The works of Allan Ramsay :: :: University of Virginia Library

George
Why drooping thus? Say, Gawin, what is the cause
That surly face dares break our Easy laws.

Gawin
These drumbly times do very much confound
My easy thinking and my judgement wound,
While grief and hope alternately go round.

George
Let wild confusions do the worst they can,
No accident shall crush the vertuous man;
Should jarring discord make all nature crack
And wasting wars make of this world a wrack,
No casual event can his peace controul,
He stands secure, fix'd on his lofty soul.

Gawin
Ah George, methinks it stupid not to moan—
Should we not sigh to hear our Mother groan
Now when her sides are tore with civil broils
And her brave blood in dreadful madness boils?
Her hardy sons, whose fame was heard afar,
Now 'gainst each other threaten cruel war.
They who spread terrour in the dusky plain
And, panting, trod o're mountains of the slain,
Who knew to dye much better than to yield
And still were slain, or victors kept the field—

153

Now must this daring courage all be spent
In quelling private feuds and discontent?
Degenerate age, say what can be the cause
To prompt such wrath as shocks all nature's laws.
'Gainst brother brother, father 'gainst the son,
Both seem resolv'd their party's risque to run,
To gain their end no danger seem to shun.
The kind emotions of a tender wife
Who, fainting, views her husband in the strife,
Dismay'd, she fears his slender tack of life.
But now nor wife nor infant charms can make
His strong resolves or inclinations shake
Tho both his life and fortune's at the stake.
He mounts his steed, nor her advice does ask
But sets his all upon the dreadful cast.
She's left alone and doubts of his return;
She loves the man and can not chuse but mourn,
Thus tryes to waste her grief by shedding tears
And by faint hopes to crush substantial fears.
Pacific hinds whose humble minds regard
No politicks beyond their barn and yard
Are forced to arms.
These tools of death they weild with awkward hand,
While ploughs on until'd ridg[e]s neglected stand.
They see destruction through the kingdom reel
And meagre famine treading on its heel
When frugal arts of peace are laid aside
To gratifie a dull schismatick pride.
These sure are ills, yet there are ten times more
Which every thinking Scotsmen should deplore.

George
They are, indeed. Yet often when disease
Does threaten death to give the patient ease,
From purple veins the lancet gives a pass
To that base blood which would defile the mass.
So may it hit.

154

I know the horrid cause for which we smart,
The black idea's rivet in my heart.
O may they only suffer by the rod
Who with this cursed crime offended God.

Gawin
So may it end as I would wish, and then
I'll change my airs and tune my reed again.

Both
Till then heav'd blast our foes and save true hearted men.