III.

    Says the Man of the World, “Your dull stoic life
      Is surely deserving of blame? 
    You have children to care for, as well as a wife,
      And it ’s wrong not to lay up for them.” 
    Says the fat Gormandiser, “To eat and to drink
      Is the true summum bonum of man: 
    Life is nothing without it, whate’er you may think,
      And it ’s wrong not to live while you can.”

IV.

    Says the new-made Divine, “Your old modes we reject,
      Nor give ourselves trouble about them: 
    It is manners and dress that procure us respect,
      And it ’s wrong to look for it without them.” 
    Says the grave peevish Saint, in a fit of the spleen,
      “Ah! me, but your manners are vile: 
    A parson that ’s blythe is a shame to be seen,
      And it ’s wrong in you even to smile.”

V.

    Says the Clown, when I tell him to do what he ought,
      “Sir, whatever your character be,
    To obey you in this I will never be brought,
      And it ’s wrong to be meddling with me.” 
    Says my Wife, when she wants this or that for the house,
      “Our matters to ruin must go: 
    Your reading and writing is not worth a souse,
      And it ’s wrong to neglect the house so.”

VI.

    Thus all judge of me by their taste or their wit,
      And I ’m censured by old and by young,
    Who in one point agree, though in others they split,
      That in something I ’m still in the wrong. 
    But let them say on to the end of the song,
      It shall make no impression on me: 
    If to differ from such be to be in the wrong,
      In the wrong I hope always to be.

LIZZY LIBERTY.

TUNE—­"Tibbie Fowler i’ the Glen."

I.

        There lives a lassie i’ the braes,
          And Lizzy Liberty they ca’ her,
        When she has on her Sunday’s claes,
          Ye never saw a lady brawer;
        So a’ the lads are wooing at her,
          Courting her, but canna get her;
    Bonny Lizzy Liberty, there ’s ow’r mony wooing at her!

II.

        Her mither ware a tabbit mutch,
          Her father was an honest dyker,
        She ’s a black-eyed wanton witch,
          Ye winna shaw me mony like her: 
        So a’ the lads are wooing at her,
          Courting her, but canna get her;
    Bonny Lizzy Liberty, wow, sae mony ’s wooing at her!

III.

        A kindly lass she is, I ’m seer,
          Has fowth o’ sense and smeddum in her,
        And nae a swankie far nor near,
          But tries wi’ a’ his might to win her: 
        They ’re wooing at her, fain would hae her,
          Courting her, but canna get her;
    Bonny Lizzy Liberty, there ’s ow’r mony wooing at her!