The Vocal remembrancer; being a choice selection of the most admired songs, including the modern. : To which are added favourite toasts and sentiments.

THE Vocal Remembrancer.

WHEN first I saw the village maiden, Like Cymon motionless I stood; 'Twas Iphiginia's self appearing, So lovely beautiful and good. Her cheeks outblush'd the ripening rose, Her smiles would banish mortal's woes, So sweet, so sweet, the village maiden. So sweet, so sweet, so sweet, so sweet, so sweet, so sweet, the village maiden.

Clarissa's eyes all eyes attracting, Her breath Arabian spices feign; For her, like ore, would av'rice wander, Adventure all the prize to gain. I told my love, with many fears, Which she return'd with speaking tears; Then sigh'd the village maiden. So sweet, so sweet, so sweet, so sweet, so sweet, then sigh'd the village maiden.

She sigh'd because she had no riches, To make her lady-like and gay, Tho' virtue was her only portion, I dar'd to name the wedding-day. The care of wealth let knaves endure, I shall be rich and envied sure, To gain the village maiden. So sweet, so sweet, so sweet, so sweet, so sweet, to gain the village maiden.

THE day is departed, and round from the cloud, The moon in her beauty appears; The voice of the nightingale warbles aloud, The music of love in our ears. Maria appear! now the season so sweet, With the beat of the heart is in tune, The time is so tender for lovers to meet, Alone by the light of the moon.

I cannot, when present, unfold what I feel; I sigh—Can a lover do more? Her name to the shepherds I never reveal, Yet I think of her all the day o'er. Maria, my love, do you long for the grove, Do you sigh for an interview soon; Does e'er a kind thought run on me as you rove, Alone by the light of the moon?

Your name from the shepherds, whenever I hear, My bosom is all in a glow; Your voice, when it vibrates, so sweet thro' mine ear, My heart thri•• my eyes o'erflow. Ye pow'rs of the sky, will your bounty divine Indulge a fond lover his boon; Shall heart spring to heart, and Maria be mine, Alone by the light of the moon?

A Beauteous Starling late I saw On lovely Sylvia's hand; To check his flight, around his leg She ty'd a silken band: In vain he flutters to be gone; Confinement is his lot: In vain he strives to break the band— And can't untie the knot.

Cease! cease! she cried—here you shall ••eed, And in my bosom rest:

No bird that ever wing'd the air, Was half so much caress'd. If from my han•• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 should escape, You may perc•••• be shot: Thence cease to peck—'tis all in vain— You can't untie the knot.

The bird contented grows, at length, While Sylvia strokes his plumes, Erects his little crest—and soon His former notes resumes: From what he'd heard the fair one say, These words by rote he got; And oft repeated ev'ry day, You can't untie the knot.

One ev'ning youthful Damon sat, With Sylvia by his side; Reward my love at last, said he, To-morrow be my bride. Her blushes in his favour rose, Yet she consented not; For 〈◊〉〈◊〉 she spake, the Starling cried— You can't untie the knot.

A Dying thrush young Edwy found, As flutt••••ing in a field of snow; Its little wings with ice were bound, A while its heart forgot to glow: In eager haste he homeward ran, The quiv'ring charge to me resign'd— "Oh save it Celia (if you can) "Protect it from the wintry wind."

My bosom press'd the trembling thing, And bade its little pris'ner live, But, ah! that bosom felt a sting, The panting warbler ne'er could give. With sweet concern young Edwy cry'd, "Can Celia save the dying thrush?" Perhaps, I said—and fondly sigh'd, Which shame transplanted to a blush.

He cry'd, "My Celia, why that sigh? "And why that blush?—the bird is free— "But pity beams in Celia's eye, "Ah! 〈◊〉〈◊〉 it, fair one, beam on me?" My heart approv'd his pleasing claim, Tho' fain to hide the rebel strove; For pity bore a dearer name, 'Twas now converted into Love.

STERN Winter's now retiring, Bright Sol resumes his genial ray, The feathered race inspiring, To warble joy on ev'ry spray.

With vegetating ardour, The lab'ring earth her task renews; And soon in cheering verdure, Will fields and lawns present their views.

The trees, with buds expanding, All grateful, 〈…〉〈…〉 year; And blossoms, ga•• ••lending, The pledge of future fruits appear.

While scenes, surrounding, charm us, More blooming as the months advance, Soft thrilling raptures warm us, And all the pow'rs of nature dance.

FAIREST of the tuneful Nine, Clio, muse and nymph divine, Haste thee to the vocal grove, Breathing odours, breathing love. Be thy temples deck'd around, With a flow'ry chaplet crown'd; Curling locks o'erspread thy breast, In a mantle lightly dress'd.

On the mossy bank reclin'd, Gently wafted by the wind;

Circling Sylvans round thee there, Shall forget their fleecy care. Muse celestial, come away, Tune sublime th' enchanting lay; While the warblers of the sky, Swell the chorus as they fly.

WHAT means, my fair, that crystal tear Adown thy cheek which flows; Or injur'd love, or anxious fear? The cause, my dear, disclose. Ah, why doth sorrow cloud thy brow, And rob those eyes of sleep? Why dost thou languish? Say what anguish Rends thy bosom now, Or why doth Sylvia weep?

Thy bosom ne'er was made for woes, Nor yet those eyes for tears; Then stop the current as it flows, And dissipate thy fears: Now on thy faithful lover smile, Nor longer silence keep; Then pleasure's vanish'd Peace long banish'd, Shall thy cares beguile, And thou no longer weep.

THE midnight moon serenely smiles O'er nature's soft repose; No low'ring cloud obscures the skies Nor ruffling tempest blows. Now every passion sinks to rest, The throbbing heart lies still; And varying schemes of life no more Distract the lab'ring will.

In silence hush'd, to Reason's voice Attends each mental pow'r; Come, dear Amanda, and enjoy Reflection's fav'rite hour.

THIS lovely peach I've kept with care, For Clara, fairest of the fair; The beauteous tints its surface streak, Are but faint emblems of her cheek; Its sweet perfume, its luscious taste, By Clara's lips are far surpass'd: Beauty and sweetness here are join'd, But more in Clara's form and mind.

WHEN Cynthia sheds her silver light, And glitters on the stream; When the soft plaintive bird of night, Inspires the lover's theme. To shady bow'rs I then retreat, Or seek the lowly vale: My tender passion there repeat, And join the nightingale.

SEQUESTERED from the haughty great, I hail my Sylvan cot; Nor breathe a wish for pageant state, Contented with my lot. A stranger to discordant strife, My peaceful hours I spend; Thy blessings, Virtue, crown my life, And all my troubles end.

On vernal sprays the feather'd choir, Rejoic'd in song to hear; No sweeter music I require To charm my humble ear;

With pity I look down on state, I•• splendour envy not; For I am happy, rich and great, Within my Sylvan cot.

GENTLE stranger, tell ••••e whither Now for daily food th•• ••t fly; Silly wand'rer, wing the th•• ••ther, Daily I'll that want 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Warbler I'll defend thee From the cold inclement 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Gentle Robin, I'll befriend thee, Dwell secure beneath mine eye.

WHEN snows descend and robe the fields, In winter's bright array; Touch'd by the sun, their lustre fades, And weeps itself away. When spring appears, when violets blow, And shed a rich perfume; How soon the fragrance breathes its last, How short 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the bloom!

Fresh in the mo•• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 summer rose Hangs 〈…〉〈…〉 'tis noon; We sca•• 〈…〉〈…〉 ••almy gift, But mo•• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 pleasure gone. With gliding 〈◊〉〈◊〉 an ev'ning star Streaks the autumnal skies; Shook from the sphere, it darts away, And in an instant dies.

Such are the charms that flush the cheek, And sparkle in the eye; So from the lovely finish'd form The transient graces fly;

But Virtue's charms, which grace the mind, Are richer, more divine; And, when translated to the skies; Shall there for ever shine.

IN spring, my dear shepherds your flow'rets are gay; They breathe all their sweets in the sunshine of May, But hang down their ••eads when December draws near; The winter of life, is like that of ••••e year.

The larks, and the 〈…〉〈…〉 ••unt o'er the plains, All, all are in love, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the ••••mmer remains; But cease their fond st•• as ••er charms disappear; The winter of life, is like that of the year.

The season for love, is, when life's in its prime, Ye lads and ye lasses, make use of your time; The frost of old age will too quickly be here; The winter of life, is like that of the year.

GENTLE sleep, mine eye-lids close, Hush my mind to soft repose; All my troubled passions ease, With enchanting visions please. When fell care and noisy strife May disturb my peaceful life; When with dire disease opprest, Anguish and horror fill my breast.

WITH the sun I rise at morn, Haste my flock into the mead; By 〈◊〉〈◊〉 fields of yellow corn, There my gentle lambkins feed: Ever sportive, ever gay, While the merry pipe I play.

Lovely Mira joins the strain; Calls the wand'rer to its mate: Her sweet voice can sooth each pain, And make the troubled heart elate: Ever cheerful, ever gay, While the merry pipe I play.

When from Winter's rugged arm•• Zephyrs fleeting leave the grove, Mira cheers me with her charms; For her song is tun'd to love: Ever happy, ever gay, On the merry pipe I play.

Tho' no splendour deck my cot, With my fair I live content; May it be my happy lot, Still to love, and ne'er repent; While, at dawn and setting day, On the merry pipe I play.

NO more the festive train I'll join•• Adieu, ye rural sports, adieu! For what, alas! have griefs like mine, With pastimes or delights to do? Let hearts at ease such pleasures prove; But I am all despair and love.

Ah, well-a-day! how chang'd am I!— When late I seiz'd the rural reed, So soft my strains, the herds hard by Stood gazing, and forgot to feed: But now my strains no longer move; They're discord all, despair, and love.

Behold around my straggling sheep, The fairest once upon the lea; No swain to guide, no dog to keep, Unshorn they stray, nor mark'd by me. The shepherds mourn to see them rove; They ask the cause; I answer, Love.

Neglected love first taught my eyes With tears of anguish to o'erflow; 'Tis that which fill'd my breast with sighs, And tun'd my pipe to notes of woe: Love has occasion'd all my smart, Dispers'd my flock, and broke my heart.

W•• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 western breezes fan the shore, 〈…〉〈…〉 well the azure wave, I yield 〈…〉〈…〉 soft'ning pow'r: (The 〈◊〉〈◊〉 transport then would grieve.)

When loud the thick'ning tempests fly, Enrage, and dash the foaming floods; From the rude scene I trembling hie, And plunge into the safer woods.

Nor sea, nor deaf'ning din, is there, The stormy jury straight does please: I hear it founding from afar; It sings or murmurs through the trees.

A fisherman I would not live, Who labours in the pathless deep; Whose cruel art is to deceive, Whose dwelling is a brittle ship.

Let me my bleating ewes attend, (Harmless myself, and bless'd as they;) With them my morning steps I'll bend, With them I'll wait the closing day.

Now underneath a plane tree laid, Or careless by a lulling stream, Let me enjoy the cooling shade, Or sweetly sink into a dream.

LET me wander not unseen, By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green: There the ploughman, near at hand, Whistles o'er the furrow'd land;

And the milkmaid singeth blithe; And the mower whe••s his scythe; And every shepherd tells his tale Under the hawthorn in the dale.

IF all the world and love were young, And truth in every shepherd's tongue, These pretty pleasures might me move To live with thee, and be thy love.

Time drives the flocks from field to fold, When rivers rage, and rocks grow cold, And Philomel becometh dumb; The rest complain of cares to come.

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields To wayward winter reck'ning yields; A honey tongue, a heart of gall, Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall.

Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten, In folly ripe, in reason rotten.

Thy belt of straw, and ivy buds, Thy coral clasps, and am'•••• studs, All these in me no means can move To come to thee, and be thy love.

But could youth last, and love still breed, Had joy no date, nor age no need; Then these delights my mind might move To live with thee, and be thy love.

LOVELY nymph, assuage my anguish, At your feet a tender swain, Prays you will not let him languish; One kind look would ease his pain.

Did you know the lad that courts You, he not long need sue in vain; Prince of long, of dance, of sports, You scarce will meet his like again.

'YE maidens so cheerful and gay,' Attend to poor Phillida's strain, One moment attend to her lay, She will not dwell long on the plain: But hasten from scenes that revive The remembrance of all that was dear, Nor her Damon much longer survive, Who early has press'd the cold bier.

How pleasantly time took its flight, When we sat by the side of yond' hill! His presence my soul would delight, And my ••••••om with rapture would fill: For all that was tender and kind, Adorned the breast of my love; Full noble and great was his mind, And as constant and true as the dove.

On his flute he would oftentimes play; And I listen'd with joy to his song, Whilst my sheep they unnotic'd would stray; But now silent for ever's his tongue; That heart too for ever is still, Which beat with such transport for me: Shall not grief my fond bosom then fill, Since no more the lov'd shepherd I see?

Oh! death, why so very unkind, To rob me of him I held dear? No pleasure, alas, can I find; Each scene bear, the gloom of despair. Come, in pity then wing me away To regions of bliss and of joy; Where my Damon's blest spirit doth stray; Oh! waft me in one gentle sigh.

YE swains, none so happy as I, Since Chloe my love does reward; So much to divert her I try, I scarce my sad flocks can regard. Your nymphs to her beauty must bow, As thistles that spoil the fair field, Inferior their beauty, I trow, To tender soft myrtles do yield.

Yet she's modest amidst all the praise That on her each shepherd bestow••; Names rival pretenders with ease; With envy her face never glows. She says, 'beauty's praise is short fame; Its owners will fade with it too:' Many young giddy nymphs say the same, And yet think the sound maxim untrue.

Oft under my arbour's cool shade, That wantons with roses, sweet flow'rs, And of elm-hugging woodbines is made, She sings as we spend the short hours. Each shepherd the voice of his fair, To birds that in concert combine, Or may to soft music compare; But no harmony's music to mine.

Our flocks feed around us the while, Nor ever once offer to stray; She scarce can forbear from a smile, As silent they devour her lay. The birds too around us appear, And cease their wild notes as she sings; Poor Philomel drops her mild ear; —Oh beware of fell jealousy's stings!

Her heart soon with pity doth bleed; How oft have I mark'd her to sigh, And think it a ruthless foul deed, If she chanc'd but to kill a weak fly!

A sparrow had built her smooth nest All secret amidst my gay trees, Where under her downy fond breast She had shelter'd her young from each breeze.

Affrighted the bird flew away, As we unsuspecting drew near: Sweet innocent bird to betray; The only sweet cause of her fear. I cruel resolv'd they should die, Protecting my corn's future pride; I could wish the vile thought to deny: Thus the nymph to my purpose reply'd.

'O Damon! to rob it forbear, An indigent bird of its joy; What is under the wing of thy care, Would'st thou like a tyrant destroy?' I obeyed: her thanks were a smile, Sufficient reward for my love; I forget what is sorrow awhile, If my sair any deed does approve.

And oft as we tread my green grove, That does with clear fountains abound, The young ones approach my pleas'd love, And thank her by chirping around. Ye swains, teach your nymphs what I say, Let beauty employ their last care, And copy, from Chloe each day, For 'tis then they will ever be fair.

YE rural nymphs and shepherds, say, Why was my homely cell so gay? Why did my rill so soothing flow, Or lambkins blithe their sports bestow?

Why did the morn o'er meadows strew Her drops, her silver drops of dew? Why sung the lark her matin theme, Or lilies sipp'd my tinkling stream?

Why did I sing in am'rous strain In every vale, or every plain? Why was my bow'r my tenderest care? 'Twas all to please my Chloe fair.

But now, alas! these scenes are flown, Which once to please my Chloe shone: For she, alas! poor thoughtless maid! Is of my constancy afraid.

She ne'er will listen to my reed; She shuns me now with lightsome speed: And now these gladsome scenes are o'er, Because my Chloe smiles no more.

A frown! a frown enjoys her brow! The birds, that sung on ev'ry bow, Have lost their tender notes awhile, Until my Chloe deigns a smile.

I'll choose fair garlands for my love, I'll choose the fairest of each grove; I'll rob the banks of ev'ry brook, To deck my Chloe's hair and crook.

Soon will regain my sighing breast Its wonted ease, its downy ••est: Ah! soon shall I forget my pain, If peerless Chloe smiles again.

ONE night, when all the village slept, Myrtillo's ••ad despair The wretched shepherd waking kept, To tell the woo•••• his care. Begone (said he) fond thoughts, begone! Eyes, give your •••• ••ows o'er! Why should you waste your tears for one Who thinks on you no more?

Y••••, oh! ye birds, ye flocks, ye pow'rs, That dwell within this grove, Can tell how many tender hours We here have pass'd in love.

Yon stars above (my cruel foes!) Have heard how she has sworn, A thousand times, that like to those Her flame should ever burn!

But since she's lost—oh! let me have My wish, and quickly die; In this cold bank I'll make a grave, And there for ever lie: Sad nightingales the watch shall keep, And kindly here complain. Then down the shepherd lay to sleep, But never rose again.

AH! Damon, dear shepherd, adieu! By ove and first nature allied, Together in fondness we grew; Ah, would we together had died! For thy faith which resembled my own, For thy foul, whi••h was spotless and true, For the joys we together have known, Ah, Damon, dear shepherd, adieu!

What bliss can hereafter be mine? Whomever engaging I see, To his friendship I ne'er can incline, For fear I should mourn him like thee. Though the muses should crown me with art, Though honor and fortune should join: Since thou art denied to my heart, What bliss can hereafter be mine?

Ah, Damon, dear shepherd, farewell! Thy grave with sad osiers I'll bind; Though no more in one cottage we dwell, I can keep thee for ever in mind: Each morning I'll visit alone His ashes who lov'd me so well, And murmur each eve o'er his stone, 'Ah, Damon, dear shepherd, farewell!'

THE pride of every grove I chose, The violet sweet, and lilly fair, The dappled pink, and blushing rose, To deck my charming Chloe's hair.

At morn the nymph vouchsaf'd to place Upon her brow the various wreath; The flow'rs less blooming than her face, The scent less fragrant than her breath.

The flow'rs she wore along the day; And every nymph and shepherd said, That in her hair they look'd more gay Than glowing in their native bed.

Undrest at ev'ning when she found Their colours lost, their odours past, She chang'd her look, and on the ground Her garland and her eye she cast.

That eye dropt sense distinct and clear, As any muse's tongue could speak; When from its lid a pearly tear Ran trickling down her beauteous cheek.

Dissembling what I knew too well, My love, my life, said I, explain This change of humour; prithee tell, That falling tear, what does it mean?

She sigh'd, she smil'd, and to the flow'rs Pointing, the lovely moralist said, See, friend, in some few fleeting hours, See yonder, what a change is made!

Ah me! the blooming pride of May And that of beauty are but one; At noon both flourish bright and gay, Both fade at ev'ning, pale and gone.

At dawn poor Stella danc'd and sung, The am'rous youth around her bow'd; At night her fatal knell was rung, I saw, and kiss'd her in her shroud.

Such as she is, who dy'd to-day, Such I, alas! may be to-morrow; Go, Damon, bid thy muse display The justice of thy Chloe's sorrow.

WHAT virgin or shepherd, in valley or grove, Will envy my innocent lays, The song of the heart, and the offspring of love, When sung in my Corydon's praise? O'er brook and o'er brake, as he ••ies to the bow'r, How lightsome my shepherd can trip! And sure when of love he describes the soft pow'r, The honey-dew drops from his lip.

How sweet is the primrose, the violet how sweet, And sweet is the eglantine breeze, But Corydon's kiss, when by moon-light we meet, To 〈◊〉〈◊〉 is far sweeter than these. I blush at his raptures, I hear all his vows, I sigh when I offer to speak; And oh! what delight my fond bosom o'erflows, When I feel the soft touch of his cheek!

Responsive and shrill be the notes from the spray, Let the pipe thro' the village resound, Be smiles in each face, O ye shepherds to-day, And ring the bells merrily round. Your favours prepare, my companions with speed, Assist me my blushes to hide, A twelve month ago on this day I agreed To be my lov'd Corydon's bride.

WHAT shepherd or nymph of the grove Can blame me for dropping a tear, Or lamenting aloud as I rove, Since Phoebe no longer is here? My flocks, if at random they stray, What wonder, if she's from the plains•• Her hand they were 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to obey: She rul'd both the sheep and the swains.

Can I ever forget how we stray'd To the foot of yon neighbouring hill, To the bow'r we had built in the shade, Or the river that runs by the mill! There, kind, by my side as she lay, And heard the fond stories I told, How sweet was the thrush from the spray, Or the bleating of lambs from the fold!

How oft would I spy out a charm, Which before had been hid from my view; And, while arm was infolded in arm, My lips to her lips how they grew! How long the sweet contest would last! Till the hours of retirement and rest; What pleasures and pain each had past, Who longest had lov'd, and who best.

No changes of place, or of time, I felt when my fair one was near; Alike w•••• ••ach weather and ••••ime, Each season that chequer'd the year; In winter's rude lap did we freeze, Did we melt on the bosom of May, Each morn brought contentment and ease, If we rose up to work or to play.

She was all my fond wishes could ask; She had all the kind gods could impart; She was nature's most beautiful task; The despair and the envy of art: There all that is worthy to prize, In all that was lovely was drest; For the graces were thron'd in her eyes, And the virtues all lodged in her breast.

WHEN absent from the nymph I love, I'd lain shake off the chains I wear: But whilst I strive these to remove, More fe••ters I'm oblig'd to bear. My captiv'd fancy, day and night, Fairer and fairer represents

Belinda, form'd for dear delight, But cruel cause of my complaints.

All day I wander thro' the groves, And, sighing, hear from ev'ry tree The happy birds chirping their loves, Happy, compar'd with lonely me. When gentle sleep, with balmy wings, To rest fans ev'ry wearied wight, A thousand fears my fancy brings, That keep me waking all the night.

Sleep flies, while, like the goddess fair, And all the graces in her train, With melting smiles and killing air, Appears the cause of all my pain. Awhile my mind delighted flies O'er all her sweets, with thrilling joy, Whilst want of worth makes doubts arise, That all my trembling hopes destroy.

Thus, while my thoughts are fix'd on her, I'm all o'er transport and desire; My pulse beats high, my cheeks appear All roses, and mine eyes all fire. When to myself I turn my view, My veins grow chill, my che••ks look wan; Thus, whilst my fears my pains renew, I scarcely look, or move a man.

YOUNG Celia, in her tender years, Like th' rose-bud on its stalk, Fill'd with a virgin's modest fears, Stepp'd forth one eve to walk. She oft had heard of love's blind boy, And wish'd to find him out, Expecting soon to meet the joy Of which she'd been in doubt.

A pleasant shady grove she spy'd Where trembling aspens shook, Close to its slow'ry verge did glide A murm'ring limpid brook.

Amintor singing there she found, She heard him talk of love; His crook lay by him on the ground, While thus he pray'd to Jove.

'Grant, mighty pow'r! that I may find Some ease within this breast; Grant that my Celia may be kind, And make Amintor blest; Grant her to know the force of love, And of her swain's desire; Grant that of me she may approve, And more I'll ne'er require.'

WHEN Aurora gilds the morning With a sweet delightful ray; Blooming flow'rs the fields adorning, In the charming month of May.

Then how pleasant and contented, Lives the lowly country clown, In the valley, unfrequented By the knaves who croud to town!

With the early lark awaking, He enjoys the cheerful day; Labour ev'ry hour partaking, Whistling thought and care away.

Nature all his toil befriending, Of her treasures he's possess'd; Health and peace his life attending, Is the monarch half so bless'd?

Birds his list'ning ear enchanting, Verdant hills and dales his sight; Nothing to his sense is wanting Which can give him true delight.

Love, with innocence combining, His unsettled heart alarms; Like the flowers in garlands twining, Sweetly various in its charms.

Happy clown! who thus possesses Pleasure unalloy'd with strife, Wisdom nothing more caresses Than the humble vale of life.

Riches knaves delight in gaining, Grandeur is by fools admir'd; All that wise men wish obtaining, Is to live and die retir'd.

GAY Damon long study'd my heart to obtain, The prettiest young creature that pipes on the plain; I'd hear his soft tale, then declare 'twas amiss. And I'd often say, No,—often say, No,—When I long'd to say, Yes.

Last Valentine's day to our cottage he came, And brought me two lambkins to witness his flame; Oh! take these, he cry'd, thou more fair than there flee••e; I could hardly say, No,—tho' asham'd to say, Yes.

Soon after, one morning we sat in the grove, He press'd my hand hard, and in sighs breath'd his love, Then tenderly ask'd, if I'd grant him a kiss? I design'd to say, No,—but mistook, and said, Yes.

I ne'er was so pleas'd with a word in my life; I ne'er was so happy as since I'm a wife; Then take, ye young damsels, my counsel in this, Ye must all die old maids, if you will not say, Yes.

WOULD you taste the noon-tide air? To you fragrant bow'r repair, Where, woven with the poplar bough, The mantling vine will shelter you.

Down each side a fountain flows, Tinkling, murm'ring, as it goes Lightly o'er the mossy ground, Sultry Phoebus scorching round.

Round the languid herds and sheep, Stretch'd o'er sunny hillocks, sleep, While on the hyacinth and rose The fair does all alone repose.

All alone—yet, in her arms, Your breast may beat to love's alarms, Till blest and blessing you shall own, The joys of love are joys alone.

WHILE the lads of the village shall merrily, ah! Sound the tabors, I'll hand thee along; And I say unto thee, that verily, ah! Thou and I will be first in the throng. While the lads, &c.

Just then, when the swain who last year won the dow'r, With his mate shall the sports have begun; When the gay voice of gladness resounds from each bow'r, And thou long'st in thy heart to make one. While the lads, &c.

Those joys which are harmless what mortal can blame?— 'Tis my maxim that youth should be free; And to prove that my words and my deeds are the same, Believe me thou'lt presently see. While the lads, &c.

HAD I a heart for falsehood fram'd, I ne'er could injure you; For though your tongue no promise claim'd, Your charms would make me true.

To you no soul shall bear deceit, No stranger offer wrong; But friends in all the ag'd you'll meet, And lovers in the young.

And when they learn that you have blest Another with your heart,

They'll bid aspiring passion rest, And act a brother's part.

Then, lady, dread not here deceit, Nor fear to suffer wrong; For friends in all the ag'd you'll meet, And brothers in the young.

HOW long shall hapless Colin mourn The cold regard of Delia's eye? The heart whole only guilt is love, Can Delia's softness doom to die?

Sweet is thy name to Colin's ear, Thy beauties, ah! divinely bright— In one short hour, by Delia's side, I pass whole ages of delight.

Yet tho' I lov'd thee more than life, Not to displease a cruel maid, My tongue forbare its fondest tale, And murmur'd in the distant shade.

What happier shepherd has thy smile? A bliss for which I hourly pine; Some, swain, perhaps, whose fertile vale, Whose fleecy flocks are more than mine.

Few are the vales that Colin boasts, And few the flocks those vales that rove: I court not Delia's heart with wealth, A nobler bribe I offer—Love.

Yet, should the virgin yield her hand, And, thoughtless, wed for wealth alone— The act may make my bosom bleed, But surely cannot bless her own.

'TWAS at the cool and fragrant hour, When evening steals upon the sky,

When lovers seek the silent bow'r, Young William taught the grove to sigh; His heav'nly form and beauteous air Were like the flow'ry vale, Yet did he sigh, and all for love Of Mary of the Dale.

When o'er the mountain peeps the dawn, Oppress'd with grief he'd often stray, O'er rising hill and fertile lawn, To sigh and weep his cares away: Tho' he had charms to win each fair, That dwells within the vale, Yet did he sigh, and all for love Of Mary of the Dale.

The merry dance, the cheerful song, Could now no more a charm impart: No more his hours glide smooth along, For grief lay heavy at his heart: This cheek, where health with beauty glow'd, Was like the primrose pale; Sighing, he died, and all for love Of Mary of the Dale.

OUR grotto was the sweetest place! The bending boughs, with fragrance blowing, Would check the brook's impetuous pace, Which murmur'd to be stopt from flowing. 'Twas there we met, and gaz'd our fill; Ah! think on this, and love me still.

'Twas then my bosom first knew fear, Fear to an Indian maid a stranger; The war-song, arrows, hatchet, spear, All warn'd me of my lover's danger: For him did cares my bosom fill; Ah! think on this, and love me still.

COME, come, my good shepherds, our flock's we must shear, In your holiday suits with your lasses appear; The happiest of folks are the guiltless and free, And who are so guiltess, so happy as we?

We harbour no passions by luxury taught, We practise no arts with hypocris•• fraught; What we think in our hearts you may read in our eyes, For, knowing no falsehood, we need no disguise.

By mode and caprice are the city dames led, But we as the children of nature are bred; By her hands alone we are painted and dress'd, For the roses will bloom, when there's peace in the breast.

The giant, ambition, we never can dread, Our roofs are too low for so lofty a head: Content and sweet cheerfulness open our door; They smile with the simple, and feed with the poor.

When love has possess'd us, that love we reveal, Like the flocks that we feed are the passions we feel•• So harmless and simple we sport and we play, And leave to fine folks to deceive and betray.

THE hawthorn is sweetly in bloom; And daisies bedeck the gay mead, The rose sheds its richest perfume, And each love-tale of youth must succeed. Ah! why in this season of joy, Ah! why is my shepherd away? While absent, the seasons but cloy, And vain is the fragrance of May.

When forced from our plains to depart, The swain was so gentle and kind; His sighs spoke the pangs of his heart, To leave his poor Daphne behind:

Yet why in this season of joy, Ah! why does my Corrydon stay? While absent, all seasons must cloy. And lost are the pleasures of May.

In vain I've collected each flower, With woodbine entwin'd every tree; In vain have bedeck'd the gay bower, Unless it is deck'd thus for thee:

Then come, my dear Corydon, come, The fields and the meadows are gay; No joys can you find while you roam, Like our plains when enliven'd by May.

TO hear a sweet goldfinch's sonnet, This morning I put on my bonnet, But scarce in the meadow, p••es on it! When the Captain appears in my view; I felt an odd sort of sensation, My heart beat in strange palpitation, I blush'd like a pink or carnation, When says he, my dear, how d'ye do?

The dickins, says I, here has popp'd him, I thought to slip by, but I stopp'd him, So my very best curt'sy I dropt him; With an air he then took off his hat; He seem••d with my person enchanted, He squeez'd my hand, how my heart panted! He ask'd for a kiss, and I granted And pray now what harm was in that?

Says I, Sir, for what do you take me? He swore a fine lady he'd make me. No, demn him! he'd never forsake me, And then on his knee he stoop'd down; His handkerchief, la! smelt so sweetly, His white teeth he show'd so completely, He manag'd the matter so neatly, I ne'er can be kiss'd by a clown.

THE virgin lily of the night, Aurora finds in tears; But soon, in coif of native white, Her fragrant head she rears: No longer droops, distress••d, forlorn, But fresh and blithe as May, She rises to perfume the morn, And smiles upon the day.

The limpid streams of noble source, That miles in darkness flow, Emerging in their devious course, Translucent beauties show, O'er golden sands they gently glide, Unruffled with the gale, Reflecting heav'n with splendid pride, As rolling through the vale.

WHEN the rosy morn appearing, Paints with gold the verdant lawn, Bees on banks of thyme disporting, Sip the sweets, and hail the dawn.

Warbling birds the day proclaiming, Carol sweet the lively strain; They forsake their leafy dwelling, To secure the golden grain.

See, content, the humb•• ••leaner, Take the scatter'd ear•• that fall: Nature all her children viewing, Kindly bounteous, cares for all.

NOW slowly o'er the streaks of parting day, Her dusky curtain, gentle evening throws; As thro the shades of solitude, I stray, Where sighs the gale accordant to my woes!

Poor Philomela—murmurs in the vale! Soft on her voice the notes of sorrow rise, While distant woodlands bear the plaintive tale, That on the lips of ling'ring echoe dies.

Sadly she breathes the woe inspiring lay, In all the anguish of dispairing love: Inur'd to grief—when I approach the spray, Still melting throes her tender bosom move.

Pensive I listen, while she pours her moan, And think I trace a sorrow like my own!

JE VOUS ADORE

—Tune, Ma chere Amie.

JE VOUS ADORE—enchanting maid, In nature's innocence array'd With ev'ry grace, devoid of art, You please the fancy, win the heart. Je vous adore.

'Twas in the early days of youth, When blushing Nature owns the truth, Your lovely form, and lovelier mind, Engag'd my heart in love refin'd. Je vous adore.

O, best of passions—source of peace! Thy warm emotious lead to bliss; Unhappy mine—that never knew Thy pleasing pangs and pleasures true. Je vous adore.

Remember then—O, lovely maid, The vows our former friendship made, And let our riper years approve, The tokens of so pure a love. Je vous adore.

WHEN fairies dance round on the grass, And revel to night's awful noon,

O say, will you meet me, sweet lass, All by the clear light of the moon? My passion I seek not to screen; Then can I refuse you your boon? I'll meet you at twelve on the green, All by the clear light of the moon. I'll meet you at twelve on the green, All by the clear light of the moon.

The nightingale perch'd on a thorn, Then charms all the plains with her tune, And glad of the absence of morn, Salutes the pale light of the moon: How sweet is the jessamine grove! And sweet are the roses of June; But sweeter the language of love, Breath'd forth by the light of the moon. B•••• sweeter, &c.

Too slow rolls the chariot of day, Unwilling to grant me my boon: Away envious sunshine! away, Give place to the light of the moon: But say, will you never deceive The lass whom you conquer'd too soon, And leave a soft maiden to grieve, Alone by the light of the moon? And leave, &c

The planets shall start from their spheres, Ere I prove so fickle a loon; Believe me I'll banish thy fears, Dear maid, by the light of the moon: Our loves when the shepherds shall view, To us they their pipes shall attune, While we our soft pleasures renew Each night by the light of the moon: While we our soft pleasures renew, Each night by the light of the moon.

WHERE the jessamine sweetens the bow'r And cowslips adorn the gay green,

The roses, refresh'd by the show'r, Contribute to brighten the scene; The roses, refresh'd by the show'r, Contribute to brighten the scene. In a cottage, retir'd there live Young Colin, and Phoebe the fair; The blessings each other receive, In mutual enjoyment they share; The blessings each other receive, In mutual enjoyment they share. And the lads and the lasses that dwell on the plain, Sing in praise of fair Phoebe, and Colin her swain.

The sweets of contentment supply The splendor and grandeur of pride; No wants can the shepherd annoy, Whilst blest with his beautiful bride; No wants, &c. He wishes no greater delight Than to tend on his lambkins by day, And return to his Phoebe at night, His innocent toil to repay; And return, &c. And the lads tell the lasses, in hopes to prevail, They're as constant as Colin, who lives in the dale.

If delighted her lover appears, The fair one partakes of his bliss; If dejected, she soothes all his care, And heals all his pains with a kiss; If dejected, &c. She despises the artful deceit, That is practis'd in city and court; Thinks happiness no where complete, But where shepherds and nymphs do resort. Thinks happiness, &c. And the lads tell the lasses they die in despair, Unless they're as kind as is Phoebe the fair.

Ye youths, who're accustom'd to rove, And each innocent fair one betray, No longer be faithless in love, The dictates of honor obey; No longer be faithless in love, The dictates of honor obey:

Ye nymphs, who with beauty are blest, With virtue improve ev'ry grace; The charms of the mind, when possest, Will dignify those of the face; And, ye lads and ye lasses, whom Hymen has join'd, Like Colin be constant, like Phoebe be kind.

MY fond shepherds of late were so blest, The fair nymphs were so happy and gay, That each night they went safely to rest, And they merrily sung through the day: But ah! what a scene must appear! Must the sweet rural pastimes be o'er? Shall the tabor no more strike the ear? Shall the dance on the green be no more?

Must the flocks from their pastures be led? Must the herds go wild straying abroad? Shall the looms be all stopt in each shed, And the ships be all moor'd in each road? Must the hearts be all scatter'd abroad, And shall Commerce grow sick of the tide? Must Religion expire on the ground, And shall Virtue sink down by her side?

AL••XIS, a shepherd, young, constant and kind, Has often declar'd I'm the nymph to his mind: I think he's sincere, and he will not deceive; But they tell me a maid should with caution believe.

He brought me this rose that you see in my breast; He begg'd me to take it, and sigh'd out the rest: I could not do less than the favour receive; And he thinks it now sweeter, I really believe.

This flowret, he cry'd, reads a lesson to you: How bright, and how lovely, it seems to the view! 'Twould fade if not pluck, as your sense must conceive— I was forc'd to deny what I really believe.

My flocks he attends; if they stray from the plain, Alexis is sure ev'ry sheep to regain; Then begs, a dear kiss for his labour I'll give; And I ne'er shall refuse him I really believe.

He plays on his pipe while he watches my eyes, To read the soft wishes we are taught to disguise; And tells me sweet stories from morning to eve; Then he swears that he loves, which I really believe.

An old maid I once was determin'd to die: But that was before I'd this swain in my eye: And as soon as he asks me his pain to relieve, With joy I shall wed him, I really believe.

NO nymph that trips the verdant plains, With Sally can compare: She wins the hearts of all the swains, And rivals all the fair: The beams of Sol delight and cheer, While summer seasons roll; But Sally's smiles can all the year Give pleasure to the soul.

When from the East the morning ray Illumes the world below, Her presence bids the God of Day With emulation glow: Fresh beauties deck the painted ground, Birds sweeter notes prepare, The playful lambkins skip around, And hail their sister fair.

The lark but strains his livid throat, To bid the maid rejoice, And mimicks, while he swells his note, The sweetness of her voice: The fanning zephyrs round her play, While Flora sheds perfume, And ev'ry flowret seems to say, I but for Sally bloom.

Th' am'rous youth her charms proclaim, From ••••••n to eve their tale;

Her beauty and unspotted fame Make vocal every v••le; The stream meand'ring thro' the mead, Her echo'd name conveys: And ev'ry voice, and ev'ry reed, Is tun'd to Sally's praise.

No more shall blithsome lass and swain To mirthful wake resort, Nor ev'ry May-morn on the plain Advance in rural sport: No more shall gush the purling rill, Nor music wake the grove, Nor flocks look snow-like on the hill, When I forget to love.

TO dear Amaryllis young Strephon had long Declar'd his fix'd passion, and dy'd for in song He went, one May morning to meet in the grove, By her own dear appointment, this goddess of love: Mean time in his mind all her charms he ran o'er, And doated on each—Can a lover do more?

He waited, and waited; then, changing ••is strain, 'Twas fury, and rage, and despair and disdain! The sun was commanded to hide his dull light, And the whole course of nature was ••••••er'd downright: 'Twas his hapless fortune to die and adore, But never to change—Can a lover do more?

Cleora, it happ'd, was by acci•••••• there: No rose bud so tempting, no lily so fair: He prest her white hand—next her lips he essay'd; Nor would she deny him, so civil the maid: Her kindly compliance his peace did restore, And dear Amaryllis—was thought of no more.

NO more ye swains, no more upbraid A youth, by love unhappy made;

Your rural sports are all in vain, To sooth my care, or ease my pain. Nor shade of trees, nor sweets of flow'rs, Can e'er redeem my happy hours; When ease forsakes the tortur'd mind, What pleasure can a lover find?

Yet, if again you wish to see Your Damon still restor'd and free, Go try to move the cruel fair, And gain the scornful Celia's ear. But, oh! forbear with too much art To touch that dear relentless heart, Lest rivals to my fears ye prove, And jealousy succeed to love.

THE wood-lark whistles through the grove, Tuning the sweetest notes of love, To please his female on the spray; Perch'd by his side, her little breast Swells with her lover's joy confest, To hear, and to reward the lay.

Come then, my fair one, let us prove From their example how to love; For thee the early pipe I'll breathe; And when my flocks return to fold, Their shepherd to thy bosom hold, And crown him with the nuptial wreath.

WHEN the head of poor Tummas was broke By Roger, who play'd at the wake, And 〈◊〉〈◊〉 was alarm'd at the stroke, And wept for poor Tummas's sake: When his worship gave nogg•••• 〈…〉〈…〉. And the liquor was charming and stout; O, those were the times to regale, And we footed it rarely about.

Then our partners were buxom as does, And we all were as happy as kings; Each lad in his holiday cloaths, And the lasses in all their best things: What merriment all the day long! May the ••••ast of our Colin prove such! Od••••••k••! but I'll join in the song, And I'll hobble about with my crutch

YOUNG Strephon, a shepherd, the pride of the plain, Each day is attempting my kindness to pain: He takes all occasions his flame to renew; I always reply, that his courting won't do.

He spares no rich presents to make me more kind, And exhausts in my praise all the wit of his mind: I say, I'm engag'd, and I wish him to go; He asks me so oft, till I rudely say, No.

To Thirsis, last Valentine's day, the dear youth, I tell him I plighted my faith and my truth; That wealth cannot peace and contentment bestow, And my heart is another's, so beg he will go.

That love is not purchas'd with ••••••les and gold, And the heart that is honest can never be sold; That I sigh no•• for grandeur, but look down on show; And to Thyrsis must hasten, nor answer him no.

He hears me, and trembling all over, replies, If his suit I prefer not, he instantly dies: He gives me his hand, and would force me to go; I pity his suff'ring, but boldly say, No.

I try to avoid him, in hopes of sweet peace; He haunts me each moment to make me say, Yes: But to-morrow, ye fair ones, with Thyrsis I go; And trust me, at church, that I will not say, No.

THO' his passion, in silence, the youth would conceal, What his tongue would not utter, his eyes still reveal;

And by soft stolen glances unwillingly prove, That they are the tell-tales of Celadon's love.

To the grove, or the green, to the dance, or the fair, Wherever I go, my blithe shepherd is there; I know the fond youth by his blush and his smile, And surely such looks were not made to beguile.

Tho' indiff'rent the subject, whatever it prove, He insensibly turns the discourse upon love; If he talks to another, with pleasure I see, Tho' his words are to her, yet his looks are to me.

When he speaks, if alone, I am even in fear He should say what I dread, and yet wish most to hear: Should he mention his love, tho' my pride would deny, My heart whispers, Celia, fond Celia, comply.

THE shepherd's, plain life, Without guilt, without strife, Can only true blessings impart: As nature directs, That bliss he expects From health, and from quiet of heart.

Vain grandeur and pow'r, Those joys of an hour, Tho' mortals are toiling to find; Can titles or show Contentment bestow? All happiness dwells in the mind.

Behold the gay rose, How lovely it grows, Secure in the depth of the vale! Yon oak, that on high Aspires to the sky, Both lightning and tempests assail.

Then let us the snare Of ambition beware, That source of vexation and smart; And sport on the glade, Or repose in the shade, With health and with quiet of heart.

AS I went o'er the meadows, no matter the day, A shepherd I met who came tripping that way; I was going to fair, so bonny and gay, And he ask••d me to let him go with me there; No harm shall come to you, young damsel, I swear; I'll buy you a fairing to put in your hair.

You've a good way to go, it is more than a mile; We'll rest, if you please, when we get to you stile: I've a story to tell that will charm you the while. To go with him farther I did not much care; But still I went on, suspecting a snare; For I dream'd of a fairing to come from the fair.

To make me more easy, he said all he could: I threaten'd to leave him, unless he'd be good; For I'd not for the world he should dare to be rude. Young Roger had promis'd, and balk'd me last year: If he ••ould do so, I would go no more there, Tho' I long'd e'er so much for a gift from the fair.

When we got to the stile, he would scarce be said no; He press'd my soft lips, as if there he would grow; (Take care how that way with a shepherd you go.) Confounded I ran, when I found out his snare: No ribband, I cry'd, from such hands will I wear, Nor go, while I live, for a gift to the fair.

ARISE, sweet messenger of morn, With thy mild beams this vale adorn, For long as shepherds pipe and play, This, this shall be a holiday.

See! morn appear; a rosy hue Steals soft o'er yonder orient blue; Well are we met in train array, To frolic out this holiday.

Each nymph be like the blushing morn, I hat gaily brightens o'er th•• lawn; Each shepherd, like the sun be gay, And grateful keep this holiday.

I Search'd the fields of ev'ry kind, The fairest flow'rs I chose, And sent them in a wreath to bind My Rosalinda's brows, My Rosallnda's brows. Here hyacinthus, ting'd with blood, In purple beauty glows; There, bursting from the swelling bud, Appears the blushing rose, Appears the blushing rose.

Here violets of purple hue, Chaste lilies white as snow, Narcissuses that drink the dew, And near the fountain blow, And near the fountain blow. To boast thy charms when crown'd with those, Cease, cease, O beauteous maid! Thy face, that blooms so like the rose, Like that, alas! will fade, Like that, alas! will fade.

WHILE others strip the new fall'n snows, And steals its fragrance from the rose, To dress their fancy's queen; Fain would I sing, but words are faint: All music's pow'rs too weak to paint My Jenny of the green.

Beneath this elm beside the stream, How oft I've tun'd the fav'rite theme, And told my tale unseen! While, faithful in the lovers cause, The wind would murmur soft applause To Jenny of the green.

With joy my soul reviews the day, When, deck'd in all the pride of May, She hail'd the ••••lvan scene;

Then ev'ry nymph, that hop'd to please, First strove to catch the grace and ease Of Jenny of the green.

Then, deaf to ev'ry rival's sigh, On me she cast her partial eye, Nor scorn'd my humble mien: The fragrant myrtle wreath I wear, That day adorn'd the lovely hair Of Jenny of the green.

Through all the fairy land of love, I'll seek my pretty wand'ring dove, The pride of gay fifteen; Though now she treads some distant plain, Though far apart, I'll meet again My Jenny of the green.

But thou, old Time, till that bless'd night, That brings her back with speedy flight, Melt down the hours between; And when we meet, the loss repay, On loit'ring wing prolong my stay With Jenny of the green.

HASTE, haste, Amelia, gentle fair, To soft Elysian gales; From smoke to smiling skies repair, And sun-illumin'd vales; No sighs, no murmurs, haunt the grove, But blessings crown the plains; Here calm Contentment, heav'n-born maid, And Peace, the cherub, reigns.

O come! for thee the roses bloom, The deep carnation grows; For thee sweet vi'lets breathe perfume, The white rob'd lily blows; For thee their streams the Naiads roll, The daisied hills are gay, Where (emblems of Amelia's soul) The spotless lambkins play.

From vale to vale the zephyrs rove, To rob th' unfolding flow'rs; And music melts in ev'ry grove, To charm thy rural hours; The warbling lark, high pois'd in air, Exerting all his pride, Will strive to please Amelia fair, Who pleases all beside.

I Told my nymph, I told her true, My fields were small, my flocks were few; While falt'ring accents spoke my fear, That Flavia might not prove sincere.

Of crops destroy'd by ve••••al cold, And vagrant sheep that left my fold, Of these she heard, yet bore to hear; And was not Flavia then sincere?

How, chng'd by fortune's fickle wind, The friend I Iov'd became unkind, She heard, and shed a gen'rous tear; And is not Flavia then sincere?

How, if she deign'd my love to bless, My Flavia must not hope for dress. This too she heard, and smil'd to hear; And Flavia sure must be sincere.

Go shear your flocks, ye jovial swains; Go reap the plenty of your plains: Despoil'd of all which you revere, I know my Flavia's love's sincere.

YE warblers, while Strephon I mourn, To cheer me, your harmony bring; Unless since my shepherd is gone, You cease, like poor Phillis, to sing: Each flow'r declines its sweet head, Nor odours around me will throw,

Whilst ev'ry soft lamb on the mead, Seems kindly to pity my woe.

Each rural amusement I try In vain to restore my past ease; What charm'd when my Strephon was by, Has now lost the power to please: Ye seasons that brighten the grove, Not long for your absence we mourn; But Strephon neglects me and love, He roves, and will never return.

As gay as the spring my dear, And sweeet as all flowers combin'd; His smiles like the summer can cheer, Ah! why then, like winter, unkind? Unkind he is not, I can prove, But tender to others can be; To Celia and Chloe makes love, And only is cruel to me.

FAREWELL, Ianthe, faithless maid, Source of my grief and pain; Who with fond hopes my heart betray'd, And fann'd love's kindling flame; Yet gave from me thy hand, this morn, To Corrydon's rich heir, Who with gay vestments did adorn Thee, false, yet beauteous fair.

Adieu, my native soil; ye vales, High woods and tufted hills; Adieu, ye groves and flow'ry dales, Clear streams and crystal rills: Adieu! ye bring into my mind Those past, those happy days, When Iphis found Ianthe kind, And pleasure shewed his ways.

Ere dawn my homely steps I'll bend, Where distant mountains rise, In hopes that reason there may send, That aid she here denies;

That time and absence may efface Her image from my breast, Which, whilst she there maintains a place, Can never taste of rest.

YOUNG Colin protests I'm his joy and delight; He's never unhappy when I'm in his sight; He wants to be with me wherever I go; The deuce sure is in him for plaguing me so, The deuce sure is in him for plaguing me so.

His pleasure all day is to sit by my side; He pipes and he sings, tho' I frown and I chide: I bid him depart; but he, smiling, says, No; The deuce sure is in him for plaguing me so, The deuce, &c.

He often requests me his flame to relieve; I ask him, what favour he hopes to receive? His answer's a sigh, while in blushes I glow: What mortal beside him would plague a maid so? What mortal, &c.

This breast-knot he yesterday brought from the wake, And softly entreated I'd wear for his sake: Such trifles 'tis easy enough to bestow; I sure deserve more for his plaguing me so, I sure, &c.

He hands me each eve from the cot to the plain, And meets me each morn to conduct me again; But what's his intention I wish I could know, For I'd rather be marry'd than plagu'd with him so, For I'd rather be marry'd than plagu'd with him so.

YOUNG Jockey he courted sweet Moggy so fair; The lass she was lovely, the swain debonair; They hugg••d and they cuddled, and talk'd with their eyes, And look••d, as all lovers do, wonderful wife.

A fortnight was spent ere dear Moggy came too; (For maidens a decency keep when they woo:) At length she consented, and made him a vow! And Jockey he gave, for a jointure, his cow.

They pannell'd their dobbins, and rode to the fair, Still kissing and fondling until they came there: They call'd on the parson, and by him were wed: And Moggy she took her dear Jockey to bed.

They staid there a week, as the neighbours all say, And none were so happy and gamesome as they: Then home they return'd, but return'd most unkind, For Jockey rode on, and left Moggy behind.

Surpris'd at this treatment, she cry'd, Gaffer Jock, Pray what is the reason that Moggy you mock? Quoth he, Goose, come on! why you now are my bride; And when volk are wed, they set fooling a side.

He took home his Moggy, good conduct to learn, Who brush'd up the house, while he thatch'd the old barn; They laid in a stock for the cares that ensue, And now live as man and wife usually do.

GENTLE gales, in pity bear My sighs, my tender sighs away: To my cruel Strephon's ear, All my soft complaints convey.

Near some mossy fountain's side, Or on some verdant bank reclin'd, Where bubbling streams in murmurs glide, You will the dear deluder find. Gentle gales, &c.

Tell the false one, how I mourn, Tell him all my pains and woes; Tell, ah! tell him to return, And bring my wounded heart repose. Gentle gales, &c.

WITH Phillis I'll trip o'er the meads, And hasten away to the plain, While shepherds attend with their reeds, To welcome my love and her swain: The lark is exalted in air, The linnet sings perch'd on the spray; Our lambs stand in ••e••d of our care, Then let us not lengthen delay.

What pleasures I feel with my dear, White gamesome young lambs are at sport, Exceed the delight of a peer, That shines with such grandeur at court: When Colin and Strephon go by, They form a disguise for a while; They see how I'm blest with a sigh, But envy forbids them to smile.

Let courtiers of liberty prate, T' enjoy it take infinite pains: But liberty's primitive state Is only enjoy'd on the plains: With Phillis I rove to and fro, With her my gay minutes are spent; 'Twas Phillis first taught me to know, That happiness flows from content.

WHEN vapours o'er the meadows die, And morning streaks the purple sky, I wake to love with jocund glee, To think on him who dotes on me.

When eve e••••b••ows the verdant grove, And Philomel laments her love; Each sigh I breathe my love reveals, A•• ••••lls the pangs my bosom feels.

〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••••cret pleasure I survey The frolic birds in am'rous play; While fondest cares my heart employ, Which flutters, leaps, and beats for joy.

WHEN late a simple rustic lass I rov'd without constraint, A stream was all my looking glass, And health my only paint.

The charms I boast, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ho•• few, I gave to nature's care; As vice ne'er spoil'd their native hue, They could not want repair.

AS Thyrsis reclin'd by her side he lov'd best, With a sigh, her soft hand to his bosom he prest, While his passion he breath'd in the grove; "As the bird to his nest still returns for repose, As back to its fountain the constant stream flows, So true and unchang'd is my love.

"If e'er this heart roves, or revolts from its chains, May Ceres in rage quit the vallies and plains, May Pan his protection deny! In vain would young Phillis and Laura be kind: On the lips of nother no rapture I find; With thee as I've liv'd, so I'll die."

More still had he swore, but the queen of the May, Young Jenny the wanton, by chance tript that way, And sought sweet repose in the shade. With sorrow, young lovers, I tell the fond tale, The lass was alluring, the shepherd was frail, And forgot ev'ry vow he had made.

To comfort the nymph, and her loss to supply, In form of Alexis young Cupid drew nigh, Of shepherds the envy and pride: Ah! blame not the maid, if, o'ercome by his truth, Her hand, and her heart, she bestow'd on the youth, And the next morn beheld her his bride.

Learn rather from Sylvia's example, ye fair, That a pleasing revenge shall take place of despair;

Give sorrow and care to the wind: If faithful the swain, to his passion be true; If false, seek redress in a lover that's new, And pay each inconstant in kind.

SURE Sally is the loveliest lass That e'er gave shepherd glee; Not May-day, in its morning-dress, Is half so fair as she: Let poets paint the Paphian queen, And fancy form'd adore; Ye bards, had ye my Sally seen, You'd think on those no more.

No more ye'd prate of Hybla's hill, Where bees their honey sip, Did you but know the sweets that dwell On Sally's love-taught lip: But, ah! take heed, ye tuneful swains, The ripe temptation shun; Or else like me you'll wear her chains, Like me you'll be undone.

Once in my cot secure I slept, And lark-like hail'd the morn; More sportive than the kids I kept, I wanton'd o'er the lawn: To ev'ry maid love-tales I told, And did the truth aver: Yet ere the parting kiss was cold, I laugh'd at love and her.

But now the gloomy grove I seek, Where love-lorn shepherds stray; There to the winds my grief I speak, And sigh my soul away: Nought but despair my fancy paints, No dawn of hope I see; For Sally's pleas'd with my complaints, And laughs at love and me.

Since these my poor neglected lambs, So late my only care,

Have lost the•• tender fleecy dams, And stray'd I know not where: Alas! my ewes, in vain ye bleat My lambkins lost, adieu! No more we on the plains shall meet, For lost's your shepherd too.

WHAT med'cine can soften the bosom's keen smart? What Lethe can banish the pain? What cure can be met with to sooth the fond heart, That's broke by a faithless young swain?

In hopes to forget him, how vainly I try The sports of the wake and the green! When Colin is dancing, I say with a sigh, 'Twas here first my Damon was seen.

When to the pale moon the soft nightingales moan, In accents so piercing and clear; You sing not so sweetly, I cry, with a groan, As when my dear Damon was here.

A garland of willow my temples shall shade, And pluck it ye nymphs, from yon grove; For there, to her cost, was poor Laura betray'd, And Damon pretended to love.

WHERE virtue encircles the fair, There lilies and roses are vain; Each blossom must drop with despair, Where innocence takes up her reign: No gaudy embellishing arts, The fair-one need call to her aid, Who kindly by nature imparts The graces that nature has made.

The swain who has sense, must despise Each coquetish ••rt to ensnare; If timely ye'd wish to be wise, Attend to my counsel, ye fair:

Let virgins whom nature has blest, Her sovereign dictates obey; For beauties by nature exprest, Are beauties that never decay.

NO shepherd was like Strephon gay, No swain to me so dear; 'Twas rapture all the live long day His song, his pipe, to hear, His song, his pipe, to hear. Yet when he sigh'd, and talk'd of love, His passion I'd forbid; For what I felt to hide I strove; Upon my word I did, Upon my word I did.

The spring, when nature wakes to youth, And looks all life and joy, The summer's fun, saw Strephon's truth, Saw Chloe still was coy, Saw Chloe, &c. At length he vow'd, Thou cruel fair, Disdain my heart has freed: He spoke, and left me in despair; Upon my word he did, Upon, &c.

How sad, how penitent was I! My pride has caus'd my pain: From morn to eve I us'd to sigh, Oh! Strephon, come again, Oh! Strephon, &c. It chanc'd, he sought a tender lamb, That in the grove lay hid; When, thoughtless, there I breath'd his name; Upon my word I did, Upon, &c.

Surpriz'd, my well known voice to hear, In sounds of soft delight, With eager steps the youth drew near, And met my raptur'd sight, And met, &c. No pow'r had I, all art was vain,

Of Strephon to get rid; My panting heart confess'd the swain; Upon my word it did, Upon, &c

O nymph he cry'd, whose eyes to meet, My soul with joy o'erflows! The bee, that roves from sweet to sweet, Like me, prefers the rose, Like me, &c. Ye maids, with whom I've tripp'd the green, Let other youths succeed; My Chloe welcom'd me again; Upon my word she did, Upon, &c.

While blushes crimson'd o'er my cheek, My hand with warmth he prest; O! speak, he sigh'd, my Chloe, speak, Shall Strephon now be blest? Shall Strephon now be blest? Ah•• who that lov'd so well, so long, The shepherd could have chid? Perhaps you think I held my tongue: Upon my word I did, Upon my word I did.

ASSIST me, all ye tuneful nine, With numbers soft and witty; To Bessy I inscribe the line, Then raise my humble ditty: To Bessy I inscribe the line, Then raise my humble ditty: Catch, catch, ye groves, the am'rous song; And, as ye wast the sound along, Attend, ye list'ning sylvan throng, To praise my charming Bessy, My lovely, charming Bessy.

Let others sing the cruel fair, Who glorious in undoing, And proudly bids the wretch 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Rejoicing in its ruin, And proudly, &c

Such haughty tyrants I detest; And let me scorn them, while I rest Upon thy gently swelling breast, My lovely, charming Bessy, My lovely, &c.

The rose I'll pluck to deck her head, The vi'let and the pansy: The cowslip too shall quit the mead, To aid my am'rous fancy; The cowslip, &c. Ye fragrant sisters of the spring, Who shed your sweets on Zephyr's wing, Around my fair your odours fling, Around my charming Bessy, Around, &c.

When ev'ning dapples o'er the skies, The 〈◊〉〈◊〉 no longer burning, Methin••s I see before my eyes Thy well known form returning. Methinks, &c. On hill or dale, by wood or stream, Thou art alone my constant theme, My waking wish, my morning dream, Thou lovely, charming Bessy, Thou lovely, charming Bessy.

BY the dew-besprinkled rose; By the blackbird piping clear; By the western gale, that blows Fragrance on the vernal year; Hear, Amanda, hear thy swain, Nor let him longer sigh in vain: Hear, &c.

By the cowslip, clad in gold; By the silver lily's light; By those meads, where you behold Nature rob'd in green and white; Hear, Amanda, hear thy swain, And to his sighs, oh! sigh again; Hear, &c.

By the riv'let's rambling race: By the music that it makes: By bright Sol's inverted face, Who for the stream his sky forsakes; Hear, Amanda, hear thy swain, And into joy convert his pain: Hear, Amanda, hear thy swain, And into joy convert his pain.

EV'RY nymph and shepherd, bring Tributes to the queen of May: Rifle for her brows the spring: Make her as the season gay, Make her as the season gay, Teach her then, from ev'ry flow'r, How to use the fleeting hour: Teach her then, from ev'ry flow'r, How to use, &c.

Now the fair Narcissus blows, With his sweetness now delights; By his side, the maiden rose With her artless blush invites, With her, &c. Such, so fragrant, and so gay, Is the blooming queen of May: Such, so fragrant, &c.

Soon the fair Narcissus dies, Soon he droops his languid head; From the rose her purple flies, None inviting to her bed, None, &c. Such•• tho' now so sweet and gay, Soon shall be the queen of May; Such, tho now, &c.

Tho' thou art a rural queen, By the suffrage of the swains, Beauty, like the vernal green, In thy shrine not long remains, In thy shrine not long remains. Bless, then, quickly, bless the youth, Who deserves thy love and truth; Bless, then, quickly bless the youth, Who deserves thy love and truth, 〈1 line〉〈1 line〉

AMORET AND PHILLIS.

Amoret.

SWE••T Phillis, well met, The sun is just set, To yon myrtle grove let's repair; All nature's at rest, And none to molest; I've something to say to my fair.

Phillis.

No, no, subtle swain, Entreaties are vain, Persuade me to go, you ne'er shall; Night draws on apace, I must quit the place, The dew is beginning to fall.

Amoret.

Believe me, coy maid, By honor I'm sway'd, No fears need your bosom alarm: The oak and the pine Their leaves kindly join, To shelter Love's vot'ries from harm.

Phillis.

Your arts I despise, My virtue I prize; Tho' poor, I am richer than those Who, lost to all shame, Will barter their fame For purchase of gold and fine clothes.

Amoret.

You do me much wrong; Such thoughts ne'er belong To the noble and gen'rous breast: I meant but to know, If Phillis would go, And let Hymen make Amoret blest.

Phillis.

If what you now say, Your heart don't betray,

It gives me much pleasure to find My Amoret still A stranger to ill, And for wedlock's soft bondage inclin'd.

RECITATIVE.

HOW gentle was my Damon's air! Like sunny beams his golden hair; His voice was like the nightingale's, More sweet his breath than flow'ry vales; How hard such beauties to resign! And yet that cruel task is mine. How hard, &c

AIR.

On ev'ry hill, in ev'ry grove, Along the margin of each stream, Dear conscious scenes of former love, I mourn, and Damon is my theme: The hils, the groves, the streams remain, But Damon there I seek in vain; The hills, &c

From hill, from dale, each charm is fled; G••oves, flocks and fountains please no more; Each flow'r in pity droops its head; All nature does my loss deplore: All, all reproach the faithless swain, Yet Damon I seek in vain; All, all, &c.

BREATHE soft, ye winds; be calm, ye skies; Arise, ye flow'ry race, arise; Ye silver dews, ye vernal show'rs, Call forth a bloomy waste of flow'rs.

The fragrant rose, a beauteous guest, Shall flourish on my fair one's breast; Shall grace her hand, or deck her hair, The flow'r most sweet, the nymph most fair.

VAIN is ev'ry fond endeavour To resist the tender dart; For examples move us never; We must feel, to know the smart. When the shepherd swears he's dying, And our beauties sets to view; Vanity, her aid supplying, Bids us think 'tis all our due. Bids us think 'tis all our due.

Softer than the vernal breezes Is the mild, deceitful strain; Frowning truth our sex displeases, Flatt'ry never sues in vain: But, too soon, the happy lover Does our tend'rest hopes deceive; Man was form'd to be a rover, Foolish woman to believe, Foolish woman to believe.

NOW pleasure unbounded resounds o'er the plains, And brightens the smiles of the damsels and swains, As they follow the last team of harvest along, And end all their toils with a dance and a song: Possess'd of the plenty that blesses the year, Bleak Winter's approach they behold without fear, And when tempests rattle and hurricanes roar, Enjoy what they have, and ne'er languish for more.

Dear Chloe, from them let us learn to be wise, And use every moment of life as it flies: Gay youth is the spring-time, which all must improve, For summer to ripen an harvest of love. Our hearts then a provident care should engage, To lay friendship in store for the Winter of age, Whose frowns shall disarm even Chloe's bright eye, Damp the flame in my bosom, and pall ev'ry joy.

THE nymph that I lov'd was as cheerful as day, And as sweet as the blossoming hawthorn in May; Her temper was smooth as the down on the dove, And her face was as fair as the mother's of love; Tho' mild as the pleasantest Zephyr that sheds And receives gentle odours from flow'ry beds; Yet warm in affection as Phoebus at noon, And as chaste as the silver-white beams of the moon.

Her mind was unsully'd as new fall'n snow, And as lively as tints from young Iris his bow; As clear as the stream, and as deep as the flood; She, tho' witty, was wise; and tho' beautiful, good; The sweets that each virtue, or grace, had in store, She cull'd as the bee does the bloom of each flow'r, Which, treasur'd for me, O! how happy was I! For tho' her's to collect, it was mine to enjoy!

IF those who live in shepherd's bow'r; Press not the gay and stately bed; The new-mown hay and breathing flow'r A softer couch beneath them spread.

If those who sit at shepherd's board, Sooth not their taste with wanton art; They take what nature's gifts afford, And take it with a cheerful heart.

If those who drain the shepherd's bowl, No high and sparkling wines can boast; With whol••ome cups they cheer the soul, And crown them with the village toast.

If those who join in shepherd's sport, Dancing on the dai••y'd ground, Have not the splendor of a court; Yet love adorns the merry round.

THE SHEPHERD AND SHEPHERDESS.—A ••ANTATA.

Shepherd.

RECITATIVE.

THE morning's freshness calls me forth, To view creation crown the earth.

AIR.

Come, my Lucy, come away, Share with me this sun-shine day; Sweets of May make nature gay, Come, my Lucy, come away.

Shepherdess.

RECITATIVE.

Ah! help me, shepherd, do but see, I'm stung this moment by a bee.

Shepherd.

AIR.

If you from a wound that's so small feel a pain, Then think what you give to a true loving swain, When scornful you fly from his pray'rs: A bee's single sting but a little while smarts, But wounds for years fester in fond shepherds' hearts, When lasses will give themselves airs.

Shepherdess.

Ah! shepherd, ah! shepherd, mankind like the bee, Fly buzzing about ev'ry beauty they see; And when the believing fool'd maid, O'ercome by their arts, feels the force of love's sting; At once, like the bee, the shepherd takes wing, And laughing he leaves her betray'd.

Shepherd.

RECITATIVE.

Then fix me at once for the rest of my life, And from shepherd and lass, let us be man and wife

Shepherdess.

AIR.

Maids well should beware, ere to that they consent: Those in haste to be marry'd, at leisure repent; We should look ere we leap, 'tis a lott'ry for life, Where the blanks are all drawn by a man and his wife.

Shepherd.

Those who wed for mere wealth such misfortunes may prove, But we buy wedlock's tickets with true love for love;

And since friendship's the prize in the lott'ry for life, We shall stand the best chance when we're made man and wife.

Shepherdess.

Shall I liberty leave, and submit to be rul'd? To my children a slave, by my husband be fool'd? The day spent in trouble, the night waste in strife? This is often the change from a maid to a wife.

Shepherd.

We a wife take, 'tis said, e'er for better or worse; Marriage therefore is either a blessing or curse; Let us show, by example, the blessings of life Can only be found in a man and his wife.

Shepherdess.

But see the sun setting the clouds skirt with gold, And nibbling flocks rising, repair to their fold! Let us homeward repair—

Both.

—And end further strife, And to-morrow, my dear, we'll be made man and wife.

BRIGHT Sol is returned, the Winter is o'er, His all-cheering beams do nature restore; The cowslip and daisy, the vi'let and rose, Each garden, each orchard, does fragrance disclose; The birds's cheerful notes are heard in each grove, All nature confesses the season of love.

The nymphs and the shepherds come tripping amain, All hasten to join in the sports of the plain; Our rural diversions are free from all guile, The face that is honest securely can smile; The heart that's sincere in affection may prove All nature's force the season of love.

O come then, Philander, with Sylvia away, Our friends that expect us, accuse our delay; Let's haste to the village, the sports to begin; I'll strive, for my shepherd, the garland to win. But see his approach, whom my heart does approve, Who makes ev'ry hour the season of love.

COME then, come, ye sportive swains; Hither, jocund nymphs, advance; O'er the smooth enamell'd green Lead along the rustic dance. Come, your grateful tributes pay, Hail the rosy morn of May.

Now again the rising year Calls us forth to mirth and joy; Pining grief, nor sordid care, Shall our festive rites annoy. Swell then, swell the cheerful lay, Hail the rosy morn of May.

WITH the man that I love, was I destin'd to dwell, On a mountain, a moor, in a cot, in a cell; Retreats the most barren, most desert, would be More pleasing than courts or a palace to me. Let the vain and the venal, in wedlock aspire To what folly esteems, and the vulgar admire; I yield them the bliss, where their wishes are plac'd, Insensible creatures! 'tis all they can taste.

HOPE! thou nurse of young desire, Fairy promise•• of joy, Painted vapour, glow-worm fire, Temp'rate sweet that ne'er can cloy:

Hope! thou earnest of delight, Softest soother of the mind, Balmy cordial, prospect bright, Surest friend the wretched find:

Kind deceiver, flatter still; Deal out pleasures unpossest; With thy dreams my fancy fill, And in wishes make me blest.

TO sheep-shear, my boys! pipe and tabor strike up: Let's not lose a moment, brisk, push round the cup: Our wool is all hous'd, and our toil is all o'er, Our barns are well-stock'd, now we'll dance on the floor. Come, neighbours! with hearts and with voices in tune, Rejoice at our festival sheep-shear in June; Take each a full jug, drink success to the fleece, And only with day-light let merriment cease.

THE flocks shall leave the mountains, The woods the turtle dove, The nymphs forsake the fountains, Ere I forsake my love. Torture! fury! rage! despair! I cannot, cannot, cannot bear.

Not show'rs to larks more pleasing, Nor sun-shine to the bee; Not sleep to toil so easing, As these dear smiles to me. Fly swift, thou massy ruin, fly: Die, presumptuous Acis, die!

HOW sleep the brave who sink to rest, By all their country's wishes blest! When spring with dewy fingers cold, Return to deck their hallow'd mold, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than fancy's feet have ever trod.

By fairy hands their knell is rung; By forms unseen their dirge is ••••ng; There honor ••••mes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the ••urf that wraps their clay: And freedom shall a wh••le repair, To dwell a weeping hermit there!

WHERE the murm'ring river flows, Where the weeping willows play; We enjoy a cool repose, From the busy glare of day.

Summer's heat disturbs the breast; The passions should be calm and still: Ev'ry thought is lull'd to rest, By the sweetly tinkling rill.

POOR melancholy bird, that all night long Tell'st to the moon thy tale of tender woe; From what sad cause can such sweet sorrow flow, And whence this mournful melody of song? Thy poet's musing fancy would translate. What mean the sounds that swell thy little breast, When still at dewy eve thou leav'st thy nest? Thus to the listening night to sing thy fate.

Pale sorrow's victims wert thou once among, Tho' now releas'd in woodlands wild to rove; Or hast thou felt from friends some cruel wrong, Or diedst thou martyr of disastrous love? Ah! songstress sad! that such my lot might be, To sigh and sing at liberty—like thee!

WHERE weeping yews and nodding cypress wave In awful gloom, around thy mossy grave, Let nymphs and shepherds yearly tribute bring, And strew the earliest vi'lets of the spring. Let fairy-footsteps trace the midnight round, And guard from ev'ry ill the hallow'd ground; There drooping love and friendship oft appear, And virtue greets thine ashes with a tear.

HER mouth with a smile Devoid of all guile,

Half open to view Is the bud of the rose, In the morning that blows, Impearl'd with the dew.

More fragrant her breath Than the flow'r-scented heath At the dawning of day; The hawthorn in bloom, The lily's perfume, Or the blossoms of May.

YE rivers so limpid and clear, Who reflect as in caden••e you flow, All the beauties that vary the year, All the flow'rs on your margins that grow! How blest on your banks could I dwell, Were Melissa the pleasure to share, And teach your sweet echoes to tell, With what fondness I doa•• on the fair!

Ye harvests, that wave in the breeze As far as the view can extend! Ye mountains, umbrageous with trees, Whose tops so majestic as••end! Your landscape what joy to survey, Were Melissa with me to admire! Then the harvest would glitter, how gay! How majestic the mountains aspire!

In pensive regret whilst I rove, The fragrance of flow'rs to inhale; Or watch from the pastures and grove, Each music that floats on the gale; Alas! the delusion how vain! Nor odours nor harmony please A heart agonizing with pain, Which tries ev'ry posture for ease.

If anxious to flatter my woes, Or the languor of absence to cheer, Her breath I would catch in the rose, Or her voice in the nightingale hear,

To cheat my despair of its prey. What object her charms can assume? How harsh is the nightingale's lay! How insipid the rose's perfume!

Ye zephyrs that visit my Fair, Ye sun-beams around her that play, Does her sympathy dwell on my care? Does she number the hours of my stay? First perish ambition and wealth, First perish all else that is dear, Ere one sigh should escape her by stealth, Ere my absence should cost her one tear.

When, when shall her beauties once more This desolate bosom surprise; Ye fates! the blest moments restore When I bask'd in the beams of her eyes; When, with sweet emulation of heart, Our kindness we struggled to show; But the more that we strove to impart, We felt it more ardently glow.

AS near a weeping spring reclin'd, The beauteous Araminta pin'd, And mourn'd a false ungrateful youth; While dying echoes caught the sound, And spread the soft complaints around Of broken vows and alter'd truth;

An aged shepherd heard her moan, And thus in pity's kindest tone Address'd the lost, despairing maid; Cease, cease, unhappy Fair, to grieve; For sounds, tho' sweet, can ne'er relieve A breaking heart by love betray'd.

Why shouldst thou waste such precious show'rs, That fall like dew on wither'd flow'rs, But dying passion ne'er restor'd? In Beauty's empire is no mean; And women, either slave or queen, Is quickly scorn'd when not ador'd.

'Those liquid pearls from either eye, Which might an Eastern empire buy, Unvalued here and fruitless fall; No art the season can renew When love was young, and Damon true, No tears a wand'ring heart recal.

'Cease, cease to grieve; thy tears are vain, Should 〈◊〉〈◊〉 fair orbs in drops of rain Vie with a weeping southern sky: For hearts o'ercome with love and grief All nature yields but one relief; Die, napless Araminta, die!'

HOPE, thou source of ev'ry blessing, Parent of each joy divine! Ev'ry balmy sweet possessing, Ev'ry promis'd bliss be thine.

Softest friend to heartfelt anguish, Lend, O! lend thy powerful aid; Bid the lover cease to languish, Cheer the fond despairing maid.

REST, beauteous flow'r, and bloom anew, To court my passing love; Glow in his eye with brighter hue, And all thy form improve.

And while thy balmy odours steal, To meet his equal breath, Let thy soft blush, for mine, reveal Th' imprinted kiss beneath.

WHERE the fond zephyr thro' the woodbine plays, And wakes sweet fragrance in the mantling bow'r, Near to that grove my lovely bridegroom stays Impatient—for 'tis past the promis'd hour.

Lend me thy light, O ever-sparkling star! Bright Hesper! in thy glowing pomp array'd, Look down, look down, from thy all-glorious car, And beam protection on a wand'ring maid.

'Tis to escape the penetrating spy, And pass unnotic'd from malignant sight, This dreary waste, full resolute, I try, And trust my footsteps to the shades of night.

The moon has slipt behind an envious cloud; Her smiles, so gracious, I no longer view: Let her remain behind that envious shroud, My hopes, bright Hesperus! depend on you.

No rancour ever reach'd my harmless breast; I hurt no birds, nor rob the bustling bee: Hear then what Love and Innocence request, And shed your kindest influence on me.

Thee Venus loves—First twinkler of the sky, Thou art her star—in golden radiance gay: On my distresses cast a pitying eye, Assist me—for, alas! I've lost my way.

I see the darling of my soul—my love! Expression can't the mighty rapture tell: He leads me to the bosom of the grove: Thanks, gentle star—kind Hesperus, farewell.

ADIEU to the village delights, Which lately my fancy enjoy'd! No longer the country invites; To me all its pleasures are void. Adieu, thou sweet health-breathing hill! Thou canst not my comfort restore; For ever adieu, my dear vill •• My Lucy, alas! is no more.

She, she was the cure of my pain, My blessing, my honor, my pride: She ne'er gave me cause to complain, Till that fatal day when she died, Here eyes that so beautiful shone, Are closed forever in sleep;

And mine, since my Lucy is gone, Have nothing to do but to weep.

Could my tears the bright angel restore, Like a fountain, they never should cease; But Lucy, alas! is no more, And I'm a stranger to peace. Let me copy, with fervour devout, The virtues that glow'd in her heart; Then soon, when life's sand is run out, We shall meet again, never to part.

WHERE the light cannot pierce, in a grove of tall trees, With my fair one as blooming as May, Undisturb'd by all sound, but the sighs of the breeze, Let me pass the hot noon of the day.

When the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 l••ss intense, to the westward inclines, For the meadows the groves we'll forsake, And le•• the rays ••••••ce, as inverted he shines On the face of some river or lake:

Where my fairest and I, on its verge as we pass, (For 'tis she that must still be my theme) Our shadows may view on the watery glass, While the fish are at play in the stream.

May the herds cease to low, and the lambkins to bleat, When she sings me some amorous strain; All be silent and hush'd, unless echo repeat The kind words and sweet found back again!

And when we return to our cottage at night, Hand in hand as we ••aunt'ring stray, Let the moon's silver beams through the leaves give us light, Just direct us, and chequer our ••ay.

Let the nightingale warble its no••es in our walk, As thus gently and slowly we move, And let no single thought be express'd in our talk, But of friendship improv'd into love.

Thus enchanted each day with these rural delights, And secure from ambition's alarms, Soft love and repose shall divide all our rights, And each morning shall rise with new charms.

THE noon-tide sun the fields had gilded o'er, And drain'd the dew-drops with his fervid beams; To crop the herbage cattle had forbore, And sought refreshment from the shaded streams:

The glowing void around was all serene, And silence exercis'd a lonesome sway; Save where the whisp'ring grass hoppers, unseen, Enjoy'd with ecstacy the golden day:

When to a fragrant myrtle grove withdrew The fond Palemon—hapless shepherd swain! His languid limbs upon the ground he threw, And in these artless lays express'd his pain:

'Must I, devoid of hope, for ever pine, The destin'd prey of unrelenting love? O Amaryllis! can a breast like thine So kind and gentle—yet so cruel prove?

'What though my coffers hide no precious ore, Nor gilded canopies o'erhang my head? With Amaryllis I request no more; Yon cot my palace—and my court, this shade.

'But see, my love, to heighten our delight, The scented shrubs their flow'rets fair display: The jessamines, in sparkling beauty bright, Pour forth fresh fragrance on the smiling day.

'The myrtle also, and the laurel, join'd With ev'ry shining flow'r that decks the grove, In curious wreathings artfully entwin'd, Shall form a charming garland for my love.

'And when the ruddy sun descends the skies, To yield his empire to the starry train; When ev'ning's gale in softest murmur sighs, And drops or dew impearl the shadowy plain:

'Then, hand in hand, we'll hie us to the s••••de, Together on the verd••nt bank recline; While chaste desires our ardent souls pervade; And thou dost gaze—and sigh, and call me thine.

'Where roams my fancy?—'Tis a dream, fond swain! For Amaryllis scorns thy rural store: She bids thee languish in unpitied pain, And never taste the sweets of comfort more.

WHEN once I with Phillida stray'd Where rivers run murmuring by, I heard the soft vows that she made, What swain was so happy as I? My breast was a stranger to care, For my wealth by her kisses I told; I thought myself richer by far, Than he that had mountains of gold.

But now I am poor and undone, Her vows have prov'd empty and vain; The kisses I once thought my own, Are bestowed on a happier swain: But cease, gentle shepherd, to deem That her vows shall be constant and true; They're as false as a midsummer dream, As fickle as midsummer dew.

O Phillis! so fickle and fair, Why did you my love then approve? Had you frown'd on my suit through despair, I soon had forgotten to love; You smil'd, and your smiles were so sweet, You spoke, and your words were so kind, I could not suspect the deceit, But gave my loose sails to the wind.

When tempests the ocean deform, And billows so mountainous roar, The pilot, secur'd from the storm, Ne'er ventures his bark from the shore; As soon as soft breezes arise, And smiles the false face of the sea, His art he too credulous tries, And, sailing, is shipwreck'd like me.

FOR tenderness fram'd in life's earliest day, A parent's soft sorrows to mine led the way: The lesson of pity was caught from her eye, And, ere words were my own, I spoke in a sigh.

The nightingale plunder'd, the mate-widow'd dove, The warbled complaint of the suffering grove, To youth as it ripen'd gave sentiment new, The object still changing, the sympathy true.

Soft embers of passion yet rest in the glow— A warmth of more pain may this breast never know! Or, if too indulgent the blessing I claim, Let the spark drop from reason that wakens the flame.

SHE came from the hills of the west; A smile of contentment she wore; Her heart was a garden of rest; But, ah! the sweet season is o'er.

How oft, by the streams in the wood, Delighted, she'd ramble and rove! And, while she stood marking the flood, Would tune up a stanza of love.

In rural diversions and play, The summers glid smoothly along; And her winters pass'd briskly away, Cheer'd up with a tale or a song.

At length a destroyer came by, A youth of more person than parts, Well skill'd in the arts of the eye, The conquest and havock of hearts.

He led her by fountains and streams, He woo'd her with sonnets and books; He told her his tales and his dreams, And mark'd their effect in h•••• looks.

He led her by midnight to roam, Where spirits and spectres affright; For passions increase with the gloom, And caution expires with the light.

At length, like a rose from the spray, Like a lily just pluck'd from the stem, She droop'd and she faded away, Thrown by and neglected like them.

THE garlands fade, that spring so lately wove; Each simple flow'r, which she had nurs'd in dew; Anemonies, that spangled every grove, The primrose wan, and hare-bell mildly blue.

No more shall vi'lets linger in the dell, Or purple orchis variegate the plain; Till spring again shall call forth ev'ry bell, And dress with humid hands her wreaths again.

Ah, poor humanity!—so frail, so fair Are the fond visions of thy early day; Till tyrant passions, and corrosive care, Bid all thy fairy colours fade away.

Another May new buds and flow'rs shall bring: Ah!—why has happiness no second spring?

WHAT cheerful sounds salute our ears, And echo o'er the lawn! Behold! the loaded car appears, In joyful triumph drawn. The nymphs and swains, a jovial band, Still shouting as they come, With rustic instruments in hand, Proclaim the harvest-home.

The golden sheaves, pil'd up on high, Within the barn are stor'd; The careful hind, with secret joy Exulting, views his hoard. His labour's past, he counts his gains; And, freed from anxious care, His casks are broach'd; the sun-burnt swains His rural plenty share.

In dance and song the night is spent: All ply the flowing bowl; And jests and harmless merriment Expand the artless soul. Young Colin whispers Rosalind, Who still reap'd by his side;

And plights his troth, if she prove kind, To take her for his bride.

For joys like these, through circling years, Their toilsome task they tend: The hind successive labours bears, In prospect of the end; In spring, or winter, sows his seed, Manures or tills the soil: In summer, various cares succed; But harvest crowns his toil.

YE southern gales, that ever fly In frolic April's vernal train, Who, as ye skim along the sky, Dip your light pinions in the main; Then shake them, fraught with genial show'rs, O'er blooming Flora's primrose bow'rs:

Now ceas•• a while your wanton sport, Now drive each threat'ning cloud away; Then to the flow'ry vales resort, And hither all its sweets convey; And ever as ye dance along, With softest murmurs aid my song.

NEAR a smooth river's lonely side, Where tuneful Naiads gently glide, A secret grotto stand; Within a rock's hard bosom made, Hid in the gloom of awful shade; The work of Nature's hands.

This sweet retreat, that once had been Of joy and love the chosen scene, Poor injur'd Flavia sought: But—to complain of Damon's vow There made and broke—she chose it now With rage and sorrow fraught.

The hollow rock, where she reclin'd, She thought was like false Damon's mind;

His dark design—the shade; The deep smooth stream—his tempting face; Its sound—his tongue's deluding grace, That won, and that betray'd.

Damon, one evening as he stray'd, To meet some other tender maid, O'erheard her mournful plaint; Her sighs, and tears, and soft despair Infected all the neighbouring air, And forc'd him to relent.

And now she thinks, since Damon's kind, The steady rock still like his mind; His love—the friendly shade; The clear smooth stream—his lovely face; Its soothing sound—the tongue's soft grace, That all her woes repaid.

"No more be fear'd, then, Fortune's powers! "'Tis fancy all our bliss devours, "Or gives content, we find. "Men may be happy, if they please; "We are ourselves our own disease; "The fault is in the mind."

ADIEU, ye streams that smoothly flow, Ye vernal airs, that softly blow; Ye plains, by blooming spring array'd: Ye birds, that warble through the shade!

Unhurt from you my soul could fly, Nor drop one tear, nor heave one sigh; But forc'd from Delia's charms to part, All joy deserts my drooping heart.

O! fairer than the dewy morn, When flow'rs the verdant fields adorn; Unsullied as the genial ray, That warms the balmy breeze of May.

Thy charms divinely bright appear, And add new splendour to the year: Improve the day with fresh delight, And gild with joy the dreary night.

BLOW, blow, thou summer's breeze, O gently fan the trees That form yon fragrant bow'r; Where Anna, loveliest maid! On nature's carpet laid, Enjoys the ev'ning hour.

Hence, hence, ye objects foul, The beetle, bat, and owl, The hagworm, newt, and toad; But fairy elves, unseen, May gambol o'er the green, And circle her abode.

Shed, shed the sweetest beams, In party-colour'd streams, Thou fount of heat and light: No, no; withdraw thy ray; Her eyes diffuse a day; As kind, as warm, as bright.

Breathe, breathe thy incense, May; Ye flow'rs, your homage pay To one more fair and sweet: Ye op'ning rose-buds, shed Your fragrance round her head; Ye lilies, kiss her feet.

Flow, flow, thou crystal rill With tinkling gurgles fill The mazes of the grove: And should thy murmuring stream Invite my love to dream, O may she dream of love, Sing, sing, ye feather'd choir, And melt to fond desire Her too obdurate breast: Then, in that tender hour, I'll steal into the bow'r, And teach her to be blest.

THE wretch condemn'd with life to part, Still, still on hope relies: And ev'ry pang that rends the heart Bids expectation rise.

Hope, like the glimm'ring taper's light, Adorns and cheers the way; And still, as darker grows the night, Emits a brighter ray.

THE fleepless bird, from eve to morn, Renews her plaintive strain: Presses her bosom to the thorn, And courts th' inspiring pain.

But, ah! how vain the skill of song, To wake the vocal air; With passion trembling on the tongue, And in the heart despair!

AH! why must words my flame reveal Why needs my Damon bid me tell What all my actions prove? A blush whene'er I meet his eye, Whene'er I hear his name, a sigh Betrays my secret love.

In all their sports upon the plain, My eyes still fix'd on him remain, And him alone approve: The rest unheeded dance or play, From all he steals my praise away, And can he doubt my love?

Whene'er we meet, my looks confess The joys that all my soul possess, And ev'ry care remove:

Still, still, too short appears his stay; The moments fly too fast away, Too fast for my fond love.

Does any speak in Damon's praise, So pleas'd am I with all he says, I ev'ry word approve: But is he blam'd, altho' in jest, I feel resentment fire my breast, Alas! because I love.

But, ah! what tortures tear my heart, When I suspect his looks impart The least desire to rove! I hate the maid that gives me pain; Yet him to hate I strive in vain, For, ah! that hate is love.

Then ask not words, but read mine eyes, Believe my blushes, trust my sighs, My passion these will prove: Words oft deceive and spring from art; The true expressions of my heart To Damon, must be love.

MY Delia was all my delight; But she shuns me, and why do I sigh? She flies like a fawn from my sight; Yet I follow, I canot tell why.

The beauties of Delia's mind, Ah! shepherds, you cannot compare; But the fairest of features combin'd— And I lov'd her because she was fair.

They say that a wealthier swain, That Palemon has charm'd her away— Palemon's the pride of the plain, Or I could not believe what they say.

Why did not the graces a••tire, The little loves lend me their aid?— Or why was I doom'd to admire So lovely, so graceful a maid?

O! Hope, thou soother sweet of human woes, How shall I lure thee to my haunts forlorn! For me wilt thou renew the wither••d rose, And clear my painful path of pointed thorn?

Ah! come, sweet nymph, in smiles and softness drest, Like the young Hours, that lead the tender Year; Enchantress, come, and charm my cares to rest; Alas! the flatt'rer flies, and will not hear.

A prey to grief, anxiety, and pain, Must •• a ••••existence still deplore: Lo! the flow'rs fade, but all the thorns remain; For me the vernal garland blooms no more.

TO ECHO.

SPORTIVE genius of the green, Frequent heard, yet never seen, Tripping o'er with printless speed, Fairy-like, each flow'ry mead, Ranging ev'ry hill along. Stealing ev'ry ploughman's song: Whether waving in the wood, Whether skimming o'er the flood, Pa••••••ng on the southern gale, Or reposing in the vale. Posting on a Zephyr's wing Hither come; and with thee bring Gentle Hope, to solace one By a cruel nymph undone: Hear me, where beneath the shade, Pensive mourner, I am laid, Deaf to Music's native note, Pour'd from many a warbler's throat; Blind to all which pleas'd before; Smiling landscapes charm no more. Waft my sighs to yonder plains, Where the haughty fair one reigns, Who, with beauty's subtle art, Chains and triumphs o'er my heart;

Let their murmur reach her ears; Tell her all my hopes, and fears; She alone lost peace can give: Tell her, 'tis for her love I live; Tell her to my passion true, Tho' repuls'd, I still pursue; That her graces I adore; Tell her also—but no more— Love admits of no delay; Little mimic, haste away.

HOW sweet in the woodlands, with fleet hound and horn To waken shrill echo, and taste the fresh morn! But hard is the chase, my fond heart must pursue; For Daphne, fair Daphne, is lost to my view.

Assist me, chaste Dian, the nymph to regain, More wild than the roe-buck, and wing'd with disdain: In pity o'ertake her, who wounds as she flies; Tho' Daphne's pursued, 'tis Myrtillo that dies.

LET me live remov'd from noise, Remov'd from scenes of pride and strife, And only taste those tranquil joys Which Heav'n bestows on rural life! Inocence shall guide my youth, Whilst Nature's paths I still pursue; Each step I take be mark'd with truth, And virtue ever be my view.

Adieu, ye gay, adieu, ye great! I see you all without a sigh; Contented with my happier fate, In silence let me live and die! Sweet peace I'll court to follow me, And woo the graces to my cell; For all the graces love to be Where innocence and virtue dwell.

How wretched the maiden who loves A shepherd unworthy her care! From fair-one to fair-one who roves, And whose promise is lighter than air!

Such the sorrows which poor Phillis knew, Who ••olin too rashly believ'd: His aim was to triumph o'er you, Ah! Phillis unkindly deceiv'd!

••••neath the dark cypress she lay, And sigh'd her complaint to the wind, That her Colin had wander'd away, And left her despairing behind.'

All cold, and stretch'd out in the shade, By the virgins pale Phillis was found; And a scroll on her bosom was laid, Declaring, that love gave the wound.

The shepherds still speak of her truth, As they point out her grave with a sigh; And upbraid thy inconstancy, youth! Who could suffer such beauty to die.

HAPPY, harmless, rural pair, Void of jealousy or care; Emblems of the bless'd above, Sharing pure seraphic love!

By the brook, beneath the shade Of the lofty poplar laid, Cheerful strains awake the grove, Dulcet notes of peace and love.

Say, ye proud, ye rich, ye great, Circled round with noise and state, Real pleasures can ye prove? No! 'tis found in rural love.

WHEN first the East begins to dawn, And Nature's beauties rise,

The lark assumes her matins sweet, And seeks the yielding skies. The rosy light that glads the Muse, Dear to her breast must be; But not so dear, young Cupid knows, As Damon is to me.

In yonder tree two turtles bill, Whose sweet alternate notes, In pretty songs of love, prolong The music of their throats: Dear to the lover's flutt'ring breast The fair-one's notes must be; But not so dear the thousandth part, As Damon is to me.

A mourning bird, in plaintive mood, Robb'd of her callow young, In yonder grove observ'd her nest, And still her woes she sung: No feather'd warbler of the wood More sorrowful could be; But I far greater woes must share, Were Damon far from me.

YOUNG Cupid is with me wherever I go— He plagues me, and teazes, and vexes me so— To shun the young urchin I fly to the grove, But soon at my elbow I find little love: I meet with young Strephon, the pride of the plain; His smiles for a moment can banish all pain; Then Cupid, to teaze me, is sure to repeat— The smiles of your Jamie are ten times more sweet,

T'other day, when reclining in Strephon's gay bow'r, And charm'd with the fragrance of each blooming flow'r; The vi'let, the lily, the sweetest that blows, He had twin'd with young myrtle, the woodbine, and rose; I forgot the young tyrant, and own'd to the swain, That this fragrant spot was the pride of the plain; But Cupid stept forward, and cried—' 'Tis a cheat; The breath of your Jamie is ten times more sweet.

Quite angry, at last, I cried—'Let me alone: I have sense, and have ears, and have eyes of my own;

Your blindness and folly will lead me astray, While Prudence to Strephon's gay bow'r leads the way.' Provok'd by my answer, he presently flew, And brought my dear Jamie quite full in my view; Instructed by love, he knelt down at my feet, And the vows of my Jamie are true as they're sweet.

Now Strephon in vain may exert all his pow'rs; With Jamie, contented, I'll shun the gay bow'r; In a cottage more humble, contented to dwell, With him I am happy, tho' humble my cell, To revenge me on Cupid for all my past pain, I'll bind the young rogue in a sweet rosy chain; I'll cut off his wings, and tie lead to his feet, For with Love and my Jamie my joys are complete.

AT the close of the day, when the hamlet is still, And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove, When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill, And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove: 'Twas thus, by the cave of the mountain afar, While his harp rung symphonious, a Hermit began: No more with himself, or with Nature at war, He thought as a sage, though he felt as a man.

Ah why, all abandon'd to darkness and woe, Why, alone Philomela, that languishing fall? For Spring shall return, and a lover bestow, And Sorrow no longer thy bosom inthral. But if pity inspire thee, renew the sad lay, Mourn, sweetest complainer man calls thee to mourn; O sooth him, whose pleasures like thine pass away, Full quickly they pass—but they never return.

Now gliding remote, on the verge of the sky, The moon half extinguish'd her crescent displays: But lately I mark'd, when majestic on high She shone, and the planets were lost in her blaze. Roll on, thou fair orb, and with gladness pursue The path that conducts thee to splendour again; But man's faded glory what change shall renew? Ah fool! to exult in a glory so vain!

'Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more; I mourn, but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you;

For 〈…〉〈…〉 proaching your charms to restore; Perfum'd with fresh fragrance, and glitt'ring with dew. Nor yet for the ravage of Winter I mourn; Kind Nature the embryo blosso•• ••ill save; But when shall Spring visit the mouldering urn? O when shall it dawn on the night of the grave!

THE Spring with smiling face is seen, To usher in the May; The fields all mantled oe'r with green, All deck'd in flow'rets gay: The feather'd songsters of the grove All join in harmony and love.

The soaring lark, that cleaves the skies, Low builds her humble nest: The rambling boy that finds the prize, Is sure supremely blest; And, when the parent bird is flown, He ••as••es and marks it for his own.

O! LET me haunt this peaceful shade; Nor let ambition e'er invade The tenants of this leafy bow'r, That shun her paths, and slight her pow'r.

Hither the plaintive halcyon flies, From social meads and open skies; Pleas'd, by this ••••ll, her course to steer, And hide her sapphire plumage here.

The trout, bedropt with crimson stains, Forsakes the river's proud domains: Forsakes the sun's unwelcome gleam, To lurk within this humble stream.

And sure I heard the Naiad say, 'Flow, flow, my stream! this devious way; Though lovely soft thy murmurs are, Thy waters, lovely cool and fair.

'Flow, gentle stream! nor let the vain Thy small unsully'd stores disdain:

Nor let the pensive sage repine, Whose latent course resembles thine.'

O PHOEBUS! down the western sky, Far hence diffuse thy burning ray: Thy light to distant worlds supply, And wake them to the cares of day.

Come, gentle eve, the friend of ease, Come, Cynthia, lovely queen of night! Refresh me with a cooling breeze, And cheer me with a lambent light.

Lay me, where o'er the verdant ground Her living carpet Nature spreads: Where the green bow'r, with roses crown'd, In show'rs its fragrant foliage sheds.

Improve the peaceful hour with wine; Let music die along the grove; Around the bowl let myrtles twine, And ev'ry strain be tun'd to love.

Come, Stella, queen of all my heart! Come, born to fill its vast desires! Thy looks perpetual joys impart; Thy voice perpetual love inspires.

Whilst, all my wish, and thine complete, By turns we languish and we burn, Let sighing gales our sighs repeat; Our murmurs—murmuring brooks return.

Let me, when Nature calls to rest, And blushing skies the morn foretell, Sink on the down of Stella's breast, And bid the waking world farewell.

AT dawn of day, a farmer pass'd Where deadly snares were set: A lark with piercing cries and throbs, Was struggling in the net.

The flutt'ring pris'ner begg'd his life; 'O pity me,' he said! 'Twould kill my harmless babes and wife, To hear that I was dead.

'I hurt no creature; for the whole Of birds will vouch for me; Nor have thy rich possessions stol'n: Let innocence be free.

'One grain, indeed, this fatal morn, I took—'Twas all I did. To die for one poor grain of corn, Alas! kind Heav'n, forbid!'

A red-breast, from a neighb'ring tree, Beheld his captive state; 'Ah! cease thy piteous plaint, said he, 'Nor hope to shun your fate.

'Poor bird! be sure thy death's decreed; No eloquence will do; For, ah! the wretch, to whom you plead, Is judge and jury too.'

His consort, then in search of food, Her hapless birds to rear, Was picking, by the fatal spot, Where lay her tangled dear.

With mournful and incessant screams She did for pity call; 'Oh! save him, save him!' was her cry, Or take my life and all.

'For, when he's gone, who shall assist To raise our callow young?'— To hear their simple sorrowing strain, The farmer's heart was rung.

Reflecting on their tender grief, And touch'd by mercy's plea, With ready hands he loos'd the string, And set his pris'ner free.

The tuneful warbler, with his ma••••, Enraptur'd, took the wing; And, while suspended in the air, A song of thanks did sing.

The red-breast, seeing pity shown, Rejoicing, took his flight; Nor did the farmer's feeling heart Experience less delight.

YOUR wise men all declare Of the thing so strange and rare, Globe search around thro' great Nature's Law, Woman bears the belle, and why? They cannot tell, and why? 'Tis the mystical charms of the Je ne sçai quoi.

See the dutchess queen of love, The graceful minuet move; What pencil or pen can such beauties draw? Say, why each heart is fired, And why by all admired, For the mystical charms of the Je ne sçai quoi?

The lovely city dame, Dear cause of many a flame, Each Smart swears he ne'er such a beauty saw; Say, what the lovers prize, Coral lips, brilliant eyes? No, the mystical charms of the Je ne sçai quoi

Behold the village maid, By Nature's hand array'd, In her stockings green and hat of straw; Is love in dimples sleek, Or the roses of her cheek? No, the mystical charms of the Je ne sçai quoi.

MY Phillida, adieu love! For ever more farewell! Ah me I've lost my true love, And thus I sing her knell, Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong! My Phillida, is dead, I'll stick a branch of willow at my fair Phill's head, Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong, ding dong, ding dong, ding dong!

For my fair Phillida A bridal bed was made, But stead of silke so gay She in her shroud is laid. Ding dong, &c.

Her corpse shall be attended By maids in fair array, 'Till the obsequies are ended, And she is wrapt in clay, Ding dong, &c.

I'll deck her tomb with flow'rs, The rarest ever seen, And with my tears as showers I'll keep them fresh and green, Ding dong, &c.

Instead of fairest colours Set forth with curious art, Her image it is pai••••ed On my distressed heart. Ding dong, &c.

In sable will I mourn, Black shall be all my weed, Ah! me I am forlorn, Since Phillida is dead. Ding dong, &c.

SILENT I tread this lonely wood, Silent I shed the piteous tear, No hope to cheer my drooping soul, Bereft of him I hold most dear.

Still do I seek these dreary shades A lovelorn maid the village scorn, Since Doris won my plighted faith, Then left me here to sigh forlorn.

Yon mossy bank oft times recalls, The image of the blooming youth, 'Twas there he stole my easy heart, With vows of constancy and truth.

Thus like the 'wilder'd bird of night, Fair Cleora mourn'd her love unkind,

To list'ning saints put up her prayer, That she a speedy death ••ight find.

Faint from her lips her accents broke, And faintly beam'd her eyes so bright, She sunk upon the mossy bank, She sunk—to everlasting night.

VIRGINS, while your beauty's blooming, Fragrant as the blushing rose, Think that beauty, tho' assuming, Is the frailest flow'r that blows.

When budding sweets the swains invite, Learn the man of worth to prize, So shall your full blown charms delight, While the coquet neglected dies.

I Pr'ythee, dear shepherd, depart, Thy oaths and thy sighs are in vain; I'm not to be won by thy art, So Hymen may march with his chain. Thou swear'st when my beauty is ••••ed, Thou'lt love me fond shepherd, the more: Such speeches are very well ••••ed. And thousands have m••de them before.

Thy courtship is sweet I maintain, Flame••, so••net••, and Cupide and rapture, Are pretty—but tell me, O swain, Will they last to the end of the chapter? Ah me, e'er a month would be gone. Flames, Cupids, and songs would be over, And down to a moderate tone, Would sink the high voice of the lover,

Whilst women have charms, they enjoy That dearest of blessings call'd pow'r, Then swain'—shall I madly destroy, Years of pleasure to come, in an hour?

Then teaze me no more for my heart, Make to others thy speeches so fine: To wed, is with freedom to part, So, shepherd, I cannot be thine.

FAREWELL to the park and the pl•••• Farewell the assembly and ball! Ye parties so frolic and gay, With pleasure farewell to you all! No joys can I now find in wine, Shot through with sly Cupid's keen darts, My freedom well pleas'd I resign To Lucy the fair queen of hearts. For Lucy I sigh, For Lucy I die, For Lucy the fair queen of hearts,

Tho' beauties are plenty I own, Regardless I view their dull charms, Nor beauty could conquer alone, But beauty and merit disarms: Insipid to me all their faces, In vain they play off all their arts, Compar'd to the numberless graces Of Lucy the fair queen of hearts. For Lucy I sigh, &c.

She listens to all that I say, She blushes whenever we meet, Tho' with others she's lively and gay, With me she's grave and discreet, To church then I'll lead my fair bride, And, scorning deceitful base arts, Still happy whate'er may betide With Lucy the fair queen of hearts. For Lucy I sigh, &c.

DEAR gentle Kate, oh! ease my care, And let my sorrows move thee,

As thou art fairest of the fair, So I the dearest love thee.

A blush dwells glowing on thy cheek, Fair seat of youthful pleasure, There love in smiling language speaks, There speaks his rosy treasure

Oh! fairest maid, I own th•• ••ow'r, I gaze, I f•• sigh and anguish, And ever eve•• adore, And triumph •••• my anguish.

MY daddy O was very good, To make me fine he spar'd no pelf, And scrope up money all he could, He'd give it to my bonny self.

My handsome cap from Dover came, Some thoughts from France so gay to see; Tho' sigh'd for by each maid and dame, 'Twas not my cap was dear to me.

Blithe Johnny O, upon his mare, Adown the dell his horn rang sweet, To me presented puss the hare, That o'er the wild thyme ran so fleet,

Tho' Ned a nosegay for my breast Had brought, no flow'r more sweet than he, And warbling Will a linnet's nest, Nor flow'rs nor birds were dear to me.

So softly oh to yonder grove, The moon so kind the while did blink, I stole to meet my own true love, Yet on false love I fell to think.

The rustling leaves increase my fears, A footstep falls, who can it be? O joy! my Jemmy now appears, And he alone was dear to me.

FROM the light down that mocks the gale, The Linnet culls her stores, From each wild flow'r that scents the vale, The bee a balm explores.

With nature's truest sense endued, Unconscious of alloy, In ev'ry gift they find a good, And every good enjoy.

Feeling's vain child alone assign'd A doubtful fickle pow'r, With sighs can chill the summer wind, With tears can blight the flow'r.

Its only dangerous gift, ah! why Did Heav'n to man impart? And bid each treacherous sense apply A venom for his heart.

THOUSANDS would seek the lasting peace of death, And in that harbour shun the storm of care, Officious hope still holds the fleeting breath, She tells them that to-morrow will be fair.

She tells me, Delia, I shall thee obtain, But can I listen to her syren song, Who sev'n slow months have dragg'd my painful chain, So long thy lover, and despis'd so long?

To her I first avow'd my tim'rous flame, She nurs'd my hopes, and taught me how to sue; She still would pity what the wise might blame, And feel for weakness which she never knew.

"Cease, cruel man, the mournful theme forbear, "Tho' much thou suffer, to thyself complain; "Ah! to recall the sad remembrance spare, "One tear from her, is more than all thy pain."

BEHOLD, my fair, where'er we rove, What dreary prospects round us rise; The naked hill, the leafless grove, The hoary ground, the frowning skies.

Not only through the wasted plain, Stern winter, is thy force confess'd; Still wider spreads thy horrid reign, I feel thy pow'r usurp my breast.

Enlivening hope, and fond desire Resign the heart to spleen and care; Scarce frighted love maintains his fire, And rapture saddens to despair.

Tir'd with vain joys and false alarms, With mental and corporeal strife, Snatch me, my Stella, to thy arms, And screen me from the ills of life.

A Lovely rose my Henry brought, And smiling plac'd it on my breast; I kept the gift, but little thought It would deprive me of my rest

I think my love you did not mean To wound this heart or give it pain; Alike to you it was unseen, You knew not what it did contain.

Oh! then beware, nor touch that tree From whence you took that poison'd flow'r; Lest you should suffer pain like me, And wounded own its hidden pow'r.

GRANT me, ye powers, your aid divine, O grant the fair one may be mine! Teach her to feel love's keenest dart, And know the pangs that rend my heart.

Thou God of love, kind Cupi•• hear! Return a flame, which is sincere! Pierce my Stella's harden'd br••••st, Or else restore my heart to rest!

GO, lovely fragrant blossom, go, And grace my Chloe's breast, Tell her its beauties fairer show, When with thy charms it's drest.

But near her face do not presume To lift thy od'rous head, Her breath's more sweet than thy perfume, Her lips more lovely red.

But tell her plainly, tell the maid, Tho' now she boasts her prime, That all her charms like thine will fade, And feel th' effects of time.

YOUNG Colin once courted Myrtilla the prude, If he sigh'd or look'd tender she cried he was rude: Tho' he begs with devotion, some ease for his pain, The shepherd got nothing but frowns and disdain; Fatigu'd with his folly, his suit he gave o'er, And vow'd that no female should fetter him more.

He strove with all caution to escape ••••om the net; But Chloe soon caught him, a finish'd coquette, She glanc'd to his glances, she sigh'd to his sighs, And flatter'd his hopes in the language of eyes, Alas! for poor Colin, when put to the test, Himself and his passion prov'd all but a jest.

By the critical third he was caught in the snare, By Fanny, gay, young, unaffected, and fair; When she found he had merit, and love took his part, She dally'd no longer, but yielded her heart, With joy they submitted to Hymen's decree, And now are as happy as happy can be.

A•• the rose bud of beauty soon sickens and fades, The prude and coquette are two s••ighted old maids,

Now their sweets are all wa••••ed, too late they repent, For transport untasted, for moments mispent: Ye virgins, take warning, improve by my plan, And fix the fond youth when you prudently can.

HAIL, lovely rose, to thee I sing, Thou sweetest daughter of the spring, Thy beauties charm the Gods above, Thy fragrance is the breath of love.

The rose, the smiling graces wear, A trophy in their flowing hair; The rose the queen of beauty loves, And crown'd with wreaths more graceful moves.

Of all the flow'rs upon the plains, The rose unmatch'd in beauty reigns; Louisa thus in charms excels, She shines a rose among the belles.

A GAY carnation tempting bright I pluck'd with eager care, Thy sweets, I cried, thus cull'd by love, Shall deck my fair one's hair.

But ah! a vile destroying worm, Who shelter'd in the leaf, Had rob'd me of the pristine joy And prov'd the lucky thief.

So beauteous nymphs too oft are found The basest men to trust, While constant lovers plead in vain And die for being just.

NO flow'r blooms so sweet as love, And prudish airs I hate; The flow'r I choose and most approve, Is kiss behind the garden gate.

When fair Louisa lovely maid, Confest her flame of late; I gave my fair tho' sore afraid, A kiss behind the garden gate.

Next morn from church I led my fair, Blest in our happy state; The flower she crops to deck her hair, Is kiss behind the garden gate.

WHEN gloomy thoughts possess, Alike in palace, plain or grove; Fond sighs my grief and pangs express, And plaintive songs of joyless love.

When doubts impatient rend my heart, As rends the hawk the turtle dove; Indignant from each wound I start, And sing the wrongs of injured love.

But should my pangs, endur'd so long, The cruel fates to mercy move; I'd gladly change the mournful song, And jocund sing the joys of love.

COME thou lovely peace of mind, Sweet delight of human kind; Heav'nly nymph, more beauteous far, Than the sister graces are: Without thee celestial guest, Nought can have the pleasing zest.

Not the mildest western sun, When its destin'd course is run; Can refresh the wearied sight, With a beam so soft of light, As those purpling rays which spread Mildness round thy shining head.

Where, O Nymph! dost thou resort? Never, never seen at court!

There, the noisy and the proud, There, tumultuous passions croud; Dost thou then affect to dwell, With the poor in lonely cell?

WHEN first I met young Henry's eyes, His bosom heav'd with tender sighs, His eyes so bright, and sighs did move My heart to give him love for love.

But when my praise he sweetly sung, Such honey'd words dropp'd from his tongue, In vain against such charms I strove, I gave my Henry, love for love.

If truth adorns the gentle swain, No more of fate shall he complain, While all my actions fondly prove, I give my Henry love for love.

WHEN scorching suns the thirsty earth Of all her treasures drain, The rose of summer's loveliest birth, Droops on the languid plain.

But when refreshing rains descend, Again the verdure shoots; Again reviving nature sends Her gifts of flowers and fruits.

The heart exhausted, thus depress'd, A prey to ardent woe; Revives and smiles, when joys so blest, Once more, unhoped for, flow.

HOW can my mother chide my love? How can she frown and scold me? How can she say he'll faithless prove? As she has often told me.

Ah! did she know his winning wiles, And could she taste such blisses; And heard his oaths, and saw his smiles, And felt his precious kisses. She would not surely chide my love, She would not frown and scold me; She would not say he'll faithless prove, As she has often told me.

His lips are like the sugar pea, His breath is sweet as honey; His words are dearer far to me, Than waggon loads of money. Then do not, mother, chide my love, Then do not frown and scold me; Then do not say he'll faithless prove, As you have often told me.

AIR—COOL••••N.

OH! the hours I have pass'd in the arms of my dear, Can never be thought of but with a sad tear! Oh! forbear then to mention her name, It recalls to my mem'ry the cause of my pain.

How oft to love me she fondly has sworn, And when parted from me would ne'er cease to mourn! All hardships for me she would cheerfully bear, And at night on my bosom forget all her care.

To some distant climate together we'll roam, And forget all the hardships we met with at home: Fate, now be propitious and grant me thine aid, Give me my Pastora and I'm more than repaid.

MUSIC, how pow'rful is thy charm! That can the fiercest rage disarm, Calm passions in a human breast, And lull ev'n jealousy to rest;

With amorous thoughts the soul inspire, Or kindle up a warlike fire. So great is Music's pow'r.

Amphion, with his tuneful lyre, Could rocks remove, and stones inspire; Command a city to arise, And lofty buildings touch the skies; While stones, obedient to his call, Harmonious mov'd, and form'd a wall.

Ar••on, from his vessel cast, In safety o'er the seas he pa••••: For, mounted like the ocean's god, Upon a dolphin's back he rode, Whilst shoals of fishes flock'd around, Well pleas'd drank in the charming sound.

Sad Orpheus, through hell's dreary coast, Was seeking for his consort lost, His music drew the ghosts along, And furies listen'd to his song; His song could Charon's rage disarm, And Pluto and his consort charm.

Inflam'd by music soldiers fight, Inspir'd by music poets write; Music can heal the lover's wounds. And calm fierce rage by gentle sounds; Philosophy attempts in vain, What music can with ease attain. So great is Music's pow'r.

WHEN first this humble roof I knew, With various cares I strove, My grain was scarce, my sheep were few, My all of life was love. By mutual toil our board was dress'd, The spring our drink bestow'd; But when her lip the brim had press'd, The cup with nectar flow'd.

Content and peace the dwelling sha••'d, No other guest came nigh,

In them was giv'n (tho' gold was spar'd) What gold could never buy. No value has a splendid lot, But as the means to prove That from the castle to the cot, The all of life is love.

HER sheep had in clusters crept close to a grove, To hide from the heat of the day; And Phillis herself, in a woodbine alcove, Among the sweet violets lay. A young lambkin, it seems, had been stolen from its dam, ('Twixt Cupid and Hymen a plot) That Corrydon might, as he search'd for his lamb, Arrive at the critical spot.

As through the green hedge for his lambkin he peeps, He saw the fair nymph with surprise; Ye gods, if so killing, he cry'd, while she sleeps, I'm lost if she opens her eyes; To tarry much longer would hazard my heart, I'll homeward my lambkin to trace; But in vain honest Corrydon strove to depart, For love held him last to the place.

Cease, cease, pretty bird, what a chirping you keep, I think you too loud on the spray; Don't you see, foolish lark, that the charmer's asleep, You'll wake her as sure as 'tis day. Ho dare the fond butterfly touch the sweet maid, Her cheeks he mistakes for the rose; I'd put him to death if I was not afraid, My boldness would break her repose.

Then Phillis look'd up with a languishing smile, Kind shepherd, said she, you mistake; I laid myself down for to rest me awhile, But trust me I've long been awake. The shepherd took courage, advanc'd with a bow, He plac'd himself down by her side; And manag'd the matter I cannot tell how, But yesterday made her his pride.

COME, ye party jangling swains, Leave your flocks and quit the plains, Friends to country, friends to court, Nothing here shall spoil your sport. Ever welcome to our feast, Welcome every friendly guest!

Sprightly widows come away, Laughing da••••••s and virgins gay, Little gaudy, ••••uttering misses, Smiling hopes of future blisses. Ever welcome, &c.

All that ripening sun can bring, Beauteous summer, beauteous spring, In one varying scene we show The green, the ripe, the bud, the blow. Ever welcome, &c.

Comus jesting, music charming, Wine inspiring, beauty warming, Rage and party malice dies, Peace returns, and discord flies. Ever welcome ••o our feast, Welcome every friendly guest!

GO! tuneful bird, that glads the skies, To Daphne's window speed thy way, And there on tremb'ling pinions rise, And there thy vocal art display: And if she deign thy notes to hear, And if she praise thy matin song. Tell her, the sound that sooths her car, To Damon's native plains belong.

Tell her in livelier plames array'd, The birds from India's groves may shine, But ask the lovely, partial maid, What are their notes compar'd with thine? Then bid her treat yon witless b••a••. A d••all his ••••a••••'ing race with scorn,

And lend an ear to Damon's woe, Who sings her praise, but sings forlorn.

I DREAMT I saw a piteous sight, Young Cupid weeping lay, Until his pretty stars of light, Had wept themselves away.

Methought I ask'd him why he wept? Mere pity led me on: He deeply sigh'd, and then replied, Alas! I am undone.

As I beneath yon myrtle lay, Close by Diana's springs, Amintor stole my bow away, And pinion'd both my wings.

Alas! said I where's then thy bow, Wherewith he wounded me: Thou art a god, and such a blow, Could come from none but thee.

But if thou wilt revenged be On that ambitious swain, I'll set thy wings at liberty, And thou shalt fly again:

And all the service on my part That I require of thee, Is that you'd wound Amintor's heart, And make him die for me.

The silken fetters I untied, And the gay wings display'd, He mounting gently fann'd and cry'd, Adieu fond foolish maid!

At that I blush'd and angry grew, I should the god believe; But waking found my dream too true, Alas! I was a slave.

HOW oft beneath yon artless bow'r, Have I with Phoebe sat, And spent a sweet, a harmless hour, In gay, endearing chat!

Oft would the sportive wren alight, And chirp from vine to vine; Peace! little vagrant, thy delight Could not compare with mine.

While at the ev'ning's mild decay, We've sought our much lov'd grove, The Robin's soft, melodious lay, Would harmonize our love.

Ah! Colin leave the flattering theme, Nor drop th' unmanly tear; Thy pleasures vanish like a dream, Since Phoebe's insincere,

I DO as I will with my swain, He ne'er once thinks that I am wrong; He likes none so well on the plain, I please him so much with my song. A song is the shepherd's delight, He hears me with joy all the day, He's ••orry when comes the dull night, That hastens the end of my lay.

With spleen and with care once opprest, He ask'd me to sooth him the while; My voice set his mind all to rest, And the shepherd would instantly smile. Since when, or in mead or in grove, By his flocks, or the clear river's side; I sing my best song to my love, And to charm him is grown all my pride,

No beauty had I to endear, No treasures of nature or art; My voice that had gain'd on his ear, Soon found out the way to his heart.

To try if that voice would not please, He took me to join the gay throng; I won the rich prize all with ease, And my fame's gone abroad with a song.

But let me not jealousy raise, I wish to enchant but my swain; Enough then for me is his praise, I sing but for him the lov'd strain. When youth, wealth, and beauty may fail, And your shepherds elude all your skill, Your sweetness of voice may prevail, And gain all your swains to your will.

ELIZA, once in prospect fair, I deem'd thee mine alone: That prospect now more light than air, With ev'ry comfort's gone!

Joys, that's flown on rapid wings, Have left sad care behind, Empoison fierce affliction's stings, And deeper wound the mind.

To me how dull the sky appears, Tho' Sol in triumph reigns; Denied the sad resource of tears, How racking are my pains!

Our souls in one congenial mould, Receiv'd their early from; With thee thro' life tho' thunders roll'd, Well pleas'd I'd brave the storm.

Our little bark, till danger o'er, Would shun the boisterous wave, And keep along the peaceful shore, That gentle waters leave.

Alas! how fair would fancy dress The visionary lay: But all in vain, for woes oppress, And drive sweet hope away.

Those hearts that ne'er with pity melt, (As dew impearls the thorn)

Will smile at pangs they have not felt, And treat my grief with scorn:

But sure the mind, where sense can gain Her pleasing mild abode, Will own we reach contentment's ••an••, Thro' love's delightful road.

CEASE, tyrant of my flaming bosom, cease, Nor force the gentle slumbers from my eyes, Ah! but again restore my youthful peace, And from my breast erase desponding sighs.

May fate relent, nor let me languish here, While by her eyes I'm chain'd to gloomy care; Still for the transient rose I shed a tear, And o'er her blushes weep with wild despair.

Impetuous transport pierces while I gaze, Corrosive anguish preys upon my mind: I stand condemn'd to pass unhappy days, And leave content and flatt'ring hope behind.

I grieve in silence, and I grieve in vain, Her eyes resistless snatch me to my doom; Fain would I rove, to ease this lingering pain, But that will follow to the dusky tomb.

Fly hope, thou soother, from my wretched breast Revive no more, nor bring thy gentle aid; I mourn, I wander, and I weep unblest, En••••av'd, rejected by a beauteous maid.

WHEN hope endears a lover's pain, And sooths his tortur'd heart. When beauty smiles to hear the strain, How pleasing is the smart! But if despair the sling increase, And ev'ry hope remove; If beauty beam no ray of peace, How dreadful 'tis to love.

AS in the glowing noon of day, Stretch'd careless on the ground, Beneath the breezy pines I lay, Lull'd by their murm'ring sound.

A little nest aloft I spied, Of feathers white as snow, With strong, tho' slender, cordage tied Fast to the topmost bough.

With eager joy I seiz'd the prize, And found a beauteous pair— Love, yet unfledg'd, with friendship lies, Together nestling there.

Delia, my captive love detains In Hymen's silken clue; Friendship, Myrtilla, yet remains An off'ring fit for you.

HARK! hark! o'er the plains what glad tumults we hear! How gay all the nymphs and shepherds appear! With myrtles and roses new deck'd are the bow'rs, And every bush bears a garland of flowers. I can't for my life, what it means understand: There's some rural festival surely at hand: Not harvest, nor sheep-shearing, now can take place; But Phillis will tell me the truth of the case.

PHILLIS.

The truth honest lad!—why surely you know What rites are prepar'd in the village below, Where gallant young Thyrsis, so fam'd and ador'd, Weds Daphne, the sister of Corin our lord; That Daphne, whose beauty, good-nature, and ease, All fancies can strike, and all judgments can please; That Corin—but praise must the matter give o'er; You know what he is—and I need say no more.

COLIN.

Young Thyrsis too claims all that honor can lend, His countrymen's glory, their champion and friend,

Tho' such slight memorials scarce speak his deserts, And trust me, his name is engrav'd on their hearts.

PHILLIS.

But hence to the bridal, behold how they throng, Each shepherd conducting his sweet-heart along; The joyous occasion all nature inspires With tender affection and cheerful desires.

DUETTO.

Ye pow'rs, that o'er conjugal union preside, All gracious look down on the birdegroom and bride, That beauty, and virtue, and valour may shine In a race like themselves, with no end to the line: Let honor and glory, and riches and praise, Unceasing attend them thro' numerous days; And, while in a palace fate fixe•• their lot, O! may they live easy as those in a cot!

THE man who in his breast contains, A heart which no base art arraigns, Enchanting pleasures ground may tread, Where love and youthful fancy lead; May toy and laugh, may dance and sing, While jocund life is in her spring.

When cynics rail, and pedants frown, Their rigid maxims I disown: I smile to see their angry brow, And hate the gloomy selfish crew: In their despite I'll laugh and sing, While jocund life is in her spring.

Be mine the social joys of life, And let good-nature vanquish strife, So innocence with me reside, And honor reigns each action's guide: I'll toy and laugh, and dance and sing, While jocund life is in her spring.

Then Phillis come, and share those joys Which no intemp'rate use destroys; While you remain as kind as fair, My heart defies each anxious care: With thee I'll toy, and laugh and sing, While jocund life is in her spring.

FAREWELL, the smoaky town, adieu, Each rude and sensual joy: Gay, fleeting pleasures, all untrue, That in possession cloy.

Far from the garnish'd scene I'll fly, Where folly keeps her court, To wholesome sound philosophy, And harmless rural sport.

How happy is the humble cell, How blest the deep retreat, Where sorrow's billows never swell, Nor passion's tempests beat!

But safely through the sea of life, Calm reason wafts us o'er, Free from ambition, noise and strife, To death's eternal shore.

AS Jockey was trudging the meadows so gay, So blithe and so bonny his air, He met a young lass who was going his way, Her face all so clouded with care: He ask'd her what made her so moping and sad? 'Twas pity if she were in pain: She sigh'd, "I have lost the very best lad, "And I never shall see him again!"

Is he gone to the wars for full many a year, Quoth Jockey, who troubles you so; Or else where, on earth he can never appear, Where you and I surely must go? "No, he's fled (she reply'd with another ••••ad she, "Tho' to me he was plighted for aye, "O'er the mountains he's gone with another from me, "And therefore I cannot be gay."

If that's all, quoth Jockey, your wailing give o'er, He's a loon, who is not worth your pain: Let him go, since he's chang'd, be you wretched no more, Nor think of a false-hearted swain:

But take, if you will, for the lad of your heart, Whom fortune has thrown in your way, I'll sooth all your grief, and I'll banish your smart, Here I am ready to do as I say.

Then he wip'd her bright eyes, and he sung her a song, Her face look'd no longer despair; He whisper'd of love as they saunter'd along, And she thought him a lad worth her care: She smil'd and look'd pleas'd, late a stranger to joy, And Jockey, perceiving her kind, More pressing was grown, and the lass was less coy, So he drove the false loon from her mind,

GENTEEL is my Damon, engaging his air, His face, like the morn, is both ruddy and fair; Soft love sits enthron'd in the beam of his eyes, He's manly, yet tender, he's fond and yet wise.

He's ever good-humour'd, he's gen'rous and gay, His presence can always drive sorrow away: No vanity sways him, no folly is seen, But open his temper, and noble his mein.

By virtue illumin'd his actions appear, His passions are calm, and his reason is clear: An affable sweetness attends on his speech, He's willing to learn, tho' he's able to teach.

He has promis'd to love me—his word I'll believe, For his heart is too honest to let him deceive; Then blame me, ye fair ones, if justly you can, Since the picture I've drawn is exactly the man.

IN my pleasant native plains, Wing'd with bliss each moment slew; Nature there inspir'd the strains, Simple as the joys I knew; Jocund morn and evening gay, Claim'd the merry roundelay.

Fields and flocks, and fragrant flow'rs, All that health and joy impart, Call'd for artless music's pow'rs, Faithful echoes to the heart! Happy hours, for ever gay, Claim'd the merry roundelay.

But the breath of genial spring Wak'd the warblers of the grove: Who, sweet birds, that heard you sing, Would not join the song of love? Your sweet notes and chaunting gay, Claim'd the merry roundelay.

WHEN a youth commences lover, And his passions first discover Charms that fire his soul all over, In some blooming virtuous fair; How his eyes betray his passion! How his tongue but mocks expression! When he makes the declaration, And prefers his humble pray'r! And prefers, &c.

While his fate is here depending, What suspense his heart is rending, What keen misery impending, Lest his charmer cruel prove? How he counts the moments ••lying, Wishing, hoping, fearing, sighing, Till the lovely lass complying Blushes, and reveals her love? Blushes, &c.

When the dubious scene is over, ••oys immense inspire the lover, Till his glowing cheeks discover What sensation fill his breast: Raptures now his bosom firing, Every thought to bliss aspiring, Virtue, love, and fate conspiring; All their cares are lull'd to rest, All their, &c.

Time their mutual love improving, All their cares in concert moving, To complete their heaven in loving, Hymen makes and binds them one. Now in solid bliss abounding, Tears and cares in Lethe drowning; Love proclaims to all surrounding, They are blest, and they alone, They are blest, and they alone.

LOVE's a gentle, gen'rous passion, Source of all sublime delights; Which with mutual inclination, Two fond hearts in one unites.

What are titles pomp or riches, If compar'd with true content? That false joy which now bewitches, When obtained we may repent.

Lawless passion brings vexation, But a chaste and constant love, Is a glorious emulation Of the blissful state above.

WHEN Flora o'er the garden stray'd And every blooming sweet survey'd, As o'er the dew dipt flow'rs she hung, Thus wrapt in joy she fondly sung; The early snow-drop, primrose pale, The tulip gay, the lily fair, Each slow'r that loads the scented gale Deserves their Flora's tender care, Deserves their Flora's tender care. But none of Summer's gaudy pride, Such sweetness breathe, or charms disclose, As that dear slow'r that blooms beside, None pleases like the blushing rose, As that dear slow'r, &c.

The balmy zephyrs round thee play, And golden suns exert their pow'r, To bring thy beauties to the day, And make thee Flora's fav'rite flow'r, And make thee Flora's fav'rite flow'r. A garland gay the nymphs and swains May make from ev'ry sweet that grows, And meaner things may please the plains: But thou art mine, thou lovely rose, And meaner things, &c.

ONE morning young Roger accosted me thus— Come here, pretty maiden, and give me a buss. Lord! fellow, said I, mind your plough and your cart; Yes, I thank you for nothing, with all my heart.

Well, then, to be sure, he grew civil enough, He gave me a box, with a paper of snuff: I took it, I own, yet had still so much art, To cry, thank you for nothing with all my heart.

He said, if so be he might make me his wife— Good Lord! I was never so dash'd in my life; Yet could not help laughing to see the fool start, When I thank'd him for nothing with all my heart.

Soon after, however, he gain'd my consent, And with him, on Sunday, to chapel I went; But said, 'twas my goodness more than his desert, Not to thank him for nothing with all my heart.

The parson cry'd, child, you must after me say, And then talk'd of honor, and love, and obey: But faith, when his reverence came to that part, There I thank'd him for nothing with all my heart.

At night our brisk neighbours the stocking would throw,— I must not tell tales, but I know what I know; Young Roger confesses I cur'd all his smart, And I thank'd him for something with all my heart.

THE last time I came o'er the moor, I left my love behind me;

Ye pow'rs! what pain do I endure, When soft ideas mind me? Soon as the ruddy morn display'd The beaming day ensuing, I met betimes my lovely maid In fit retreat for wooing.

Beneath the cooling shade we lay, Gazing and chastely sporting: We kiss'd and promis'd time away, Till night spread her black curtain. I pitied all beneath the skies, Ev'n kings, when she was nigh me: In raptures I beheld her eyes, Which could but ill deny me.

Should I be call'd where cannons roar, Where mortal steel may wound me: Or cast upon some foreign shore, Where dangers may surround me: Yet hopes again to see my love, To feast on glowing kisses, Shall make my cares at distance move, In prospect of such blisses.

In all my soul there's not one place To let a rival enter: Since she excels in ev'ry grace, In her my love shall centre. Sooner the seas shall cease to flow, Their waves the Alps shall cover: On Greenland's ice shall roses grow, Before I cease to love her.

The next time I go o'er the moor, She shall a lover find me: And that my faith is firm and pure, Tho' I left her behind me: Then Hymen's sacred bonds shall chain My heart to her fair bosom; There, while my being does remain, My love more fresh shall blossom.

THAT I might not be plagu'd with the nonsense of men. I promis'd my mother, again and again,

To say as she bids me, wherever I go, And to all that they ask, or would have, tell 'em No.

I really believe I have frighten'd a score; They'll want to be with me, I warrant, no more; And I own I'm not sorry for serving them so; Were the same thing to do, I again should say No:

For a shepherd I like with more courage and art, Who won't let me alone, though I bid him depart: Such questions he puts, since I answer him so; That he makes me mean Yes, tho' my words are still No:

He ask'd, did I hate him, or think him too plain? (Let me die if he is not a clever young swain,) If he ventur'd a kiss, if I from him would go? Then he press'd my young lips, while I blush'd, and said No.

He ask'd, if my heart to another was gone? If I'd have him to leave me, or cease to love on? If I meant my life long still to answer him so? I faulter'd, and sigh'd, and reply••d to him, No.

This morning an end to his courtship he made; Will Phillis live longer a virgin? he said: If I press you to church, will you scruple to go? In a hearty good humour I answer'd, No, no!

WAS Nanny but a rural maid, And I her only swain, To tend her flocks in fertile mead, And on the verdant plain; Oh! how I'd pipe upon my reed, To please my lovely maid; While of all sense of care we're freed, Beneath an oaken shade.

When lambkins under hedges bleat, And rain seems in the sky, Then to our oaken, safe retreat, We'd both together hie! There I'd repeat my vows of love Unto my charming fair, Whilst her dear flutt'ring heart would prove A mind like mine sincere.

Let others fancy courtly joys, I'd live in rural ease: Then grandeur, bustle, pride, and noise Could ne'er my fancy please! In Nanny ev'ry joy combines, With grace, and blooming youth; Sincerity and virtue shines, With modesty and truth.

YOU tell me I'm handsome, (I know not how true) And easy, and chatty, and good humour'd too: That my lips are as red as the rose-bud in June: And my voice, like the nightingale's, sweetly in tune: All this has been told me by ••wenty before; But he that would win me must flatter me more, But he that would win me must flatter me more.

If beauty from virtue receive no supply, Or prattle from prudence, how wanting am I! My ease and good-humour short raptures will bring•• My voice, like the nightingale's, knows but a spring; For charms such as these, then, your praises give o'er, To love me for life, you must love me still more, To love me, &c.

Then talk not to me of a shape, or an air: For Chloe the wanton can rival me there; 'Tis virtue alone that makes beauty look gay, And brightens good humour, as sunshine the day. For that if you love me, your flame may be true, And I, in my turn, may be taught to love too, And I, in my turn, may be taught to love too.

YOU'VE sure forgot, dear mother mine, When you were once as blithe as me; When vows were offer'd at your shrine, And lovers sigh'd on bended knee: When you could sing, and dance, and play; A•••••• December tread's on May.

Behold 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Nature's fav'rite blow, The rich ••••nquil, the blushing rose,

How short a date their beauties know, Surrounded by a thousand foes! Till time decrees their full decay, And harsh December treads on May.

The whole creation owns this truth, Then why should wrinkled brows exact The mode severe on blooming youth, By which themselves could never act? The blood that's warm will have its way, Too soon December treads on May.

Then, swains, with tabor, pipe, and glee, Let's, whilst we're here, grim care deride; Come, sport and frolic free with me, In spite of age, and prudish pride; The laws of love all should obey, Before December treads on May.

LET poets praise the flow'ry mead, The moss-clad hill, the dale; The shepherd piping on his reed, The maid with milking pail: The lark that soars on pin••ons high, Or sweetly purling rill, While I breathe forth a tender sigh For Molly of the Mill.

In vain to sing her charms I try, And all her beauties trace; Such brilliancy informs her eye, Such excellence her face; Her easy shape, engaging air, My breast with transport fill. No nymph so pleasing, or so fair, As Molly of the mill.

'Tis not her person charms alone. The beauties of the mind, Wit, sense, and sentiment, we own, In her are all combin'd: Such is the nymph who sways my heart, And makes my bosom thrill, Adorn'd by nature more than art, Sweet Molly of the mill.

WHEN once I with Phillida stray'd, Where rivers run murmuring by, And heard the soft vows that she made, What swain was so happy as I? My breast was a stranger to care, For my wealth by her kisses I told; I thought myself richer, by far, Than he that had mountains of gold.

But now I am poor and undone, Her vows have prov'd empty and vain; The kisses I once thought my own, Are bestow'd on a happier swain: But cease, gentle shepherd, to deem Her vows shall be constant and true; They're false as a midsummer dream, As fickle as midsummer dew.

O Phillida, fickle and fair, Why did you my love then approve? Had you frown'd on my suit, thro' despair, I soon had forgotten to love: You smil'd, and your smiles were so sweet, You spoke, and your words were so kind, I could not suspect the deceit, But gave my loose sails to the wind.

When tempests the ocean deform, And billows so mountainous roar, The pilot, secur'd from the storm, Ne'er ventures his bark from the shore. As soon as soft breezes arise, And smiles the false face of the sea, His art he, too credulous, tries, And, failing, is shipwreck'd, like me.

WHEN blushes dy'd the cheek of mor••, And dew-drops glisten'd on the thorn; When sky-larks tun'd their carrols sweet, To hail the god of light and heat:

Philander, from his downy bed, To fair Lisetta's chamber sped, Crying—Awake sweet love of mine, I'm come to be thy Valentine.

Soft love, that balmy sleep denies, Had long unveil'd her brilliant eyes, Which (that a kiss she might obtain) She artfully had clos'd again: He sunk, thus caught in beauty's trap, Like Phoebus into The••is' lap, And near forgot, that his design Was but to be her Valentine.

She, starting, cry'd—I am undone; Philander, charming youth, begone! For this time, to your vows sincere, Make virtue, not your love, appear: No 〈◊〉〈◊〉 has clos'd these watchful eyes: (Forgive the simple fond disguise) To gen'rous thoughts your heart incline, And be my faithful Valentine.

The brutal passion sudden fled, Fair honor govern'd in its stead, And both agreed, ere setting sun, To join two virtuous hearts in one: Their beauteous offspring soon did prove The sweet effects of mutual love; And from that hour to life's decline, She bless'd the day of Valentine.

ADIEU the verdant lawns and bow'rs, Adieu, my peace is o'er; Adieu the sweetest shrubs and flow'rs, Since Delia breathes no more.

Adieu ye hills, adieu ye vales, Adieu ye streams and floods, Adieu sweet echo's plaintive tales, Adieu ye meads and woods.

Adieu ye flocks, ye fleecy care, Adieu yon pleasing plain: Adieu thou beauteous blooming fair, We ne'er shall meet again.

AMIDST a rosy bank of flow'rs, Young Damon mourn'd his forlorn fate; In sighs he spent his languid hours, And breath'd his woes in lonely state.

Gay joy no more shall cheer his mind, No wanton sports can soothe his care, Since sweet Amanda prov'd unkind, And left him full of black despair.

His looks that were as fresh as morn, Can now no longer smiles impart: His pensive soul on sadness borne, Is rack'd and torn by Cupid's dart.

Turn, fair Amanda! cheer your swain, Unshroud him from his tale of woe; Range ev'ry charm to ease his pain, That in his tortur'd breast doth grow.

THE DAYS OF LOVE:

SOLICITATION.

YOUNG Thyrsis, the pride of the plain, Cleora had often address'd, Truth and honor were found in the swain; And the nymph was the brightest confest. Yet still to his passion unkind, Unheeded she heard his fond tale. With the pangs of despair in his mind, He sorrowful sigh'd thro' the vale, He sorrowful sigh'd thro' the vale.

Impell'd by the fondest regard, He sought the dear maid once again, From his constancy hop'd a reward; For there ne'er was a more faithful swain; With her flocks as she stray'd in the grove, The language of love he essay'd;

He begg'd she'd his passion approve, And a smile beam'd at last from the maid: And a smile, &c.

O smile, my Cleora, again, The cares of my bosom relieve, Nor treat me with frowns or disdain, For your Thyrsis will never deceive; More soften'd Cleora replied, I pity the pangs in your breast, Complain then no more of my pride, And Thyrsis may hope for the best. And Thyrsis, &c.

HOPE.

VAIN sorrows and cares shall no longer molest, While hope, pleasing hope, reigns in Thyrsis' fond breast, While hope, pleasing hope, &c. Cleora, dear charmer, at length has prov'd kind, And banish'd suspicions and doubts from my mind: And banish'd suspicions, &c. Her smiles gave a rapture I cannot declare, And prov'd that the nymph is as kind as she's fair: Her smiles, &c.

Ye moments, ye hours, and ye days, swiftly fly, Till the maid with my utmost request shall comply: Still shade her, ye trees, from the heat of the day, And near her ye lambkins still frolic and play. She taught me to hope, and dispell'd my despair, Which proves that the nymph is as kind as she's fair!

Sweet hope, thou attendant of fondest desire, From a lover like Thyrsis you ne'er shall retire, But sooth his fond passion from morning to night, And comfort his mind with the thought of delight. Cleora at last has dispell'd my despair, Which proves that the nymph is as kind as she's fair!

CONSENT.

IN the woodbine's pleasing shade, There I press'd the lovely maid, Fondly told again my love, Fondly told, &c. Turtles round were heard to coo, Whilst in softest words I woo;

Fair Cleora now incline, Fair Cleora, &c. Let me take this hand of thine; Let me take, &c.

Does she then consent at last? Ev'ry anxious doubt is past; Blushing does she yield her hand, Owning nature's fond command? Catch ye winds the pleasing sound, And convey the news around, Fair Cleora does incline, Now with me her hand to join: Now with me, &c.

CELEBRATION.

How sweetly the merry bells ring, How sweetly the merry bells ring, How gay is each nymph and each swain, As blithe as the lark in the spring, The tabor sounds over the plain: The tabor, &c. From the church comes the bridegroom and bride, Young Thyrsis Cleora has wed; The virgins all drest by her side, With blushes their cheeks overspread: With blushes, &c.

So rises the morn from the east, All nature to cherish below, With charms which cannot be express'd, And blessings on all to bestow; How happy is Thyrsis, to prove The sweets which on Hymen attend, The raptures of virtue and love, The mistress, the wife, and the friend!

Ye swains like young Thyrsis be true, Ye nymphs like Cleora be kind, Keep virtue and prudence in view, And sweets you will certainly find. Then the village for you shall be gay, The bells and the tabor resound, And pleasure prolong the glad day, When Hymen your wishes has crown'd.

O'ER moorlands and mountains rude, barren, and bare, As wearied and wilder'd I roam, A gentle young shepherdess sees my despair, And leads me o'er lawns to her home: And leads me, &c. Yellow sheaves from rich Ceres her cottage had crown'd, Green rushes were strew'd on the floor, Her casements sweet woodbines crept wantonly round, And deck'd the sod-seat at her door. And deck'd, &c.

We sat ourselves down to a cooling repast, Fresh fruit, and and she cu••ll'd me the best, Whilst thrown from my guard by some glances she cast, Love slily stole into my breast. I told my soft wishes, she sweetly reply'd, (Ye virgins her voice was divine) I have rich ones rejected, and great ones deny'd, Yet take me, fond shepherd, I'm thine.

Her air was so modest, her aspect so meek, So simple tho' sweet were her charms, I kiss'd the ripe roses that glow'd on her cheek, And lock'd the lov'd maid in my arms. Now jocund together we tend a few sheep, And if on the banks by the stream, Reclin'd on her bosom I sink into sleep, Her image still softens my dream.

Together we range o'er the slow rising hills, Delighted, with pastoral views, Or rest on the rocks where a streamlet distills, And marks out new themes for my muse: To pomp or proud titles she ne'er could aspire, The damsel's of humble descent; The cottager peace is well known for her fire. The shepherds have nam'd her Content.

SLEEP on, sleep on, my Kathleen dear, May peace possess thy breast;

Yet dost thou dream thy true love's here, Depriv'd of peace and rest? The birds sing sweet, the morning breaks, Those joys are none to me, Tho' sleep is fled, poor Dermot wakes To none, but love and thee!

HE.

A Rose tree in full bearing, Had sweet flowers fair to see; One rose beyond comparing, For beauty attracted me. Tho' eager then to win it, Lovely, blooming, fresh, and gay: I find a canker in it, And now throw it far away.

SHE.

How fine this morning early, All sunshiny, clear, and bright! So late I lov'd you dearly, Tho' lost now each fond delight. The clouds seem big with show'rs; Sunny beams no more are seen; Farewell ye fleeting hours, Your falsehood has chang'd the scene:

COME haste to the wedding, ye friends and ye neighbours, The lovers their bliss can no longer delay: Forget all your sorrows, your cares, and your labours, And let ev'ry heart beat with rapture to-day, Come, come, one and all, Attend to my call, And revel in pleasures that never can cloy; Come see Rural felicity, Which love and innocence ever enjoy. Come see, &c.

Let envy and pride, let hate and ambition, Still crowd to, and bias the breast of the great;

To such wretched passions we give no admission, But leave them alone to the wise ones of state, We boast of no wealth, But contentment and health; In mirth and in friendship our m••••ents employ. Come see, &c.

With reason we taste of the heart-stirring pleasure, With reason, we drink of the full-flowing bowl, Are jocund and gay, but all within measure, For fatal excess but enslaves the free soul. Come, come at our bidding, To this happy wedding, No care shall obtrude here, our bliss to annoy. Come see, &c.

MY lodging is on the cold ground, And very hard is my fare; But that which grieves me more, love, Is the coldness of my dear: Yet still he cried, turn love, I pray thee love turn to me; For thou art the only girl, love, That is ador'd by me.

With a garland of straw I will crown thee, love, I'll marry you with a rush ring: Thy frozen heart shalt melt, love, So merrily I shall sing. Yet still, &c.

But if you will harden your heart, love, And be deaf to my pitiful moan: Oh! I must endure the smart, love, And tumble in straw all alone. Ye still, &c.

AH! sure a pair was never seen, So justly form'd to meet by nature; The youth excelling so in mien, The maid in ev'ry graceful feature;

CHORUS.

O how happy are such lovers, When kind••ed beauties each discovers! For surely she was made for thee, And thou to bless this charming creature.

So mild your looks, your children thence Will early learn the task of duty: The boys with all their father's sense; The girls with all their mother's beauty.

CHORUS.

O how charming to inherit At once such graces and such spirit! Thus while you live, may fortune give Each blessing equal to your merit.

YE fair, possess'd of ev'ry charm To captivate the will, Whose smiles can rage itself disarm, Whose frowns at once can kill— Say, will ye deign the verse to hear, Where flatt'ry bears no part— An honest verse, that flows sincere, And candid from the heart?

Great is your pow'r: but greater yet Mankind it might engage, If, as ye all can make a net, Ye all could make a cage. Each nymph a thousand hearts may take For who's ••o beauty blind? But to what end a pris'ner make, Unless we've strength to bind?

Attend the counsel, often told, Too often told in vain! Learn that best art, the art to hold And lock the lover's chain. Gamesters to little purpose win, Who lose again as fast; Though beauty may the charm begin, 'Tis sweetness makes it last.

YE fair, who shine throughout this land, And triumph o'er this heart, Awhile, I pray, t' advice attend, Which artless lays impart. Would you obtain the youth you love, The precepts of a friend approve, And learn the way to keep him.

As soon as nature has decreed The bloom of eighteen years, And Isabel from school is freed, Then beauty's force appears: The youthful blood begins to flow; She hopes for man; and longs to know The surest way to keep him.

When first the pleasing pain is felt Within the lover's breast— And you by strange persuasion melt— Each wishing to be blest— Be not too bold, nor yet too coy, With prudence lur•• the happy boy: And that's the way to keep him.

At court, at park, at ball, or play, Assume a modest pride; And, lest your tongue your mind betray, In fewer words confide. The maid, who thinks to gain a mate By giddy chat, will find, too late, That's not the way to keep him.

In dressing, ne'er the hours kill, That bane to all the sex! Nor let the arts of dear spad••le Your innocence perplex. Be always decent as a bride, By virtuous rules your conduct guide: For that's the way to keep him.

But when the nuptial knot is fast, And both its blessings share, To make those joys for ever last,

Of jealousy beware. His love with kind compliance meet, Let constancy the work complete, And you'll be sure to keep him.

SWEET, sweet Robinette! all the shepherds declare They never yet ••aw so engaging a fair, The swains all admire her, no mortal as yet, Has e'er seen a girl like my sweet Robinette.

Her eyes they wou'd melt you, her cheeks they disclose The beautiful ••int of the pale blushing rose; The nymphs full of envy, do nothing but fret, To see all the swains sigh for sweet Robinette.

All nature seems pleas'd, as she trips it along, Her smiles make the lark swell his rapturous song; The shepherds their cares and their labours forget, To gaze on the charms of my sweet Robinette.

So gentle her manners, they soften the sage, She's the May-day of youth, and the summer of age, I love her, adore her—I'll venture to bet, You ne'er saw a girl, like my sweet Robinette.

I'M told by the wise ones, a maid I shall die, They say I'm too nice, but the charge I deny; I know but too well how the time flies along, That we live but few years, and yet fewer are young; But I hate to be cheated, and never will buy Whole ages of sorrow for moments of joy: I never will wed till a youth I can find, Where the friend and the lover are equally join'd.

No pedant, tho' learned, or foolishly gay, Or laughing because he has nothing to say; To every fair one obliging and free, But never be fond of any but me; In whose tender bosom my soul may confide, Whose kindness can soothe me, whose counsels can guide, Su••h a youth I would marry, if such I could find, Where the friend and the lover are equally join'd.

From such a dear lover, as here I describe, No danger should fright me, nor millions should bribe: But 'till this astonishing creature I know, I'm single and happy, and still will be so; You may laugh and suppose I am nicer than wise, But I'll shun the vain fop, the dull coxcomb despise, Nor ever will wed till a youth I can find, Where the friend and the lover are equally join'd.

ON that fair bank where Lubin died, Fair Rosalie, a wretched maid, Sat weeping o'er the cruel tide, Faithful to her Lubin's shade.

Oh! may some kind some gentle wave Waft him to this mournful shore, These tender hands should make his grave, And deck his corpse with flowers o'er.

I'd ever watch his mould'ring clay, And pray for his eternal rest, When time his form has worn away, His dust to place within my breast.

While thus she mourn'd her Lubin lost, And Echo to her grief reply'd; Lo! at her feet his corpse was tost, She shriek'd! she clasp'd him! sigh'd and died.

YOUNG Colin having much to say In secret to a maid, Persuaded her to leave the hay, And seek th' embow'ring shade; And after roving with his mate, Where none could hear or see, Upon the velvet ground they sat, Under the greenwood tree.

Your charms, says Colin, warm my breast, What must I for them give? Nor night nor day can I have rest, I can't without you live.

My flocks, my herds, my all is thine, Could you and I agree, O say, you to my with incline Under the greenwood tree.

Too late you tempt my heart, fond swain, The wary lass replies; A lad who must not sue in vain, Now for my favour tries; He bids me name the sacred day; In all things we agree; Then why should you and I now stay Under the greenwood tree.

All this but serv'd to fire his mind, He knew not what to do; '••••ll •••• his suit she would be kind, He would not let her go; His love, his wealth, the youth display'd, No longer co•• was she; At church she seal'd the vow she made Under the greenwood tree.

AS Colin rang'd early one morning in spring, To hear the wood's choristers warble and sing, Young Phoebe he saw supinely was laid, And thus in sweet melody sung the ••air maid: And thus, &c.

Of all my experience how vast the amount, Since fifteen long winters I fairly ••an count! Was ever poor damsel so sadly betray'd, To live to th••se years, and yet still be a maid? To live, &c.

Ye heroes triumphant by land and by sea, Sworn vot'ries to love, yet unmindful of me; Of prowess approv'd, of no dangers afraid, Wiil you stand by like dastards, and see me a maid? Will you, &c.

Ye counsellors sage, who with eloquent tongue, Can do what you please with right and with wrong; Can i•• •••• by law, or by equity said, That a ••••••••ly young girl ought to die an old maid▪ That a ••••m••ly, &c.

Ye learned physicians, whose excellent skill Can save or demolish, can heal or can kill; To a poor forlorn damsel contribute your aid, Who is sick, very sick, of remaining a maid. Who is sick, &c.

Ye fops, I invoke not to list to my song, Who answer no end, and to no sex belong; Ye echoes of echo, ye shadows of shade; For if I had you, I might still be a maid. For if, &c.

Young Colin was melted to hear her complain, Then whisper'd relief, like a kind-hearted swain; And Phoebe, well pleas'd, is no longer afraid Of being neglected, and dying a maid. Of being, &c.

WHEN Fanny, blooming fair, First caught my ravish••d sight, Pleas'd with her shape and air, I felt a strange delight: Whilst eagerly I gaz'd, Admiring ev'ry part, And ev'ry feature prais'd, She stole into my heart.

In her bewitching eyes Ten thousand loves appear; There Cupid basking lies, His shafts are hoarded there. Her blooming cheeks are dy'd With colour all their own, Excelling far the pride Of roses newly blown.

Her well turn'd limbs confess The lucky hand of Jove; Her features all express The beauteous queen of love. What flames my nerves invade, When I behold the breast, Of that too-charming maid Rise, suing to be prest!

Venus round Fanny's waist Has her own cestus bound, Three guardian Cupids grace, And dance the circle round. How happy must he be, Who shall her zone unloose! That bliss to all but me, May heav'n and she refuse.

WHEN first my shepherd told his tale, He droop'd and languish'd, look'd and sigh'd: Good lord, thought I, and then turn'd pale, How often men for love have died! Then pond'ring well, thought I again, 'Tis pity hurt so sweet a swain.

With such a sigh my hand he press'd My heart was fill'd with wild alarms, That bouncing, bouncing at my breast, Cry'd, take him, take him to your arms; My thoughts pursu'd the same old strain, 'Tis pity hurt so sweet a swain.

My wishes rouz'd his cause to plead, Got warmly up, in saucy bands, And cry'd, for shame, to make him bleed, And get a murder on your hands: Wishes, you're right, said I, that's plain, So took compassion on the swain.

YOUNG Colin many a month had woo'd, And swore a thousand times he lov'd, Yet still my heart was cold; I vow I knew not what to say, For maids had told me men betray; But then those maids were old.

Young Colin, like the bee, 'tis said, From fair to fair inconstant ••led, The rover none could hold:

Who were the maids who told you this? Said Colin, when he snatch'd a kiss, I own'd the maids were old.

Behold yon blooming blushing rose Its bosom to the sun disclose, By that, he cried, be told, That virgins are but roses fair, Which still 〈◊〉〈◊〉 sun of love should share, Before they grow too old.

Of all the grievances below, The heaviest tax on maids I know, Of me shall ne'er be told: I, Colin, will wed with thee; If I am tax'd, it ne'er shall be, For being a maid too old.

MY Nancy leaves the rural train, A camp's distress to prove; All other ills she can sustain, But living from her love: Yet dearest, tho' your soldier's there, Will not your spirit fail, To mark the hardships you must share, Dear Nancy of the Dale! Dear Nancy, &c.

Or, should you, love, each danger scorn, Ah! how shall I secure Your health—••midst toils which you were born To sooth—but not endure: A thousand perils I must view, A thousand ills assail; Now must I tremble e'en for you, Dear Nancy of the Dale. Dear Nancy, &c.

LET fame sound the trumpet, and cry "to the war!" Let glory re-echo the strain▪

The full tide of honor may flow from the scar, And heroes may smile on their pain. The treasures of Autumn let Bacchus display, And stagger about with his bowl; On science, let Sol beam the lustre of day, And wisdom give light to the soul.

Let India unfold her rich gems to the view, Each virtue, each joy to improve▪ Oh, give me the friend that I know to be true, And the fair that I tenderly love! What's glory but pride? a vain bubble is fame, And riot the pleasure of wine: What's riches but trouble? and title's a name:— But friendship and love are divine.

YOUNG Harry is as blithe a swain, As ever tript it o'er the plain; No sorrows ever crost his way, His smiles proclaim him ever gay: The ladies love to hear him woo, And well the urchin knows it too.

To ev'ry nymph he told his tale, Nor heeds although he don't prevail; His smiles proclaim him ever gay, While to another he bends his way: The lad has learnt the way to woo, And well, &c.

Soft songs of love he can compose, And these will please the fair, he knows; He'll praise their beauties to the sky, And raise their virtues full as high: Such poets the ladies love to view, And well, &c.

For Celia's heart he long has try'd, And still the boy has been deny'd; But tho' affectedly she's shy, Her heart cannot the youth deny: She longs with him the church to view, And well the shepherd knows it too.

HOW oft, Louisa, hast thou said, (Nor wilt thou the fond boast disown) Thou would'st not lose Antonio's love, To reign the partner of a throne?

And by those lips that spoke so kind! And by that hand I press'd to mine! To gain a subject nation's love, I swear I would not part with thine.

Then how, my soul, can we be poor, Who own what kingdoms could not buy? Of this true heart thou shal•• be queen, And, serving thee, a monarch I.

Thus uncontroul'd in mutual bliss, And rich in love's exhaustless mine, Do thou snatch treasures from my lips, And I'll take kingdoms back from thine.

MY heart's my own, my will is free: And so shall be my voice. No mortal man shall wed mith me, 'Till first he's made my choice.

Let parents rule, cry nature's laws, And children still obey. But is there then no saving clause Against tyrannic sway?

WHAT bard, O time, discover, With wings first made thee move? Ah! sure he was some lover, Who ne'er had lost his love!

For who, that once did prove The pangs which absence brings,

Though but a day He were away, Could picture thee with wings? What bard, &c.

THE world, my dear Myra, is full of deceit: And friendship's a jewel we seldom can meet. How strange does it seem, that in searching around, This source of content is so rare to be found!

O friendship! thou balm and rich sweetner of life, Kind parent of ease, and composer of strife! Without thee, alas! what are riches and pow'r, But empty delusions, the joys of an hour!

How much to be priz'd and esteem'd is a friend, On whom we may always with safety depend! Our joys, when extended, will always increase: And griefs, when divided, are hush'd into peace.

When fortune is smiling, what crow••s will appear, Their kindness to offer, and friendship sincere! Yet change but the prospect, and point out distress, No longer to court you they eagerly press.

HAD I a heart for falshood fram'd, I ne'er could injure you: For tho' your tongue no promise claim'd, Your charms would make me true.

To you no soul shall bear deceit, No stranger offer wrong: But ••••iends in all the ag'd you'll met, And lovers in the young.

But when they learn, that you have blest Another with your heart▪ They'll bid aspiring passion rest, And act a lover's part.

Then, lady, dread not here deceit▪ Nor fear to suffer wrong:

For friends in all the ag'd you'll meet, And brothers in the young.

CEASE, gay seducers, pride to take In triumphs o'er the fair, Since clowns as well can act the rake, As those in higher sphere.

Where, then, to shun a shameful fate, Shall hapless beauty go? In ev'ry station, ev'ry state, Poor woman finds a foe.

HE.

LET rakes and libertines, resign'd To sensual pleasures, range: Here all the sex's charms I find; And ne'er can cool or change.

SHE.

Let vain coquettes and prudes conceal What most their hearts desire: With pride my passion I reaveal: Oh! may it ne'er expire!

BOTH.

The san shall cease to spread his light, The stars their orbits leave, And fair creation sink in night, Ere I my dear deceive.

COULD I her ••aults remember, Forgetting ev'ry charm, Soon would impartial reason The tyrant, Love, disarm.

But when, enrag'd, I number Each failing of her mind, Love still ••uggests her beauty, And sees—while reason's blind.

HE.

HOPE! thou nurse of young desire! Fairy promiser of joy, Painted vapour, glow-worm fire, Temp'rate sweet, that ne'er can cloy!

SHE.

Hope thou earnest of delight, Softest soother of the mind, Balmy cordial, prospect bright, Surest friend the wretched find!

BOTH.

Kind deceiver, flatter still, Deal out pleasures enpossess'd: With thy dreams my fancy fill, And in wishes make me blest.

HOW blest the maid, whose bosom, No head strong passion knows! Her days in joys she passes, Her nights in calm repose. Where'er her fancy leads her, No pain, no fear invades her: But pleasure, Without measure, From ev'ry object ••••ows.

THE b••••d, that hears her nestlings cry▪ And 〈◊〉〈◊〉 abroad for food Returns 〈…〉〈…〉 through the sky, To n••••se 〈…〉〈…〉 ••••ood▪ The tender mother knows no joy, But b••le•••• a thousand ••••••ms: And 〈◊〉〈◊〉 for her 〈◊〉〈◊〉 boy, When absent from her arms.

Such ••ondness, with impatience join'd▪ My saithful ••osom sires— Now f••••••••d to leave my ••air b••hind, The queen •••• my desires.

〈…〉〈…〉 ••••erse too languid prove, 〈…〉〈…〉 vain, 〈…〉〈…〉 ••rdently I love, 〈…〉〈…〉 relieve my pain.

〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••••••nt with fervent zeal inspir'd For heav'n and joy divine— The saint is not with rapture fir'd, More pure, more warm than mine. I take what liberty I dare: 'Twere impious to say more. Convey my longings to the fair, The goddess I adore.

Banks of the Dee.

—Tune, Langolee.

'TWAS summer, and softly the breezes were blowing, And sweetly the nightingale sung from the tree, At the ••oot of a rock, where the river was flowing, I sat myself down on the banks of the Dee. Flow on, lovely Dee, slow on, thou sweet river; Thy banks' purest streams shall be dear to me ever▪ For there I first gain'd the affection and favor Of Jamie, the glory and pride of the Dee.

But now he's gone from me, and left me thus mourning, To ••uell the proud en'my; for valiant is he; An•• a•••• there's no hope of hi•• speedy returning, To wan••er again on the 〈…〉〈…〉 the Dee He's gone, hapless youth! 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the ••••de roaring billows; The kindest and sweetest of all the gay fellows; And left me to stray ••mong the once loved willows, The lone••est maid on the banks of the Dee.

But time and my pray'rs may perhaps yet restore him; Blest peace may return my dear shepherd to me, And when he returns, with care I'll watch o'er him; He never shall leave the sweet banks of the Dee. The Dee then shall flow, all its beauties displaying, The lambs on its banks shall again be seen playing, While I and my Jamie are carelessly straying, And t••sting again all the swee's of the Dee.

HOW happy were my days till now! I ne'er did sorrow feel; I rose with joy to milk my cow, Or turn my spinning-wheel.

My heart was lighter than a fly; Like any bird I sung; Till he pretended love, and I Bel••ev'd his flatt'ring tongue.

Oh! the fool, the silly, silly fool, Who trusts what man may be! I wish I was a maid again, And in my own country.

ASK if yon damask rose is sweet, That scents the ambie•••• air? Then 〈◊〉〈◊〉 each shepherd that you meet, If dear Susanna's ••air?

Say, will the vulture quit his prey, And warble through the grove? Bid wanton linnets quit the spray, Then doubt thy shepherd's love.

The spoils of war let heroes share▪ Let pride in splendor ••h••••e. Ye bards, unen••••'d laure•••• wear▪ Be fair Susanna mine.

ATTEND ye nymphs, while I impart The secret wishes of my h••••rt; And 〈◊〉〈◊〉 what swain, if one th••re be, Whom sate designs for love and me.

Let reason o'er his thoug••••s preside: Let honor all his ac••ions guide▪ Stedfast in virtue let him be, The swain design'd for love a••d me.

Let solid sense inform his mind, With pure good-nature sweetly join'd: Sure friend ••o modest merit be The swain design'd for love and me.

Where sorrow prompts the pensive sigh— Where grief bedews the drooping eye— Melting in sympathy, I see The swain design'd for love and me.

Let sordid av'rice claim no part Within his tender, gen'rous heart. Oh! be that heart from falshood free, Devoted all to love and me.

BLOW, blow, thou winter's wind, Thou art not so unkind, Thou art not so unkind, As man's ingratitude: Thy tooth is not so keen, Because thou art not seen: Thy tooth is not so keen, Because thou art not seen, Although thy breath be rude, Although thy breath be rude.

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky: Thou dost not bi••e so nigh, Thou dost not b••te so nigh, As benefits forgot. Though thou the waters warp, Thy sting is not so sharp, Though thou the waters warp, Thy sting is not so sharp, As friends remember'd not, As friends remember••d not.

BY him we love, offended, How soon our anger flies! One day apart, 'tis ended, Behold him and it dies! Last night, your roving brother, Enrag'd, I bade depart,—

And sure his rude presumption Deserv'd to lose my heart. Yet were he now before me, In spite of injur'd pride, I fear my eyes would pardon, Before my tongue could chide. By him we love, &c.

With truth, the bold deceiver To me thus, often said, "In vain would Clara slight me, "In vain would she upbraid! "No scorn those lips discover, "Where dimples laugh the while: "No frown appears resentful, "Where heav'n has stamp'd a smile!"

WHEN the trees are all bare; not a leaf to be seen, And the meadows their beauties have lost; When nature's disrob'd of her mantle of green, And the streams are fast bound with the frost: While the peasant, inactive stands shiv'ring with cold, As bleak the winds northerly blow: And the innocent ••locks run for ease to their fold, With their faces besprinkled with snow—

In the yard when the cattle are fodder'd with straw, And they send forth their breath like a steam; And the neat looking dairy maid sees she must thaw Flakes of ice that she finds in the cream: When the sweet country maiden, as fresh as rose, As she carelessly trips, often slides; And the rustics laugh loud, if by falling, she shews All the charms that her modesty hides—

When the lads and the lasses, for company join'd, In a c••oud round the embers are met; Talk of fairies and witches, that ride on the wind, And of ghost, 'till they're all in a sweat: When the birds to the barn come hov'ring for food, Or they silently sit on the spray; And the poor timid hare in vain seeks the wood, Lest her footsteps he course should betray—

Heaven grant in this season it may prove my lot, With the nymph whom I love and admire,

While the icicles hang from the eves of my cot, I may thither in safety retire! Where in neatness and quiet and free from surprise, We may live and no hardships endure; Nor feel any turbulent passions arise, But such as each other may cure.

THE heavy hours are almost past, That part my love and me: My longing eyes may hope, at last, Their only wish to see. But how, my Delia, will you meet The man you've lost so long? Will love in all your pulses beat, And tremble on your tongue?

Will you in ev'ry look declare, Your heart is still the same, And heal each idle anxious care Our fears in absence frame? Thus, Delia, thus I paint the scene, When shortly we shall meet, And try, what yet remains between Of lo••t'ring time to cheat.

But if the dream, that soothes my mind, Shall false and groundless prove— If I am doom'd at length to find, That you've forgot to love— All I of Venus ask, is this, No more to let us join: But grant me here the flatt'ring bliss, To die, and think you mine.

I Lock'd up all my treasure, I journey'd many a mile: And by my gr••••f did measure The passing time the while.

My bus'ness done and over, I hasten'd back amain, Like an expecting lover, To view it once again.

But this delight was stifled, As it began to dawn: I found the casket rifled, And all my treasure gone.

FAREWELL, ye green fields, and sweet groves, Where Phillis engag'd my fond heart— Where nightingales warble their loves, And nature is dress'd without art. No pleasure ye now can afford, No music can lull me to rest: For Phillis proves false to her word, And Strephon can never be blest.

Oft times, by the side of a spring, Where roses and lilies appear, Gay Phillis of Strephon would sing: For Strephon was all she held dear. But as soon as she found, by my eyes, The passion that glow'd in my breast, She then, to my grief and surprise, Prov'd all she had said was a jest.

Too late, to my sorrow, I find, The beauties alone that will last, Are those that are fix'd in the mind, Which envy or time cannot blast. Beware, then, beware how ye trust Coquettes, who to love make pretence; For Phillis to me h•••• been just, If nature had bless'd her with sense.

THE modes of the court so common are grown, That a true friend can hardly be met; Friendship for interest is but a loan, Which they let out for what they can get. 'Tis true, you find Some friends so kind, Who will give you good counsel themselves to defend; In sorrowful ditty, They promise, they pity; But shift you for money from friend to friend.

THE virgin, when soften'd by May, Attends to the villager's vows, The birds fondly bill on the spray, And poplars embrace with their boughs: On Ide bright Venus may reign, Ador'd for her beauty above; We shepherds, that dwell on the plain, Hail May as the mother of love.

From the west as it wantonly blows, Fond zephyr caresses the vine; The bee steals a kis•• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the rose, And willows and woodbines entwine: The pinks by the rivulet's side, That border the verna•• alcove, Bend downward, and kiss the soft tide, For May is the mother of love.

May ting••s the butterfly's wing, He flutters in bridal array; If the lark and the linnet now sing, Their music is taught them by May: The stock-dove, recluse with her mate, Conceals her fond bliss in the grove, And murmuring seems to repeat, That May is the mother of love.

The goddess will visit ye soon, Ye virgins be sportive and gay; Get your pipes, O ye shepherds, in tu••e, For music must welcome the May: Would Damon have Phillis prove kind, And all h••s keen ang••ish remove; Let him tell her soft tales, and he'll find, That May is the mother ••f love.

VOWS of love should ever bind Men who are to honor true: They must have a savage mind, Who refuse the fair their due.

Scorn'd and hated may they be, Who from Constancy do swerve! So may ev'ry nymph agree, All such faithless swains to serve.

WATER parted from the sea, May increase the river's tide, To the bubbling fount may flee, Or thro' fertile vallies glide.

Thus, in search of lost repose, Doom'd, like me forlorn, to roam▪ Still it murmurs as it flows, Till it reach its native home.

IN love should there meet a fond p••ir, Untutor'd by fashion or art, Whose wishes are warm and sincere, Whose words are th' excess of the heart▪

••aught of substantial delight, On this side the stars can be found, 'Tis sure, when that couple unite, And Cupid by Hymen is crown'd.

TO heal the smart a bee had made Upon my Chloe's face, Honey upon her cheek she laid, And bid me kiss the place.

Pleas'd I obey'd, and from the wound Imbib'd both sweet and smart; The honey on my lips I found, The sting within my heart.

DEAR Chloe, come give me sweet kisses, For sweeter no girl ever gave;

But why, in the midst of my blisses, Do you ask me how many I'd have? I am not to be stinted in pleasure, Then pr'ythee, dear Cl••••e, be kind; For since I love thee beyond measure, To numbers I'll ne'er be confin'd.

Count the bees that on Hybla are playing, Count the flow'rs that enamel the fields; Count the flocks that on Tempe are straying, Or the gra•••• that rich Sicily yields; Count how many stars are in heaven, Go number the sands on the shore, And when so many kisses you've given, I still shall be asking for more.

To a 〈…〉〈…〉 love let me hold thee, A 〈…〉〈…〉 dear Chloe is thine: In my 〈…〉〈…〉 or ever enfold thee, And 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••nd thy neck like a vine: What joy c•••• be greater than this is? My life on thy lips shall be spent: But the wretch who can number his kisses, Will always with few be content.

IF o'e the cruel tyrant, love, A conquest I believ'd, The flatt'ring error cease to prove: O! let me be deceiv'd;

Forbear to fan the gentle flame, Which love did first create▪ What was my pride, is now my shame, And must be turn'd to ••ate.

And call not to my wav'ring mind The weakness of my heart, Which, ah! I feel too much inclin'd To take a traitor's part.

IN the social amusements of life let me live, Prove ev'ry delight love and friendship can give

Where easy good-nature gives converse a zest, Where sense in the light robe of humour is drest; Where harmony, beauty, and reason combine, Our souls to improve, and our tempers refine.

At the festival board, where my Phoebe can share The jest—which her pureness unsully'd may hear, Unblushing enjoy, unrepining approve, While Damon toasts freely to friendship and love; While harmony, beauty, and reason combine, Our souls to improve, and our temper•• refine.

Time was meant for a blessing, not dealt for a curse; The troubles of life are by pining made worse; The sullen recluse may disrelish may plan, But I'll live, and I'll love, and I'll laugh while I can; While harmony, beauty, and reason 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Our souls to improve, and our temper 〈◊〉〈◊〉

HOW blithe was I each morn to see My swain come o'er the hill! He leap'd the brook, and flew to me; I met him with good will: I neither wanted ewe nor lamb, When his flock near me lay; He gather'd in my sheep at night, And cheer'd me all the day. Oh! the broom, the bonny broom, Where lost was my repose; I wish I was with my dear swain, With his pipe and my ewes.

He tun'd his pipe and reed so sweet, The birds stood list'ning by, The fleecy flock stood still and gaz'd, Charm'd with his melody: While thus we spent our time, by turns, Betwixt our flocks and play, I envy'd not the fairest dame, Though e'er so rich and gay. Oh! the broom, &c.

He did oblige me ev'ry hour: Could I but faithful be? He stole my heart—could I refuse Whate'er he ask'd of me?

Hard fate! that I must banish'd be, Gang heavily and mourn, Because I lov'd the kindest swain That ever yet was born. Oh! the broom, &c.

WHEN late I wander'd o'er the plain, From nymph to nymph, I strove in vain, My wild desires to rally; But now they're of themselves come home, And, strange! no longer seek to roam, They centre all in Sally.

Yet she, unkind one, damps my joy, And cries, I court but to destroy: Can love with ruin tally? By those dear lips, those eyes, I swear, I would all deaths, all torments bear, Rather than injure Sally.

Can the weak taper's feeble rays, Or lamp's, transmit the sun's bright blaze? Oh! no— then say ••ow shall I In words, be able to express My love?—it burns to such excess, I almost die for Sally.

Come then, oh! come, thou sweeter far Than jessamine and roses are, Or lilies of the valley; O follow love, and quit your fear, He'll guide you to these arms, my dear, And make me blest in Sally.

NOW Over the hills we the timid hare chase, Fly swift o'er each meadow her footsteps to trace. No dangers deter us, our way we pursue, And follow the dogs who the game keep in view.

She doubles, we now sweep the woodlands among, Whilst echo responsive still fills up the song; Hark forward! hark forward! see puss takes the tide, While rattling we brush down the hill's rocky side.

The brisk-sounding horn makes the vallies rebound: Each mountain, each grotto, returns his blithe sound; The quick-scented beagle now skims o'er the plains, And seizes the victim ere cover she gains.

Let av'rice his vigils o'er shining hoards keep, The courtiers may cringe, and the sot banish sleep; The seats of the field no true sportsman can cloy, Whilst health and content with the chase we enjoy.

WHEN Zephyr, who sighs for the lover's soft bliss, Salutes by surprise the coy rose, Averting her head the declines his fond kiss, Her beautiful sips strive to close. Tho' all mildness the youth of such fragrance possess'd, Transported he feeds on her breath, Nor thoughtless reflects while he feels himself bless'd, To her who thus blesses 'tis death.

Now closer he presses! unable to speak, What must the dear innocent feel! Alarm him ye dew-drops, that roll down each cheek, Her anguish intreat him to heal. Ah! bid him beware, left a moment of joy— Of joy, spite of honor obtain'd— The peace of two minds in an instant destroy, That peace which can ne'er be regain'd.

The rogue hears sage prudence, not seeming to hear; And feels, tho not seeming to feel; His lips check the course of each delicate tear, Then labour her anguish to heal. The breath, just exhausted by one stolen kiss, A thousand chaste kisses restore; And crimson'd with blushes, her beauty and bliss Grow perfect, and lessen no more.

THE billet-doux oh! didst thou boa•• To my Lorenza, lovely maid? I see how look'd the modest fair, I hear the gentle things she said.

The mantling blood her cheek forsakes, But quick returns the rosy hue: With trembling haste the seal she breaks, And reads my tender billet-doux.

The billet-doux when I receive, I press it to my throbbing heart. Sweet words! I cry, such joys you give, Oh! never, never, thence depart; And now it to my lips is press'd: But when the ma••ic name I view, Again •• clasp it to my breast, My fond, my tender billet-doux!

HOW sweet are the ties which a friend can impose, The mind to suspicion and envy to close, While sympathy opens her heart-soothing source, To blunt sorrow's sting and give pleasure new force!

Though soft are the bonds which a lover enchain, Yet say, is his bliss unattended by pain? The fear of delusion his bosom must know, And the stream of his joy prove the current of woe.

Even Hymen's fond slave is oft heard to complain, Joys founded in love are but airy and vain; While friendship's recorded in truth's sacred page, The rapture of youth, and the solace of age.

WHEN rural lads and lasses gay Proclaim'd the birth of rosy May, When round the May pole on the green The rustic dancers all are seen: 'Twas there young Jockey met my view,— His like before I never knew. He pip'd so sweet and danc'd so gay, Alas! he danc'd my heart away. And he pip'd so sweet, &c.

At eve when cakes and ale went round, He plac'd him next me on the ground With harmless mirth and pleasing jest He shone more bright than all the rest:

He talk'd of love, and press'd my hand! Ah! who could such a youth withstand? Well pleas'd I heard what he could say, Alas! he talk'd my heart away. And he pip'd so sweet, &c.

He often heav'd a tender sigh, While rapture sparkled in his eye: So winning was his face and air, It might the coldest heart ensnare: But when he ask'd me for his bride, I promis'd soon, and soon comply'd; What nymph on earth could say him nay? His charms must steal all hearts away. And he pip'd so sweet, &c.

FORBID his ardent love to tell, Forbid your praises to rehearse, The lover takes a long farwell, The poet bids adieu to verse.

Soon, cruel Charlotte, you shall prove, Your beauty's empire o'er my heart: I quit the scene that most I love, Nor speak to ease my hopeless smart.

And you shall own but ah! too late— To cure the deep and fatal wound, That heart deserv'd a gentler fate, If pity had in yours been found.

MY William left his Nancy dear, And sought the foe he scorn'd to fear. From Nancy dear would William go,— The foe he ••ear'd not, laid him low. Weep▪ virgins, weep my William slain, Ye ne'er shall "see his l••ke again."

Ah! tell me not, that now no more War bids her murd••ring thunder roar; My heart partakes not in the news, For what, alas! have I to lose; Who still must weep my William slain, Nor e'er can "see his like again?"

YOUNG Sandy is a dowdy lad, And Jemmy's swarth and tawny, No heart of mine they captive made; For that is lost to Johnny. Blink o'er the burn, my Johnny dear, Blink o'er the burn to me; Blink o'er the burn, my Johnny dear, And I will gang wi•• thee.

Young Sandy wooes and sighs and sues, And Jemmy offers money: Now well I know they both love me, But I love none but Johnny. Blink o'er the burn, &c.

And if he asks me for his bride I'll not deny my Johnny: He's not a lad to be deny'd, So fair, so blithe, so bonny. Blink o'er the burn, &c.

WHEN trees did bud, and fields were green, And broom bloom'd fair to see, When Mary was complete fifteen, And love laugh'd in her e'e; Blithe Davies blinks her heart did move To speak her mind thus free, Gang down the burn, Davie, love, And I sha1l follow thee.

Now Davie did each lad surpass, That dwelt on this burn side, And Mary was the bonniest lass, Just meet to be a bride. Her cheeks were rosy, red and white, Her een were bonny blue; Her looks were like Aurora bright, Her lips like drooping dew.

As down the burn they took their way, What tender tales they said! His cheeks to hers he o•••• did lay, And with her bosom play'd;

Till baith at length impatient grown, To be more fully blest, In yonder vale they lean'd them down; Love only saw the rest.

What pass'd, I guess, was harmless play, And naething sure unmeet; For ganging hame, I heard them say, They lik'd a wa'k sae sweet; And that they often would return, Sic pleasure to renew, Quoth Mary, love, I like the burn, And ay shall follow you.

AS Jamie gay gang'd blithe his way Along the banks of Tweed, A bonny lass, as e'er was seen, Came tripping o'er the mead; The hearty swain, untaught to feign, The buxom nymph survey'd, And full of glee, as lad could be, Bespoke the pretty maid.

Dear lassie tell, why by thine sell, Thou hast'ly wand'rest here. My ewes, she cry'd, are straying wide, Can'st tell me laddie where? To town I h••ve, he made reply, Some mickle sport to see; But thou'•••• so sweet, so ••rim and neat, I'll seek the ewes with thee.

She gave her hand, nor made a stand, But lik••d the out••••s in••ent; O•••••• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and dale, o'er plain and vale, Right merrily they went. The birds sang sweet, the pair to greet, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 flow'rs bloom'd all around; And 〈◊〉〈◊〉 they walk'd, of love they talk'd, And joys which lovers crown••d.

And now the sun had rose to noon, The 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of his pow••r, When to a shade their steps they made, To pass the mid-day hour.

The bonny lad row'd in his plaid The l••ss, who scorn'd to frown; She soon forgot the ewes she sought, And he to gang to town.

THE lawland lads think they are fine; But O! they're vain and idly gaudy! How much unlike that graceful m••en, And manly looks of my highland laddie, O my bonny, bonny highland laddie; My handsome charming high land laddie; May heav'n still guard, and love reward Our lawland lass and her highland laddie.

If I were free at will to choose, To be the wealthiest lawland lady, I'd take young Donald without trews, With bonnet blue, and b••lted p••••idy. O my bonny, &c.

The brawest beau in Borrows-town, In a' his airs, which art made ready, Compar'd to him, he's b••t a clown: He's finer far in's tartan plaidy. O my bonny, &c.

O'er Benty hill with him I'll run, And leave my lawland kin and daddy, Frae winter's cauld, and summer's sun, He'll screen me with his highland plaidy. O my bouny, &c.

A painted room, and silken bed, May please a lawland lai••d and lady: But I can kiss and be as glad, Behind a bush in's highland plaidy. O my bonny, &c.

Few compliments between us pass, I ca' him my dear highland laddie, And he ca's me his lawland lass, Syne rows me in beneath his plaidy. O my bonny, &c.

Nae greater joy I'll e'er pretend, Than that his love prove true and steady,

Like mine to him, which ne'er s;hall end, While heav'n preserves my highland laddie. O my bonny, &c.

DOWN the bourne and thro' the mead, His golden locks wav'd o'er his brow; Johnny lilting tun'd his reed, And Mary wip'd her bonny mou. Dear she loo'd the well known song, While her Johnny, blithe and bonny, Sung her praise the whole day long. Down the bourne, &c.

Costly claithes she had but few, Of rings and jewels nae great store, Her face was fair, her love was true, And Johnny wisely wish'd no more; Love's the pearl the shepherds prize, O'er the mountain, near the fountain, Love delights the shepherd's eyes. Down the bourne, &c.

Gold and titles give not health, And Johnny could nae these impart; Youthful Mary's greatest wealth Was still her faithful Johnny's heart: Sweet the joys the lovers find: Great the treasure, sweet the pleasure, Where the heart is always kind. Down the bourne, &c,

WHEN the sheep are in the fauld, and a' the kye at hame, And a' the weary world to sleep is gane; The wacs of my heart fall in show'rs fra' my e'e, While my gude man sleeps sound by me.

Young Jamie loo'd me weel, and ask'd me for his bride▪ But, saving a crown, he had ••••ething else beside; To make the crown a pound, my Jamie went to sea, And the crown and he pound were baith ••or me.

He had nae been gane a year and a day, When my father brake his arm, and our cow was ••••ole away,

My mither she fell sick, and Jamie at the sea, And a••ld Robin Gray came a courting to me.

My father cou'd na wark, my mither cou'd na spin, I toil'd day and night, but their bread I cou'd na win; And Rob maintain'd 'em baith, and, with tears in his e'e, Said, Jeanie for their sakes, oh marry me!

My heart it said nay, for I look'd for Jamie back, But the wind it blew hard, and his ship was a wreck, His ship it was a wreck, why did•••• Janie die? And why was she spar'd, to cry wae is me?

My father urg'd me sair—my mither did na speak; But she look'd in my face till my heart was like to break; They gi'ed him my hand, tho' my heart, it was at sea: So auld Robin Gray is a gude man to me.

I had na been a wife a week but only four, When sitting so mournfully out at my door, I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I cou'd na think it be, Till he said, I'm come hame, love, to marry thee.

Sair, sair did we greet, and mickle did we say, We tuk but a kiss, and tare ourselves away: I wish I were dead, but I am na lik to die, Oh, why was I born to say wae is me?

I gang like a ghaist▪ and I care not to spin; I dare na think on Jamie, for that wou'd be a sin: So I will do my best a gude wife to be; For auld Robin Gray's so kind to me.

THE summer it was smiling, nature round was gay, When Jeanie was attending on auld Robin Gray; For he was sick at heart, and had na friend beside, But only me, poor Jeanie, who newly was his bride. Ah Jeanie! I shall die, he cry'd, as sure as I had birth, Then see my poor auld banes, pray, laid into the earth, And be a widow for my sake a twelve month and a day, And I will leave whate'er belongs to auld Robin Gray.

I laid poor Robin in the earth, as decent as I cou'd, And shed a tear upon his grave, for he was very gude, I took my rock all in my hand, and in my cot I sigh'd, Ah! wae is me! what shall I do since poor auld Robin died? Search ev'ry part throughout the land, there's none like me forlorn; I'm ready e'en to ban the day, that ever I was born,

For Jamie all I lov'd on earth; ah! he is gone away, My father and my mither's dead, and eke auld Robin Gray.

I rose up with the morning sun and spun till setting day, And one whole year of widowhood I mourn'd for Robin Gray; I did the duty of a wife both kind and constant too, Let ev'ry one example take and Jeanie's plan pursue. I thought that Jamie he was dead or he to me was lost, And all my fond and youthful love entirely was crost. I tried to sing, I tried to laugh, and pass the time away, For I had not a friend alive, since died auld Robin Gray.

At length the merry bells rung round, I cou'd na guess the cause, Yet Rodney was the man they said who got so much ap∣plause; I doubted if the tale was true, till Jamie came to me, And shew'd a purse of golden ore, and said it is for thee, Auld Robin Gray I find is dead, and still your heart is true, Then take me Jeanie to your arms, and I will be so too. Moss John shall join us at the kirk, and we'll be blithe and gay, I blush'd, consented, and replied, adieu to Robin Gray.

The GHAIST of ROBIN GRAY.

'TWAS in the dead of night, soon after Jeanie wed, And wi' her faithful Jamie was sleeping in her bed, A hollow voice she heard which call'd her to awake, And listen to the words would be utter'd for her sake. She started from her sleep, her bosom beat with fear, When the ghaist of Robin Gray before her did appear, He wav'd his shadowy hand, and thus to her did say, Ah Jeanie! lift a while, to your auld Robin Gray.

I do not come, dear Jean, your conduct to reprove, Or interrupt the joys you share in Jamie's love. His honest heart deserves whate'er he can receive, Since he has fought sa nobly, and would not you deceive; Still let his courage rise, his country's foes to quell, To you he safe shall come again, the fates now bid me tell, With Howe as well as Rodney his valour he'll display, If you will but believe the ghaist of Robin Gray.

And Jeanie must submit, your virtue is your guard, For fortune has in store for you a high and rich reward;

The haughty Dons subdued, with Holland and with France, Your Jamie with fresh laurels crown'd will to your wish advance. Then let him haste wi' all his speed to join a noble sleet, Tho' danger does appear in view, no harm shall Jamie meet, But joyful shall return again upon a future day▪ And you may sure believe the ghaist of Robin Gray.

O Nelly! no longer thy Sandy now mourns! Let music and pleasure A bound without measure! Let music and pleasure, &c. O'er hillocks, or mountains, or low in the burn, Or thro' the wood lassie, until thou return. Thro' the wood, lassie, thro' the wood, lassie, Thro' the wood, thro' the wood, Thro' the wood, lassie; O'er hillocks, or mountains, &c.

Since I have been absent from thee my dear Nell, No content, no delight, Have I known day or night; The murmuring stream, and the hill's echo tell, How thro' the wood, lassie, I breath'd my sad kne••••▪ Thro' the wood, &c.

And now to all sorrow I'll bid full adieu, And, with joy, like a dove, I'll return to my love: The maxim of loving, in truth let us know: Then thro' the wood, lassie, we'll bonnily go: Thro' the wood, &c.

Come, lads, and come lassies, be blithesome and gay▪ Let your hearts merry be, And both full of glee: The highlands shall ring with the joy of the day, When thro' the wood, happy, we'll dance, sing and play. Thro' the wood, &c.

ONE morn when nymphs and swains were gay, And danc'd upon the green, From mirth poor William fled away To mourn his lot unseen.

In tears the love-lorn boy complains, Close by the murm'ring Tweed, And the sad burthen of his strains, Was Mary of the mead.

My Mary did each nymph surpass That trip'd the flow'ry plain, Once she was thought the loveliest lass, And I the happiest swain: To please her was my sole employ, To her I tun'd my reed, Each morn and eve my only joy Was Mary of the mead.

Whilst yet the morn was cloth'd in grey, I rose to court her love, Thro' flow'ry fields I took my way, And pleas'd her garland wove: Tho' rose and lily both were there To deck her charming head, That was less sweet and this less fair Than Mary of the mead.

Now she no more shall glad my eyes, No more my song inspire, From me the faithless fair one flies, To bless the richer squire: Yet may her heart know nought but joy, Nor e'er repent this deed! Poor Will can lay him down and die, For Mary of the mead.

WHEN first you courted me, I own I fondly favor'd you, Apparent worth nd high renown Made me believe you true, Donald: Each virtue then seem'd to adorn, The man esteem'd by me; But not the mask's thrown off; I scorn to waste one thought on thee, Donald▪

O then forever haste away! Away from love and me! Go seek a heart that's like your own, And come no more to me, Donald:

For I'll reserve myself alone For one that's more like me; If such a one I cannot find, I fly from love and thee, Donald.

WHEN o'er the downs at early day My lowland Willy hied him, With joy I drove my cows that way, In milking to abide him, My bonny bonny lowland Willy▪ O love! to show thy pow'r divine, Make the lowland Willy mine.

'Twas o'er the Downs he first began To tell how well he lov'd me. Could I refuse the charming man? Ah! no: his passion mov'd me. My bonny bonny, &c.

My Willy's love to me is joy, I own'd it soon, believe me; To kirk I'll hie me wi' the boy, For he will ne'er deceive me. My bonny bonny, &c.

COME, rouse from your trances, The sly morn advances, To catch sluggish mortals in bed! Let the hour's jocund note L•• the wind sweetly ••loat, While the fox from the brake lifts his head. Now creeping, No•• peep••••••. The fox from the brake lifts his head. Each away to his 〈◊〉〈◊〉. Your goddess shall ••••ad. Come ••ollow, my worshippers, follow; For the chase all prepare; See the l••••••••••ds 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the 〈◊〉〈◊〉; Hark, hark, to the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••••'s sweet halloo!

Hark Jow••••, hark 〈◊〉〈◊〉, See R••ynard 〈…〉〈…〉,

The hunters fly over the ground; Now they skim o'er the plain, Now they dart down the lane, And the hills, woods, and vallies resound; With dashing, And splashing, The hills, woods, and vallies resound: Then away with full speed, Your goddess shall lead, Come follow, my worshippers, follow, O'er hedge, ditch and gate: If you stop you're too late; hark, hark, to the huntsman's sweet halloo!

YE sportsmen, come forth, Quit your slumber and sloth, And join in the musical chase: Shall the fops of the town Our diversion cry down? No, their sports shall to ours give place▪

See puss is in view: Mark Scent well and Sue, They push forward as fleet as the wind! Huzza, my brave boys! What can equal our joys, When our care, and all fear's left behind?

Tho' she mounts up the hill, Yet we'll follow her still, Till her strength and her courage are gone: She doubles, she tries, But, alas! see she dies! And aloud sounds the horn tontaron.

Come, my lads, let's away, Crown the sports of the day With a bottle and mistress at night; Here's to each ruddy face That is fond of the chase: And we'll rise again soon as 'tis light.

THE twins of Latona, so kind to my boon, Arise to partake of the chase,

And Sol lends a ray to chaste Dian's fair moon, And a smile to the smiles on her face.

For the sport I delight in, the bright queen of love With myrtles my brow shall adorn; While Pan breaks his chaunter and skulks in the grove, Excell'd by the sound of the horn.

The dogs are uncoupled, and sweet is their cry, Yet sweeter the notes of sweet echo's reply; Sweet echo! hark forward, the game is in view, But love is the game that I wish to pursue.

The stag from his chamber of woodbine peeps out, His sentence he hears in the gale; Yet flies, 'till entangled in sear and in doubt, His courage and constancy fail:

Surrounded by foes he prepares for the fray, Despair taking place of his fear; With antlers erected, awhile stands at bay, Then surrenders his life with a tear.

THE splendid monarch of the skies, Returns the glorious tide of day; The jolly sportsmen hail his rise, And all to the woodlands haste away. The echoing horn Awakes the gay morn, All nature is cheerful, and smiling and gay.

Then horse, my boys, the game's in view, O'er hill and plain he nimbly flies; With horn and hounds the sport pursue, Till conquer'd at last, with anguish he dies▪ Then homeward apace, With health in our face, We hasten to feast on the spoils of the chase.

WHEN faintly gleams the doubtful day, Ere yet the dew-drop on the thorn Borrows a lustre from the ray, That tip•• with gold the dancing corn,

Health bids awake and homage pay To him who gave another morn. And with toil his nerves to brace, Urges the sportsman to the chase.

Do we pursue the timid hare, As ••rembling o'er the lawn she bounds? Still of her safety have we care, While seeming death her steps surrounds. We the defenceless creature spare, And instant stop the well taught hounds: For cruelty should ne'er disgrace The well earn'd pleasures of the chase.

Return'd with shaggy spoils well stor'd, To our convivial joys at night, We toast—and first our country's lord, Anxious who most shall do him right. The fair next crowns the social board— Britons shou'd love as well as fight, For he who slights the tender race, Is held unworthy of the chase.

AS Wit, Joke and Humor together were sat, With liquor a plentiful stock, Still varying the scene with song and with chat, The watchman bawl'd, past twelve o'clock.

At that hour, I've read, oft spirits do come, And poor timid mortals affright, Just then, in that instant, one enter'd the room, An ancient, pale-fac'd, meagre sprite.

The phantom appear'd, and the candles burnt blue, Wit and Humor began to stare: Cries out Joke,—Look'e, friends, this is nothing new, Behold!—see 'tis only old Care.

I knew he would tell us, 'twas Time sent him here, And tell us 'twas time to begone; But we'll tell him this, let him think what he dare, We'll finish him ere it be one.

They quickly agreed, and about it they went, Resolving of Care to get free; Wit mov'd it—and strait they all join'd in consent, To lay the ghost in the red sea.

Whole bumpers of claret they quickly drank off, And favorite toasts they went round; When Humor, well pleas'd, thus set up a laugh, Quoth he, how Care looks now he's drown'd!

Then loud shouting began, huzza! they all cry'd, We're rid of this troublesome guest; Fill your bumpers around, let this be your pride, To sing, laugh, and drink to the best.

Now their blood running high at a conquest so great' To singing and drinking they fix; With the sun they arose, with spirits elate, And decently parted at six.

RAIL no more, ye learned asses. 'Gainst the joys the bowl supplies; Sound its depth, and fill your glasses, Wisdom at the bottom lies: Fill them higher still, and higher; Shallow draughts perplex the brain; Sipping quenches all our fire, Bumpers hight it up again.

Draw the scene for wit and pleasure: Enter jollity and joy; We for thinking have no leisure; Manly mirth is our employ. Since in life there's nothing certain, We'll the present hour engage; And, when death shall drop the curtain, With applause we'll quit the stage.

WHEN gen'rous wine expands the soul, How pleasure hovers round the bowl! Avaunt ye cares of Fancy's crew, And give the guilty wretch his due: But let the juice of sparkling wine My grosser sense of love refine: As love his nectar drinks above, I'll quaff whole goblets full of love••

Then why would I at life repine? Bring me Venus, bring me wine, Fill the ever-flowing bowl: In circles gay and pleasures roll.

Ever open, ever free, Hail, thou friend to jollity! My brows with Bacchus' chaplets crown'd, I'll live love—my cares are drown'd.

DISTANT hie thee, carking Care, From the spot where I do dwell; Rigid mortals, come not there, Frowns, begone to hermit's cell; But let me live the life of souls, With laughter love and flowing bowls▪

Miser, with thy paltry pelf, I give 'gainst thee my hate its scope; Wretch, that liv'st but for thyself, With heart of rust that cannot ope: Fly, bird of night, from sun and souls, That love and laugh o'er flowing bowls▪

Who can let the pensive go, Or the eye that drops a tear, And not weed their minds of woe, May not, dare not, 'peep in here: Who can't be friends, can ne'er be souls, Nor e'er shall quaff our flowing bowls.

Joys on joys, O let me taste, Health and mirth dwell in my gate; Whilst with ease my sand doth waste, Whilst I bless the book of fate, That lets me live the life of souls, With laughter, love, flowing bowls.

SONS of mirth, my call attend! Would you cheerful moments spend? Then behold your chief in me, For my name's Festivity.

Is our mind oppress'd with care? I can chase away despair: None can long unhappy be, Bless'd with blithe Festivity.

Join yon feasts by Pleasure led, See the ••uscious viand•• spre••••,

Now the slowing ••oblet see, Sacred to Festivity.

Now the toast goes cheerful round, Jocund pleasures now abound; While the catch and merry glee Still support Festivity.

Momus' pow'rs to me pertain, Mirth and Wit a••••••nd my train. Such the joys that wait on me; Then enjoy Festivity.

PUSH about the brisk bowl: 'twill enliven the heart, While thus we sit round on the grass, The lover, who talks of his suff••rings and smart, Deserves to be reckon'd an ass, an ass, Deserves to be reckon'd an ass.

The wretch who sits watching his ill-gotten pelf, And wishes to add to the mass, Whate'er the curmudgeon may think of himself, Deserves to be reckon'd an ass, an ••••s▪ Deserves, &c.

The bean, who so smart with his well powder'd hair, An angel beholds in his glass, And thinks with grimace to subdue all the fair, Deserves to be reckon'd an ass, an ass. Deserves, &c.

The merchant from climate to climate will roam, Of ••••••••us the wealth to surpass: And oft, while he's wand'ring, my lady at home Claps the horns of an ox on the ass, Claps the horns, &c.

The lawyer so grave, when he puts in his plea, With forehead well ••onted with brass, Tho' he talks to no purpose, he pockets your foe; There you, my good friend, are an ass, an ass. There you, &c.

The formal physician, who knows ev'ry ill, Shall last be produc'd in this class: 〈…〉〈…〉 man a while may confide in his skill, But death proves the doctor an ass, an ass. But death, &c.

Then let us, companions, be jovial and gay; By turns take our bottle an lass; For he, who his pleasure puts off for a day, Deserves to be reckon'd an ass, an ass, Deserves, &c.

BANISH Sorrow! Grief's a folly.— Thought, unbend thy wrinkled brow! Hence, dull Care and Melancholy! Mirth and wine invite us now. Bacchus opens all his treasure; Comus brings us wit and song: Follow, follow, follow, follow pleasure! And let's join the jovial 〈◊〉〈◊〉.

Youth soon flies; 'tis but a season; Time is ever on the wing; Let's the present moment seize on;— Who knows, what the next may bring? Thus my days by joys I'll measure; Vulgar cares I now despise: Follow, follow, follow, follow pleasure! To be happy's to be wise.

Wherefore should we thus perplex us? Why should we not merry be, Since there's nothing here to vex us?— Drinking sets our hearts all free. Let's have drinking without measure, Let's have mirth, what time we have: Follow, follow follow, follow pleasure! There's no drinking in the grave.

HAPPY are the days of wooing, Ogling, sighing, kissing, cooing, Melting hopes and chilling fears, Weeping joys and smiling tears, Tuneful sorrows, laughing lays, Pleasing, teazing, Sporting, courting, Happy are the wooing days!

When by Hymen's chain united, Far away these joys are frighted: Dimpled cheeks of rosy hue, Panting, trembling hope, adieu! Languid air and solemn face; Nodding▪ podding, Prosing, dozing, Then succeed the wooing days.

Sprightly lads and lasses, wooing, Ere it be too late for ruing, Shun the dangers that await Hymens dull and drowsy state; And, with sickle, fond delays, Pleasing, teazing, Sporting, courting, Lengthen out the wooing days.

WHY should the friends of young Cupid, Pining, whining and sighing, Consider each mortal as stupid, Who's not for some mistress dying? Since the journey of life's on a rough road tho' wide, Pray let each man in quiet his hobby horse ride, Our own course regarding, not cens'ring a brother, Or seeking to justle or cross one another.

Why should we gay sons of Bacchus Laughing, singing and drinking, Tho' dull care can ne'er attack us, Deny there's pleasure in thinking? Since the journey of life's, &c.

The hero delights in a battle, Firing, wounding and killing, We had rather hear glasses rattle, And wine for blood be spilling: since the journey of life's, &c.

Blaming others is a folly, Loving, fighting, or mellow, For the grave, the valiant, the jolly, May each be a worthy fellow! Since the journey of life's, &c.

A Flaxen headed cow-boy as simple as may be, And next a merry plough-boy I whistled o'er the lea; But now a saucy foot-man I strut in worsted lace, And soon I'll be a butler, and wag my jolly face. When steward I'm promoted, I'll snip a tradesman's bill, My master's coffers empty my pockets for to fill; When lolling in my chariot so great a man I'll be, You'll forget the little plough-boy that whistled o'er the lea.

I'll buy votes at elections, but when I've made the pelf, I'll stand poll for the parliament, and then vote in myself: Whatever's good for—me, sir, I never will oppose; When all my ays are sold off, why then I'll sell my noes. I'll joke, harangue, and parag••••ph, with speeches charm the ear, And when I'm tir'd on my legs, then I'll sit down a peer. In court or city honor, so great a man I'll be, You'll forget the little plough-boy that whistled o'er the lea.

WERE I oblig'd to beg my bread, And had not where to lay my head, I'd creep where yonder herds are fed, And steal a look at—Somebody.

Oh! had I eagle's wings to fly, And take my flight across the sky, I'd feast my longing tearful eye, And steal a look at—Somebody.

When I'm laid low and am at rest, And may be number'd with the blest, Oh, may thy artless feeling breast Throb with regard for—Somebody.

Ah! will you drop one pitying tear, And sigh for the lost—Somebody? But should I ever live to see That form so much ador'd by me,

Then thou' It reward my constancy, And I'll be blest with—Somebody: Then shall my tears be dried by thee, And I'll be blest with—Somebody.

SWEET ditties would my Patty sing, Old Chevy Chace, God save the king, Fair Rosamond, and Sawny Scot, Lillibullero, and what not, All these would sing my blue ey'd Patty, As with her pail she trudg'd along, While still the burden of her song My hammer beat to blue ey'd Patty.

But nipping frosts and chilling rain Too soon alas! choak'd ev'ry strain, Too soon alas! the miry way Her wet-shod feet did sore dismay, And hoarse was heard my blue ey'd Patty, While I to every maid did cry, Ah could I but again, said I, Hear the sweet voice of blue ey'd Patty!

Love taught me how.—I work'd, I sung, My anvil glow'd, my hammer rung; Till I had form'd from out the fire, To bear her feet above the mire, An engine for my blue ey'd Patty. Again was heard each tuneful close, My fair one on the Patten rose, Which takes its name from blue-ey'd Patty.

IN good King Charles's golden days, When loyalty no harm meant, A zealous high-churchman I was, And so I got preferment; To teach my flock I never miss'd, Kings are by God appointed, And damn'd are those that do resist, Or touch the Lord's anointed. And this is law I will maintain Until my dying day, Sir, That whatsoever king shall reign, I'll be the vicar of Bray, Sir.

When royal James obtain'd the crown, And pop'ry came in fashion, The penal laws I hooted down, And read the declaration: The church of Rome I found would fit Full well my constitution; And had become a Jesuit, But for the revolution. And this is law, &c.

When William was our king declar'd, To case the nation's grievance; With this new wind about I steer'd, And swore to him allegiance; Old principles I did revoke, Set conscience at a distance; Passive obedience was a joke, And jest was non-resistance. And this is law, &c.

When gracious Anne became our queen, The church of England's glory, Another face of things was seen, And I became a tory; Occasional conformists base— I damn'd their moderation; And thought the church i•• danger wa•• By such preva••ication. And this is law, &c.

When George in pudding-time came o'er, And mod'rate men look'd big, sir, I turn'd cat in pan once more, And so became a whig, sir. And thus preferment I procur'd From our new faith's defender; And almost ev'ry day abjur'd The Pope and the Pretender. And this is law, &c.

Th' illustrious house of Hanover, And Protestant succession— To these I do allegiance swear, While they can keep possession: For in my faith and loyalty I never more will ••aul••er, And George my lawful king shall be— Until the times do alter, And this is law, &c.

WHEREVER I'm going, and all the day long, Abroad or at home, or alone in a throng, I find that my passion's so lively and strong, That your name, when I'm silent, runs still in my song. Sing Balinamone Ora, Balinamone Ora, A kiss of your sweet lips for me.

Since the first time I saw you, I take no repose: I sleep all the day to forget half my woes: So hot is the flame in my bosom which glows, By St. Patrick I sear it will burn thro' my clothes. Sing Balinamone Ora, Balinamone Ora, Your pretty black hair for me.

In my conscience, I fear, I shall die in my grave, Unless you comply, and poor Phelim will shave, And grant the petition your lover does crave, Who never was free till you made him your slave. Sing Balinamone Ora, Balinamone Ora, Your pretty black eyes for me.

On that happy day, when I make you my bride, With a swinging long word, how I'll strut and I'll stride! In a coach and six horses with honey I'll ride, As before you I walk to the church by your side. Sing Balinamone Ora, Balinamone Ora, Your little white fist for me.

SINCE you mean to hire for service, Come with me you jolly dogs; You can help to bring home harvest, Tend the sheep and feed the hogs.

With three crowns your standing wages, You shall daintily be fed; Bacon, beans, salt beef, cabbages, Butter-milk, and oaten bread.

Come, strike hands, you'll live in clover, When we get you once at home, And when daily labour's over, We will dance to your hum st••um.

A Few years ago, in the days of my Grannum, (A worthy good woman as ever broke bread) What lectures she gave! in the morning began 'em, Nor ceas'd till she laid herself down on her bed; She never declin'd what she once undertook; But twisted, Persisted, Now flatter'd, Now spatter'd, And always succeeded, by hook or by crook.

Said she, child, whatever your fate is hereafter, If married, if single, if old, or if young, In madness, in sadness, in tears or in laughter, But follow my maxims, you cannot do wrong; Each passion, each temper, I always could brook; When scolded, I moulded, when heated, Retreated, And manag'd my matters, by hook or by crook.

Ensnar'd by her counsels I ventur'd to marry. And fancy'd a wife, by my grandmother's rules, Might be taught like a spaniel to fetch and to carry, But soon I found out that we both had been fools; In vain, I show'd madam the wonderful book; I coax'd her, I box'd her, But truly, Un••uly, Wives cannot be govern'd by hook or by crook.

WELL, well, say no more; Sure you told me before; I know the full length of my tether. Do you think I'm a fool, That I need go to school? I can spell you, and put you together. A word to the wise Will always suffice:

Od's sniggers! go talk to your parrot. I'm not such an elf, Tho'f I say it myself, But I know a sheep's head from a carrot,

A Sweet scented beau, and a simp'ring young cit, An artful attorney, a rake, and a wit, Set out on the chase in pursuit of her heart, Whilst Chloe disdainfully laugh'd at their art, And rous'd by the hounds to meet the sweet morn, Tantivy, she follow'd the echoing horn.

Wit swore by his fancy, the beau by his face, The lawyer with quibble set out on the chase, The cit, with exactness made up his account, The rake told his conquests, how vast the amount; She laugh'd at the follies, and blithe as the morn, Tantivy she follow'd the echoing horn.

Their clamorous noise rous'd a jolly young swain, Hark forward, he cry'd, then bounc'd o'er the plain: He distanc'd the wit, the cit, quibble and beau, And won the fair nymph with hallo hilliho; Now together they sing a sweet hymn to the morn, Tantivy, they follow the echoing horn.

YE virgins, attend, Believe me your friend, And with prudence attend to my plan: Ne'er let it be said, There goes an old maid: But get marry'd as fast as you can.

As soon as you find Your hearts are inclin'd To beat quick at the sight of a man, Then choose out a youth, With honor and truth, And get marry'd as fast as you can.

For age, like a cloud, Your charms will soon shroud; And this whimsical life's but a span:

Then, maids, make your hay, While Sol ••arts his ray, And get marry'd as fast as you can.

The treacherous rake Will artfully take Ev'ry method▪ poor girls to trepan. But baffle the snare, Make virtue your care; And get marry'd as fast as you can.

And when! Hymen's bands Have join'd both your hands, The bright flame still continue to fan, Ne'er harbour the stings, That jealousy brings▪ But be constant and bless'd while you can.

THE man who does for freedom roar, His eloquence displays, Expatiates 'gainst despotic pow'r, And gains a nation's praise. Each stander by may plainly see, The patriot's fir'd by vanity.

The soldier eagerly pursues The airy phantom, fame; The author too the public sues, In hopes to get a name: Yet both alike appear to be Inspir'd by nought, but vanity.

The simple maid, whose best attire Is but a linen gown, Neat clad trips out, while round admire, Each gaping country clown: Yet she doth feel, as well as we, Her bosom glow with vanity.

The man who feels another's woes, And does those woes relieve; Who feels the blessings he bestows, Nor will just praise receive: A heart like this is wholly free From folly, pride, and vanity.

THERE was an old man, and, tho' tis not common▪ Yet, if he said true, he was born of a woman; And, though 〈◊〉〈◊〉 incredible, yet I've been told, He was once a mere ••••••ant; but age made him old. Derry down.

Whene'er he was hungry, he long'd for some meat; And if he could get it, tis said he would eat: When thirsty, he'd drink, if you gave him a pot; And his liquor most commonly ran down his throat. Derry down.

He seldom or never could see without light; And yet I've been told, he could hear in the night: He has oft been awake in the day-time, 'tis said; And has fallen asleep, as he lay on his bed. Derry down.

'Tis reported, his tongue always mov'd, when he talk'd; And he stirr'd both his arms and his legs, as he walk'd; His gait was so odd—had you seen him, you'd burst; For one leg or t'other would always be first. Derry down.

His face was the oddest that ever was seen, For when 'twas not wash'd, it was seldom quite 〈◊〉〈◊〉: He shew'd most of his teeth, when he happen'd to grin, And his mouth stood across 'twixt his nose and his chin. Derry down.

When this whimsical chap had a river to cross, If he could not get over, he'd stay where he was: He said, he'd ne'er venture to quit the dry ground; Yet so great was his luck, that he never was drown'd. Derry down.

Among other strange things, that befel this good yeoman, He was married, poor ••oul! and his wife was a woman; Yet, unless by that liar, miss Fame, we'••e beguil'd, We may safely affirm, that he ne'er was with child. Derry down.

At length he fell sick, as old chronicles tell; And then as folks said, he was not very well:

But, what is most strange—in so weak a condition, As he could not give fees, he could get no physician. Derry down.

What pity, he died!—yet 'tis said that his death Was occasion'd at last by the want of his breath: But peace to his bones, which in ashes now moulder•• Had he liv'd a day longer, he'd been a day older. Derry down.

FAIR ••ally lov'd a bonny seaman; With tears she sent him out to roam; Young Thomas lov'd no other woman, But left his heart with her at home. she view'd the sea from off the hill; And as she turn'd her spinning wheel, She sung of her bonny seaman

The wind bl••w loud, and she grew paler, To see the weather-cock turn'd round; 〈◊〉〈◊〉 lo! she spied her bonny sailor Come tripping o'er the fallow ground; 〈◊〉〈◊〉 nimble haste he leapt the stile, And Sally met him with a smile, And hugg'd her bonny sailor.

This kni•••• the gift of lovely Sally, I still have kept it for her sake; A thousand times in am'rous folly, Thy name I've carv'd upon the deck▪ Again this happy pledge returns, To show how truly Thomas burns— How truly burns for Sally.

This thimble didst thou give to Sally▪ While this I see I think on you; Then why does Tom stand shilly s••ally, While yonder steeple is in view? Tom, never to occasion blind, Now took her in the willing mind, And went to church with Sally.

STAND to your guns, my hearts of oak, Let not a word on board be spoke:

Victory soon will crown the joke; Be silent and be ready. Ram home your guns and spunge them well, Let us be sure the balls will te••l; The cannons' roar shall sound their knell: Be steady, boys, be steady,

Not yet, nor yet—reserve your fire, I do desire:—Fire! Now the elements do rattle, The gods, amaz'd behold the battle, A broadside, my boys.

See the blood in purple tide Trickle down her batter'd side! Wing'd with fate the bullets fly; Conquer, boys,—or bravely die: Hurl destruction on your foes, She sinks—huzza! To the bottom down she goes.

AH me! how heavy, and how slow, Does the dull vessel move! Blow, blow, ye gentle breezes, blow, And bear me to my love. Absent from her my soul esteems 'Bove all on earth that's dear, How long each tedious minute seems That keeps me ling'ring here!

Blow, blow, ye gentle breezes, then, That curl the waving sea; O blow! and bear me home again To her so dear to me. Alas! nor blow the fresh'ning gales, Nor curls the waving sea; Anxious I view the slacken'd sails; My Delia's far from me!

When shall we, Delia, meet again? The thought my bosom warms; Blow fresher yet, ye breezes, then, And bear me to her arms.

But tedious tho' my time now move, Yet when again we meet, Delia with smiles will crown my love, And make my joy complete,

HOW pleasant a sailor's life passes, Who roams o'er the watery main! No treasure he ever amasses, But cheerfully spends all his gain. We're strangers to party and faction, To honor and honesty true; And would not commit a base action For power or profit in view. Then why should we quarrel for riches, Or any such glittering toys? A light heart, and a thin pair of breeches, Go through the world, brave boys,

The world is a beautiful garden, Enrich'd with the blessings of life, The toiler with plenty rewarding; Which plenty too often breeds strife. When terrible tempests assail us, And mountainous billows affright, No grandeur or wealth can avail us, But skilful industry stree••s right. Then why, &c.

The courtier's more subject to dangers, Who rules at the helm of the stare, Than we, that, to politics strangers, Escape the snares laid for the great. The various blessings of nature, In various nations, we try; No mortals than us can be greater, Who merrily live till we die▪ Then why, &c.

LIFE is chequer'd—••oil and pleasure Fill up all the various measure: See the crew in flannel jerkins Drinking, toping slip by firkins:

And as they raise the tip To their happy lip, On the deck is heard no other sound, But, prithee, Jack, prithee, Dick, Prithee, Sam, prithee, Tom, Let the can go round, Then hark to the boatswain's whistle, whistle, Then hark to the boatswain's whistle, whistle▪ Bustle, bustle, bustle, brave boys; Let us stir, let us toil, But let's drink all the while; For labour's the price of our joys, For labour's, &c.

Life is chequer'd—toil and pleasure Fill up all the various measure: Hark, the crew with sun-burnt faces, Chanting black ey'd Susan's graces; And as they raise the notes, Thro' their rusty throats, On the deck, &c.

Life is chequer'd—toil and pleasure Fill up all the various measure: Hark, the crew, their cares discarding, With hustle-cap, or with chuck-farthing, Still in a merry pin, Whether they lose or win, On the deck, &c.

I Was, d'ye see, a waterman As tight and spruce a•• any 'Twixt Richmond ••own And Horsley Down, I turn'd an honest penny. None could of Fortunes favours brag, More than lucky I, My cot was snug, well fill'd my keg, My grun••er in the sty. With wherry tight, And bosom light, I cheerfully did tow, And to complete this princely life, ••••re never man had friend and wife, Like my wife, and my partner Joe.

I roll'd in joys like these awhile, Folks far and near caress'd me, 'Till woe is me, So lubberly, The vermine came and press'd me. How could I all these pleasures leave? How with my wherry part? I never so took on to grieve, It wrung my very heart: But when on board They gave the word, To foreign parts to go, I ru'd the moment I was born, That ever I should thus be torn, From my Poll and my partner Joe.

I did my duty manfully, While on the billows rolling, And night or day, Could find my way, Blindfold to the main-top bowling: Thus all the dangers of the main, Quick sands and gales of wind, I brav'd in hopes to taste again The joys I left behind. In climes afar, The hottest war, Pour'd broadsides on the foe, In hopes these perils to relate, As by my side attentive sate My Poll and partner Joe.

At last it pleas'd his majesty To give peace to the nation, And honest hearts From foreign parts Came home for consolation. Like light'ning—for I felt new life, Now safe from all alarms.— I rush'd and found my friend and wife Lock'd in each other's arms! Yet fancy not I bore my lot, Tame like a lubber—No— For seeing I was finely trick'd, Plump out of their birth I boldly kick'd My Poll and my Partner Joe.

NOT thunders o'er the sea-boy's head, Whose sounds impetuous roll, And mark him for a wat'ry bed, Can shake his steadfast soul. Still fondly warm'd with patriot fire, He dares each dang'rous strand, Still braves aloft the whirlwind's ire, To guard his native land.

What tho' beneath the foaming wave Lies many a dauntless boy; And many a sailor bold and brave, The tender fair one's joy! When, vanquish'd by the billow's pow'r, The valiant yield their breath, Fame shall record their latest hour, And bind their brows in death.

How drear the night, how dark each cloud, While ruffling winds are piping loud; With foaming and tempestuous roar, The surges dash against the shore; The rocks and hollow caves resound, And horrors fill each mind around. Ah! why••s my Willy, far from me, Upon the rough and dang'rous sea?

With ev'ry rushing gale I hear, I heave a sigh, and drop a tear; And when the dreadful thunders roll, The tempest shakes me to the soul: I tremble, listen, hope and fear, For thee, my true and only dear. Ah! why's my Willy, far from me, Upon the rough and dang'rous sea.

How happy those, who live on land, And see their homely toils expand! They dread no rocks, or billows' roar, Secure upon their native shore: They view their lambkins skip and bound, And crop their food from flow'ry ground; Nor mourn their absent love like me, Far off upon the dang'rous sea.

POUR me out the parting glass: Again to thee, my pretty lass, I thus must bid adieu; And when I am far out at sea, You'll think of him, who thinks on thee, What says my bonny Sue?

Hark! hark! the boatswain calls away, Not a moment can I stay, But t'other kiss and then; Now welcome is the cannon's roar, And if I should not see thee more, Think of honest ••en.

If in the bay of Biscay, O, Or in the gulf of Mexico, My fortune I can make, No longer from thee will I roam: With Susan then I'll fix my home And to my hammock take.

Sound wind and limb I take to sea, Ti••e heart and love I'll bring to thee, We ne'er shall part again; No captain's wife shall finer go, From head to stern, from top to toe. Think then of honest Ben.

ONCE more I've furl'd the swelling sail, And ev'ry danger's past, When thunders roll, and light'nings pale Flash round the shiv'ring mast; Where seamen brave Both wind and wave, And on the top mast's height Fly over the deep, While landmen sleep Throughout the cheerless night. A sweet reward my toils now meet, In such a glorious prize, While lovely constant P••ll shall greet A heart without disguise.

For such ••••••p••ze who would not dare All hardships to engage, The tempest's roar, or perils where The war's loud tumults rage? In joy and peace, I'll live at ease With thee, my charming bride, Thro' life we'll sail, With prosp'rous gale, O'er pleasure's flowing tide. And whilst the cheering can goes round, Of thee I'll make my boast, And lovely Poll shall then resound, For thou shalt be our toast.

THE gallant soldier born to arms, All wi••ling from his home he goes, For honor leaves all other charms, To meet in fields surroundings foes; In hopes, when war no more shall reign, To hail his native land again. Where'er he goes, the deadly fig••t, Midst 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of arms and ••a••nons•• roar, His mart••al ardor gives delight, Till enemies for peace implore. With pride he views his hard campaigns, when Toils and dangers are no more; Of fears and wounds he ne'er complains, when ••Gain he meets his native shore.

SOLDIERS ne'er should stand complaining, But the ••aughty fair disdaining, When'er they uncomplying prove, In war may find a cure for love. When Bellona takes the field, Love, and all her train, must yield; Rapture, vow, and am'rous sight, Before her awful visage sly. Glory then the bosom ••••es, And the soften'd soul inspires; As the mighty ••in of arms, Ev'ry daring spirit warms.

Hark! how the flashing gun's hoarse thunder Rends the trembling air asunder; Clouds of smoke to Heav'n aspire, See! the elements on fire; Thousands gasping on the ground, Blood and car••age fill the mound; Yet like a rock, We stand the shock, Amid the strife, Regard not life, Though death and horror stalk around.

LET masonry from pole to pole Her secret laws expand; Far as the mighty waters roll, To wash remotest land! That virtue has not left mankind, Her social maxims prove; For stamp'd upon the mason's mind Are unity and love.

Ascending to her native sky, Let masonry increase; A glorious pillar rais'd on high, •• Integrity its base. Peace adds, to olive-boughs entwin'd An emblematic dove: As stamp'd upon the mason's mind, Are unity and love.

COME, let us prepare, we brothers that are Assembled on merry occasion; Let's drink, laugh, and sing, our wine has a spring: Here's a health to an accepted mason.

The world is in pain our secrets to gain, And still let them wonder and gaze on; Till they're shown the light, they ••l ne'er know the right Word or sign or an accepted mason.

'Tis this and 'tis that, they 〈◊〉〈◊〉 tell what, Why so many great men of the nation Should aprons put on, to ma•••• themselves one With a free and an accepted mason.

Great kings dukes, and lords, have laid by their swords, Our myst'ry to put a good grace on, And ne'er been asham'd, to hear themselves nam'd With a free and an accepted mason.

Antiquity's pride we have on our side, And it maketh men just in their station; There's nought but what's good, to be understood By a free and an accepted mason.

We're true and sincere, and just to the ••air; They'll trust us on ev'ry occasion: No mortal can more the ladies adore, Than a ••ree and an accepted mason.

Then join hand in hand, by each brother firm stand Let's be merry and put a bright face on: What mortal can boast so noble a toast, As a free and an accepted mason?

CHOR.

No mortal can boast so noble a toast, As a free and accepted mason.

HAIL masonry! thou craft divine! Glory of earth from heav'n reveal'd: Which doth with jewels precious shine, From all but masons eyes conceal'd. CHOR. Thy praises due who can rehearse, In nervou•• prose, or flowing verse?

As men from brutes distinguish'd are, A mason other men excels; For what's in knowledge choice and rare But in his breast securely dwells? CHOR. His silent breast and faithful heart Preserve the secrets of the art.

From scorching heat and piercing cold, From breasts whose roar the forest rends, From the assaults of warriors bold, The mason's art mankind defends. CHOR. Be to this art due honor paid, From which mankind receive such aid▪

Ensigns of state, that feed our pride, Distinctions troublesome and vain, By masons true are laid aside; 〈◊〉〈◊〉 freeborn sons such toys disdain, CHOR. ••nnobled by the name they bear, Distinguish'd by the badge they wear.

Sweet fellowship, from envy free, Friendly converse of brotherhood, The Lodge's lasting cement be, Which has for ages firmly stood. CHOR. A lodge thus built for ages past Has ••asted, and shall ever last.

Then in our songs be justice done To those who have enrich'd the art, From Adam to * 1.1— down, And let each brother bear a part.

CHOR.

Let noble masons' healths go round, Their praise in lofty lodge resound.

GRANT me, kind heav'n, what I request, In masonry let me be blest: Direct me to that happy place, Where friendship smiles in ev'ry face; Where freedom, and sweet innocence, Enlarge the mind, and cheer the sense.

Where sceptred reason from her throne Surveys the lodge, and makes us one; And harmony's delightful sway Forever sheds ambrosial day; Where we blest Eden's pleasure taste, Whilst ba••ny joys are our repast.

Our lodge the social virtues trace, And wisdom's rules we fondly trace; Whose nature, open to our view, Points out the paths we should pursue. Let us subsist in lasting peace, And may our happiness increase.

No ••••ying, eye can view us here, No fool nor knave disturb our cheer; Our well-form'd laws set mankind free, And give relief to misery. The poor, opprest with woe and grief, Gain from our 〈◊〉〈◊〉 hands relief.

FINIS.

Notes

• * 1.1

  Insert the grand master's name for the time.