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Who may be soldiers, sailors, drovers, ay, Or tinkers if they will, may choose a mate With whom, o'er sea or land, through burgh or city, To scour the world. But for the elder born, Who must uphold the honours of the race,— His ancient race,—he is not thus at liberty To please a youthful fancy.

But yet, dear Sir, you may be ignorant

What! am I ignorant? Do I not know The world sufficiently to guide and counsel Those through whose body my own blood is flowing? Not many men have had more opportunity To know men and their ways, and I have turn'd it To some account; at least I fain would think so. I have been thrice in Edinburgh, as thou knowest, In Glasgow many times, in London once; And I, forsooth, am ignorant!

Dear father! You would not hear me out: I did not mean That you were ignorant of aught belonging To worldly wisdom; but his secret heart, As I have said before, his prepossessions