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 No Miery's o great, but they make wore,

Each others Beeing, and each others Cure.

They mingle Death with every punct of Time,

And only in Detruction are ublime;

Slow Poions which no Antidote can cure,

Lingring in Life and in Detruction ure;

Potent in trength their trong Dominions grow,

Not Men but Nations they can overthrow.

Wake Scotland from thy long Lethargic Dream,

Seem what thou art, and be what thou halt eem,

Shake off the Poverty, the loth will dy,

Succes alone can quicken Indutry.

No more the bondage of reproach endure,

Or bear thoe Harms thou cant o quickly cure.

To Land Improvement and to Trade apply,

They'l plentifully pay thine Indutry.

The barren Muirs hall weighty heaves betow,

Th' uncultivated Vales rich Patures how,

The Mountains Flocks and Herds in tead of Snow.

Natures a Virgin very Chat and coy,

To Court her's nonence, if ye will enjoy,

She mut be ravih't,

When he's forc't he's free,

A perfect Protitute to Indutry;

Freely he opens to th' Indutrious hand,

And pays them all the Tribute of the Land.