My heart! I told thee what it was to love;
And now my mother's counsels I approve.
She, on a time, ere set her mortal sun,
As we conversed where Peneus' waters run,
"Daughter," she said, "to maidens' heedless hearts
Love's early dawn delicious charms imparts;
With gentle breath the traitor comes at first;
Then tempests rise, and clouds of sorrow burst,
Wouldst thou be well? whatever form he bear,
He wears his arrows still, and so beware ""

These lessons I remembered oft and oft,
And when with winning air and accent soft

The shepherd came, his words, his looks were such,

I warned thee, heart, not to be pleased so much.

Hadst thou but taken heed, nor answered still

It was not love I felt, but mere good will,

Nor idly sported with his lambent fires,

His quiet joys, and innocent desires,

Thou hadst not found, when it was all too late,

The dart of love is often that of fate.

Ah silly, silly heart! I told thee so;

But I will school thee yet to hide thy wo.

Moliere. Translated by Cruse.

Then I'll employ wi' pleasure a' my art
To keep him cheerfu' and secure his heart.
At e'en, when he comes weary frae the hill,
I'll ha'e a' things made ready to his will:

In winter, when he toils through wind an' rain,

A bleezing ingle, an' a clean hearth stane;
And soon as he flings by his plaid an' staff,
The seething pats be ready to tak' aff;
Clean hag-a-bag I'll spread upon his board,
An' serve him with the best we can afford:
Good humour an' white bigonets shall be
Guards to my face, to keep his love for me.