Of weeping friends, who wait at dying beds.
Spare these, and let thy time be when it will;
My bus’ness is to dye, and thine to kill.
Gently thy fatal sceptre on me lay,
And take to thy cold arms, insensibly, thy prey.
LADY GRISEL BAILLIE
1665-1746
48. Werena my Heart’s licht
There ance was a may, and she lo’ed na men;