of five acts at the desire of some persons of distinction.” An life! thou short uncertain blaze, In prime of life and lovely glow, With every beauty, grace, and wit. If outward charms, and temper sweet, Her soul glanced with each heavenly ray, Her form with all those beauties fair, For which young brides and mothers pray, And wish'd for to their infant care. Sour spleen or anger, passion rude, Come, fairest nymphs, and gentle swains, In mournful notes your pain express, Yet piously correct your moan, And raise religious thoughts on high, After her spotless soul, that's gone. To joys that ne'er can fade or die. The ADDRESS of ALLAN RAMSAY to the Honourable DUNCAN FORBES of Culloden, Lord President of the Session, and all our other Judges, who are careful of the honour of the government, and the property of the subject. Written in 1737, On the suppression of his Playhouse, being the last of his poems. Humbly means and shaws, To you, my Lords, whase elevation, To Can eithly redd the good frae ill, And ken them well whase fair behaviour Deserve reward and royal favour, As like you do, these stonkerd fellows, To you, And for an outgate to implore ye. Last year, my Lords, nae farrer gane, A costly wark was undertane A playhouse new, at vast expence, In winter nights, 'gainst wind and weet, And shall the man to whom this task falls, Suffer amang confounded rascals, That, like vile adders, dart their stings, At last be twin'd of all my hopes With troubles in declining age; While wights, to whom my credit stands For sums, make sour and thrawn demands? Shall London have its houses twa, When ice and snaw o'ercleads the isle, Wha now will think it worth their while To leave their gowsty country bowers, For the anes blythsome Edinburgh towers, Where there's no glee to give delight, And ward frae spleen the langsome night? For which they'll now have nae relief, But sonk at hame, and cleck mischief. Is there ought better than the stage Which may be done with perfect ease, |