Wit & humour > Gentle shepherd

*4
The GENTLE SHEPHERD.
Roger.
May plenty flow upon thee for a crofs.
That thou mayfl: thole the pangs of mony a lofs.
0 rjiayft thou doat on fome fair paughty wench.
That ne’er will lowt thy lowand drouth to quench
Till, bris’d beneath the burden, thou cry dool.
And awn that ane may fret that is nae fool.
P A T I E.
Sax good fat lambs, I fald them ilka clut
At the Weft-port, and bought a windfome flute.
Of plum-tree made, with iv’ry virles round,
A dainty whiftle with a pleafant found:
I'll be mair canty wi’t, and ne’er cry dool.
Than you with all your calh, ye dowie fool.
Roger.
Na, Patie, na! I’m nae lie churlifti beaft.
Some other thing lies heavier at my bread.
1 dream’d a dreary dream this hinder night.
That gars my flefli a’ creep yet with the fright.
Patie
Now to a friend, how filly’s' this pretence.
To ane wha you and a’ your fecrets kens!
Daft are your dreams, as daftly wad you hide
Your well feen love, and dorty Jenny’s pride.
Tak courage, Roger, me your forrows tell.
And fafely think nane kens them but your fell.
Roger.
Indeed, now, Patie, ye have guefs’d o’er true.
And there is naithing I’ll keep up frae you.
Me dorty Jenny looks upon a fquint;
To fpeak but till her I dare hardly mint.
In ilka place fhe jeers me air and late.
And gars me lobk bumbaz’d and unco Mate,
But