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With the least glance, a little kind, such won’rous pow’rs have Mira’s charmsShe arms my doubts, enslaves my mind, and all my rage disarms.

Forgetful of her broken vows, when gazing on that form divine!Her injur’d vassal trembling bows, nor dares her slave repine.

Divider from 'John Highlandman's Remarks on the City of Glasgow' a chapbook printed in Glasgow in 1802

The PLOUGHMAN'S RANT.

The ploughman’s he’s a bonny lad, and all his work’s at leisure,And when that he comes hame at e’en, he kisses me with pleasure.

CHORUS. Up wi’t a’ my ploughman lad,  up wi’t a' my ploughman, Of a’ the lads that I do know,  commend me to the ploughman.

Now the blooming Spring comes on, he takes his yoking fairly,And whistles o’er the furrow’d land, he goes to fallow early.Up wi’t a’, &c.

The ploughman he comes hame at e’en, he’s often wet and weary,Cast aff the wet, put on the dry,  come to your bed my deary.Up wi’t a’, &c.