V.

How blest the humble cotter's fate![138] He wooes his simple dearie; The silly bogles, wealth and state, Can never make them eerie. O why should Fate sic pleasure have, Life's dearest bands untwining? Or why sae sweet a flower as love Depend on Fortune's shining?

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 138: "The wild-wood Indian's Fate," in the original MS.]

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