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SCOTS SONGS. 317
But if thou turn a commonwealth,
I'll never love thee more. ' y
But if by fraud, or by confent, 25
Thy heart to ruin come,
I'll found no trumpet, as I wont,
Nor march by tuk of drum j
But hold my arms, like enligns up,
Thy falfehood to deplore, 30
And bitterly will figh and weep,
And never love thee more.
I'll do with thee as Nero did.
When Rome was fet on fire j
Not only all relief forbid, 35
But to a hill retire j
And fcorn to fhed a tear to fee,
The fpirit grow fo poor ;
But, fmiling, ling until I die,
I'll never love thee more. 40
Yet for the love I bore thee once,
Left that, thy name fliould die,
A monument of marble-ftone
The truth fnall teftifie ;
That every pilgrim paffing by, ^ j;
May pity and deplore
My cafe, and read the reafon why
I can love thee no more.
03

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