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Should in some future time become the lady Of that young Highland chief. But years bring thoughts Of a more sober and domestic hue. Why should I covet distant vanities, And banish from my sight its dearest object? I have. They are the portraits of your parents: Their features bear resemblance to your own.

My mother's do: and look at her, dear Madam! With all the bravery of that satin dress Clasp'd up with jewels, and those roses stuck Amongst her braided hair, she was the daughter And sober heiress of a saving burgher, Whose hoarded pelf in my brave father's hands Raised such industrious stir in this good city, As changed her from a haunt of listless sluggards To the fair town she is. What need have I To eke my consequence with foreign matches? Alice shall wed, I hope, some prosperous merchant, And live contentedly, my next door neighbour, With all her imps about her.

Wed whom she may, I hope she will be happy.