*


º –- 2- - -
B E I N G s 2.
Gan elegant Collection of ,
the BEST and NEWEST SONGS in the
E.W. GZI.S H LA WG WA GE.
tenuitgue inhians tria Cerberus ora... . -
Pigi. Georgion. Zib.4.
L O N D O N.
Printed for J.EwANs, Pater-noster Row.


II---- ----
|−−−=−=−=−=−=−=−==） ----------=—→∞ =~~~===
~ ~ ！！******** • • • • • • →→→→→- - - ~~
_ _ — ± ---------
---- - - - - ， ， ， ） – ~ ~


c o N T E N T S.
- . A
BAND of Cupids, t'other day - -
A Cobler there was, and he liv'd in a ſºall
A Dean and Prebendary - -
Adieu, adieu, my only life - - - -
Ah / tell me, ye ſwains, have ye ſºn my Pºſora 2
Ah / 'why muff words my flame reveal - -
All hands up aloft ; ſwab the couch fºre and ºf
A maſſer I have, and I am his man - -
A laſ; that was laden with care - * -
All in the Downs the fleet was moor’d - -
All you who are wiſe, and think /ſe worth en-
joyin - - - -
Aino, amas, I lov’d a laſ, - -
Aſ if yon dama/# roſe be ſweet - -
A ſweet ſcented beau, and a ſimp’ring young cit -
At ſetting ſun, and riſing morn - -
At Roſs, how alter'd is the ſcene - * -
As croſ; the field, the other morn - - - - - - -
As now we’re met - - -
At gay ſixteen, my lovers came - -
Ariadne, one morning, to Theſeus ivas turning -
Attend all, I pray, to the words I’ve to ſay -
Auſºicious ſpirits, guard my love - *
A
193
Page
I 74
45
225
207
168
7o
I 95
I 82.
I 18
169
99
161
I 3 I
2O3
2.49
2.47
39
I 5
I23


C O N T E N T S.
D
Dear Chloe, how blubber'd is thy pretty face -
Dear Chloe, while thus, beyond meaſure -
Dear Tom, this brown jug, that now fºams with
mild ale - - - - -
Dear 12nko/ay, and true he ſay - -
De’il take the war, that hurry'd Willy from me -
Did you Jee e'er a ſhepherd, ye nymphs, paſ; this
way - - - -
Diogenes, ſurly and proud - -
Diſtreſ; me with theſe tears no more - -
Domeſtic peace, my ſoul’s deſire - -
Do you hear, brother ſportſmen, the ſºund of th
horn ? - - -
Down the bourn, or through the mead - -
Dumbarton's drums beat bonny o - -
E
Each fluent bard - - -
Ere bright Roſina met my eyes - -
Except the folk that’s faff aſleep - -
F
Fair Liberty / whom Heaven gave -
Fair Caroline was once my love -
Fair Kitty, beautiful and young -
Fair Sally lov’d a bonny ſeaman -
Faireſ? Iſle, all iſles excelling -
§ of the virgin throng -
Fickle bliſ, ź. treaſure -
Fill your glaſſes, baniſh grief -
Fly ſwiftly, ye minutes, till Comus receive
From good liquor ne'er ſhrink -
A 2
.
9
242.
ÖI
167
Io
I lo
243
$3
179
216
27
223
251
275
173
129
I 55
14 I
2 I 9
24
19
From


iv. C O N T E N T S.
From ploughing the ocean, and threſhing Mon-
ſeur - - -
From prudence ſet my joys take birth - -
From the eaft breaks the morn - -
G
Give round the word Diſnount, Diſmount -
Go, patter to lubbers and ſwabs, dºye ſee
God prºper lºng from being broke - -
H
Had I a heart fºr falſehood/ram'd - -
Hail, Burgundy, thou juice divine - -
Happy, harmleſs, rural pair - -
Hark, away / 'tis the merry-ton’d horn -
Hark / hark / the joy-inſpiring horn - -
Hark / the dim of djiant war - -
Hear me, gallant ſailor, hear me - -
Here is an o' ſºng, made by an old ancient pate -
Her mouth with a ſmile - - -
Hey, my kitten, a kitten - - -
Hºw Alft has my time been, what days have I
Ánown - - - - -
How little do the landmen know - -
How ſmooth glides the ſiream the gay meadows
along * - - - - . -
How ſands the glaſ; around * - -
How much I love thee, girl, wouldſ know * -
How few know how to value life - -
How gentle was my Damon’s air - -
How imperfeº is exprºfton - -
How ſong £all hapleſ; Colin mourn - -
I 24.
235
I oë
237
35
266
256
87
I C i
2 19
I iO
39
254
I 45
107
IO4
77
239
244
1 5 I
I69
255
I.


C O N T E N T S.
J.
Ianthe the lovely, the joy of her ſwain -
I am, cry’d Apollo, when Daphne he woo'd
If deep thy poignard thou wouldſ drench
If I live to grow old, as I find I go down
I be one of they ſailors who thinks’tis no lie
I heard much talk of Oxford town -
I'll ſing of my love all might and all day
I lock’d up all my treaſure -
In a ſmall, pleaſant village, by nature complete
In Charles the Second’s merry days -
In good King Charles's golden days -
In love, ſhould there meet a fond pair -
In my pleaſant native plains - -
I now have an ambition - -
In ſpite of love, at length I find -
In the world’s crooked path, where I’ve been
I ſeek my ſhepherd, gone affray -
I’m jolly Dick, the lamp-lighter -
I was, dºye ſee, a waterman -
I winna marry ony mon, but Sandy o'er the Lee
If life is a bubble, and breaks with a blaſt
If 'tis love to wiſh you near -
In cooling ſtreams, Oſweet repoſe -
I travers’d judah’s barren ſands -
juſt when the blooming fragrant ſpring
L
Laſ Valentine’s day, when bright. Phaebus ſºone
clear - - -
Let a ſet of ſober aſſes - -
Let bucks, and let bloods, to praiſe London agree
Let philoſophers prate about reaſºn and rules
Let ſoldiers fight for pay and praiſe -"
Let the ſlave of ambition and wealth -
A 3
* 55
51
232
8o
222
138
172
133
27
49
154
I 34
42
229
166
253
24o
181
268
233
187
257
213
22
22 I
218
33
92
Life


wi C O N T E N T S.
Liſt is checquer’d; toil and pleaſure - -
Lone bird of eve, whoſe liquid throat -
Lord, ‘what a fu/; my mother made - -
Looſe every ſail to the breeze - • ‘
Love's the tyrant of the heart - -
Lovely nymph, aſſuage my anguiſh - -
Lovely woman, pride of nature - -
- M
My banks, they are furniſh’d with bees - -
My Alſ; too long my fair denies - -
My ſond ſhepherds of late were ſo blºft - -
My former time, how bri/% and gay - -
My heart from my boſºm would fly - -
My mither, ſhe makes /ſc a dia - - -
My Nancy leaves the rural train - -
My love was once a bonny lad - -
My jeany and I have toil'd - -
My plaint in no one pity moves - -
Myſºger laddie is over the ſea - -
My temples with cluffers of grapes I'll entwine -
N .
Near the ſide of a pond, at the fºot of a hill -
No, 'twas neither form nor feature - -
No more I’ll court the town-bred fair - -
No more the fiftive train I'll join -. -
No wonder, no wonder, I’m now ſeen to grieve
Not long before the cloſe of day - * * -
Now, away, my brave boys, hoſt the flag, &eat the
drum - - - -
Now Aurora is up, the ſweet godd'ſ ºf day -
Now Spring her ſweets diſclºſes -
Now the hill-tops are burnſº'd with azure and
gºld - - -
- 9
Nºſgays
71
256
215
26o
I 52
156
22O
142
152
140
I 25
249
22
148
179
ÖO
244.
I 82.
78
I 49
272
163
273
2 I 4
I I I
103
261
I


C O N T E N T S.
Noſgays I cry, and, though little you pay -
Now we’re free from college rules - -
Now’s the time for mirth and glee - -
O
O'er woodland's and mountains, rude, barrem, and
bare - - - -
Oh / how could I venture to love one like thee -
O had away, had away , - - -
Oh / let no eyes be dry - - - -
C5, my ſweet pretty Mog, you’re as ſºft as a bog
Oh / what had I a-do for to marry - -
O yes / O yes / a proclamation’s made -
Of all ſenſations pity brings • * -
Of/weethearts, ſº conſtant as I am - -
Once more I’ll tune the vocal ſhell - -
O we ſail'd to Wirginia, and thence to New 1%rk
O ſhame 'light on this world’s peſ - -
O the days when I was young - -
O tell me, ye gentle nymphs and ſwains - -
Old Homer / but with him what have ‘we to do P
On Freedom’s happy land - "- -
On tree-topp'd hill, or tufted green - -
On Etrick banks, in a ſummer's might - -
R w
Raii no more, ye learned aſſes * -
Returning fram the fair, one eve - -
Reft, beauteous flow'r, and bloom anew - -
Rouſe, rouſe, jolly ſportſmen, the hounds are all out
S
Say, Myra, why is gentle love
See, beneath yon bow'r of roſes
-*
234
13
266
264
188
185
62
63
57
IoS
236
I 5o
139
II 5
184
192
2 I 3
197
244.
2O4.
186
17
246
172
92
176
271
Shepherds


viii C O N T E N T S.
Shepherds, I have loft my love - -
&nce there's go ſmall diff'rence 'twixt drowning and
drinking - - - -
Since time and experience repeatedly call
Soft pleaſing pains, unknown before -
Some ſay women are like the ſeas -
Spring returns, the fawns advance -
Stand to your guns, my hearts of oak -
Stella and Flavia, ev'ry hour -
Still the lark finds repoſe - -
Stray not to thoſe diffant ſcenes -
Sweet ditties would my Patty ſing -
Sweet Annie frae the ſea-beach came -
Sweet inmate, Senſibility - -
Sweet, ſweet Robinette, - -
T
Tell me, lovely ſhepherd, where -
9 he bluſh of Aurora now tinges the morn
7 he bride came in from the barn -
The Devil pull'd off his jacket of flame
The du/ºy might rides down the /ćy -
The echoing horn calls the ſportſmen abroad
The gentle ſwan, with graceful pride -
The live-ſong day, forlorn I go -
3 he morning is charming, all nature looks gay
The ſilver moon’s enamour’d beam -
The %; from the eaft, tips the mountains wit
go - - -
The ‘wanton gad, who pierces hearts -
The women all tell me, I’m falſe to my laſ,
The ſprightly horn awakes the morn -
The wand'ring ſailor ploughs the main
The whiffling ploughman hails the bluſhing dawn
The fife and drum ſound merrily - -
The laſt of Patie's mill -- - -
:
156
26
126
16o
146
I 13
175
259
157
82
I 20
245
26o
140
59.
45
Io3.
95.
132.
147
96
177
94.
2O.
107
117
93
186
The


C O N T E N T S. ix
The heavy hours are almºſt paſ! - - 171
The Leixlip is proud of its cloſe ſhady bowers - 269
The God who formed our wretched race - 250
The ſlag through the fºrg/?, when rous’d by the horn 270
The lawland lad; think they are fine - - 190
The May-day of life is for pleaſure - - 192
7%e roſé with ſweet fragrance delights - - 2 I-O
The merry dance I dearly love - - 263
The wind was huſb'd, the ſtorm was over - 226
The moon had climb'd the highſi hill - - 258
The little birds, as well as you - - 23 o
There was a jolly miller, once, liv'd on the river
te - - - - -
There was an old man, and, though 'tis not common º
There /food poor Jonas, at the window - 248
7%ere was once, it was ſaid, when, is out ºf my
. . . head - - | - - 46
Then, farewell, my trim-buil, wherry - - 1.5o
Yi; cold flinty heart, it is you who have ‘warm'd 135
2% ſºft-flºwing Avon, by thy ſilver ſtream - 200
#:4% § ne'er % %. º of the ſun 211
Zhough Bacchus may bºaſt of his care-killing bowl 263
ſºugh prudence may pºſimº - - 270
Žºgy in the morn, the nineteenth of May - 74
23 Aug gourſelf in peiſe: eaſe - . - 81
To the war; I muft, alas / - - 64
‘ſo Anacreon in Heaven, where he ſat in full glee zoi
70 an arbour of woodbines ye both ſhall be led - I44
Zºº fair Fidele's glaſſy tomb - - 204
Ta Keep my gentlejºy . - 2 - 173
T'other day, as I ſat in a ſycamore ſhade . - 137
'Z was when the ſeas were roaring - - I 2.2
'Twas in the good ſhip Rover - - 238
ſwas in that ſeaſon of the year - - 189
’7 was in the bloom of May - - 136
’7 was 1 learnt a pretty ſºng in France - 194
’7 was not her eyes, though Orient mines - 232
’7 was


x C O N T E N T 3.
’7 was near a thicket’s calm retreat - -
7 wo gods of great honour, Bacchus and Apollo -
Two youths for my love are contending in vain -
U
Upon a ſummer’s ev’ning clear - -
g
W.
Welcome, welcome, brother debtor - -
Well met, brother ſportſman ; what ſay'ſ to the
morn ? - - -
What are the boafted joys of love P -
What ſhepherd, or nymph of the grove -
A/hat Cato adviſes, moſt certainly wiſe is
What ſport can compare -
What means that tender Ágh, my dear
When firſt this humble roof I knew -
When my money was gone, that Igain’d in the wars
.
When daiſies pied, and viºlets blue - -
When firſt to Cambridge we do come - -
When here, Lucinda, firſt we came - -
When I drain the roſy bowl - -
When I liv'd with my grannam, on yon little green
When once the gods, like us below, - -
When Phaebus #. juſt to peep o'er the hills -
When Orpheus went down to the regions below -
When Sol, from the eaft, had illumin'd the ſphere
Aben 'tis night, and the 'mid-watch is come
When firſt I ſaw the village maiden -
When the roſy morn appearing -
When Night’s dark mantle veil'd the ſeas
When little, on the village green -
When bluſhes dy'd the cheeks of morn --
H%en forc’d from dear Hebe to go -
262
29
I 49
144
54
127
27z
I 57
I I
128
172
268
267
2O3
I 2
13o
18
2 IO
32
97.
51
97.
116
245
259
273
274
I 52
158
When


C O N T E N T S.
When the ſheep are in the fauld, and a” the Aye at
hame - - -
When Spring, diſpenſing ſweets around -
When I was a young one, what girl was like me
When war’s alarms entic'd my Willy from me
When 22nko dear fight far away -
Whence comes it, neighbour Dick -
Wherever I’m going, and all the day long
Where’s my ſwain, ſº blithe and clever?
Why ſº pale and wan, fond lover ? -
Why, don’t you know me by my ſcars P
Who to my wounds a balm adviſes -
Were Nancy but a rural maid -
Where, dear maid, ſhouldſ, thou forſake me
Where the beeſacks, there lurk I -
Where rolls the ſilver Severn's tide -
Whiff, happy in my native land -
Why heaves my fond boſom Pah, what can it mean
While high the foaming ſurges riſe -
While, Strephon, thus you teaze me -
Whither, my love, ah, whither art thou gene P
Wide through the azure blue, and bright
With a cheerful old friend, and a merry old ſºng
With broken words, and downcaſt eyes
With early hornſalute the morn -
Hº'ould you hear a ſad ſtory of woe -
Y
Že belles, and yeflirts, and ye pert little things
1? cheerful virgins, have ye ſeen -
Tº fair married dames, who ſº often deplore
12 lads of true ſpirit, pay courtſhip to claret
2? /camps, ye pads, ye divers, and all upon the lay
22 ſluggards, who murder your life-time in ſleep -
12 ſportſmen, draw near, and ye ſportſwomen too
Jºe ſºns of dull ſloth, who in cities reſae -
xi
I 2 I
217
191
147
135
2
161
57
227
234
215
162


xii C O N T E N T S.
1%u aſ me, my friend, what of life’s the beft end - 252
1%u know that our ancient philoſophers hold - 2 O
- ?ou may do as you will, but I’ll fling away care 6
7 oung, and void of art or guile - - - 230
2 oung Lubin was a ſºpherd-boy - - 165
t
----- º,
\ -- - * s - - - - - - *
* - - * * … .º.º. ** º *
* : * - * * - -
- - - - - *
* - - - s
... " " -
* - - -
C v. -: . . . - - --
** - - - - -
v - -
A - *
C - - - : -
* : * -
* - • *.
- --
- * * - -
*
. -- - - - *
- *
- - -- -
º *
* T H E.


S K Y - L. A R K.
TD me, when forty winters more
Have furrow’d deep my pallid brow,
When from my head a ſcanty ſtore,
Lankly the wither'd treſſes flow ;
When the warm tide, that, bold and ſtrong,
Now rolls impetuous on and free,
Languid and ſlow, ſcarce ſteals along;
Then bid me court ſobriety,
Then bid me court ſobriety.
Nature, who form'd the vary’d ſcene
Of rage and calm, of froſt and fire,
Unerring guide, could only mean
That age ſhould reaſon, youth defire.
Shall then that rebel man preſume,
Inverted nature’s law, to ſeize
The dues of age in youth’s high bloom,
And join impoſſibilities 2
And join impoſſibilities :
Let me waſte the frolic May
In wanton joy and wild exceſs;
In revel ſport, and laughter gay,
And mirth, and roſy cheerfulneſs.
Woman, the ſoul of all delights,
And wine, the aid of love, be near ;
All charms me that to joy incites,
And ev'ry ſhe that's kind is fair,
And ev'ry ſhe that's kind is fair.
R My


( 2 ) *
M” temples with cluſters of grapes I'll entwine,
And barter all joys for a goblet of wine,
And barter all joys for a goblet of wine.
In ſearch of a Venus no longer. I’ll run,
But ſtop and forget her at Bacchus's ton;
No longer I’ll run,
But ſtop and forget her at Bacchus's ton.
Yet why this reſolve to relinquiſh the fair
'Tis a folly with ſpirits like mine to deſpair;
For what mighty charms can be found in a glaſs,
If not fill'd to the health of ſome favourite laſs t
"Tis woman, whoſe charms ev’ry rapture impart,
And lend a new ſpring to the pulſe of the heart;
The miſer himſelf, ſo ſupreme is her ſway,
Grows a convert to love, and reſigns her his key.
At the ſound of her voice, Sorrow lifts up her head,
And Poverty liſtens well pleas'd from her ſhed;
While Age, in an ecſtaſy, hobb'ling along,
Beats time, with his crutch, to the tune of her ſong.
Then bring me a goblet from Bacchus’s hoard,
The largeſt and deepeſt that ſtands on his board ;
I’ll fill up a brimmer, and drink to the fair;
'Tis the thirſt a lover—and pledge me who dare'
H EY my kitten, a kitten,
And hey my kitten a deary;
Such a ſweet babe as this,
Is neither far nor neary.
Here we go up up up,
And here we go down down downy,
Here we go backwards and forwards,
And here we go round round roundy.
Chicky, cockow, my lily-cock,
See, ſee, ſee, fic a downy ; -
Gallop


( 3 )
Gallop a trot trot trot,
And hey for Dublin towny.
This pig went to market,
Squeak mouſe, ſqueak mouſe, mouſy ;
Shoe, ſhoe, ſhoe, the wild colt ;
And here’s thy own doldowſy.
Where was a jewel and pretty 2
And where was a ſugar and ſpicy
Huſh-a-by babe in a cradle,
And we’ll go abroad in a tricy.
Did-a papa torment it
Did-e vex his own baby, did-e
Huſh-a-by babe in a boſie ;
Take ous own ſucky, did-e ’
Good-morrow, a pudding is broke :
Slaver's a thread of cryſtal ;
Now the ſweet poſſet comes up ;
Who ſaid my jewel was piſs'd-all
Come water, my chicken, come, cock;
Leave off, or he'll crawl ye, he’ll crawl ye.
Come, give me a hand, and I’ll beat him:
Who was it vex'd my baby
Where was a laugh and a crow
And where was a giggling honey
Goody good child ſhall be fed,
But naughty child ſhall get noney.
Get ye gone, raw-head and bloody'bones,
Here is a child that don’t fear ye.
Come, piſſy, piſſy, my jewel,
And ikikay, my deary.
HERE was an old man; and, though 'tis not
common,
Yet, if he ſaid true, he was born of a woman;
B 2 And


( 5 )
What pity he dy’d l 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 have been a day older.
COBLER there was, and he liv'd in a ſtall,
Which ſerv'd him for parlour, for kitchen, and
- hall. -
No coin in his pocket, no care in his pate;
No ambition had he, nor yet duns at his gate.
Derry down, down, down, derry down.
Contented he work'd, and he thought himſelf happy,
If at night he could purchaſe a cup of brown nappy;
He’d laugh then, and whiſtle, and ſing too moſt
ſweet,
Saying, Juſt to a hair I’ve made both ends to meet.
Derry down, &c.
But Love, the diſturber of high and of low,
That ſhoots at the peaſant as well as the beau,
He ſhot the poor cobler quite thorough the heart;
I wiſh it had hit ſome more ignoble part.
Derry down, &c.
It was from a cellar this archer did play,
Where a buxom young damſel continually lay :
Her eyes ſhone ſo bright, when ſhe roſe ev'ry day,
That ſhe ſhot the poor cobler quite over the way.
Derry down, &c.
He ſung her love-ſongs as he ſat at his work;
But ſhe was as hard as a Jew or a Turk :
Whenever he ſpoke, ſhe would flounce and would
fleer,
Which put the poor cobler quite into deſpair.
Derry down, &c.
B 3 He


( 6 )
He took up his Awl that he had in the world,
And to make away with himſelf he reſolv’d ;
He pierc’d through his body, inſtead of the sole;
So the cobler he dy’d, and the bell it did toll.
Derry down, &c.
And now, in good will, I adviſe as a friend,
All coblers take notice of this cobler’s end ; -
Keep your hearts out of love; for we find by what’ º
- paſt,
That hove brings us all to an E N p at the last.
Derry down, down, down, derry down.
—i
OU may do as you will, but I’ll fling away care:
I’ll ſport with the ſwains, and I’ll toy with
the fair;
For joys yet unknown I may find ſpringing there,
For joys yet unknown I may find ſpringing there:
And 'tis better by half
Love and neétar to quaff;
All the days of my life thus I’ll frolic and laugh,
All the days of my life thus I’ll frolic and laugh.
Till lately there liv'd not ſo wretched an elf:
I tended my flocks, and ſought nothing but pelf;
. Car'd little for others, but much for myſelf:
But 'tis better by half, &c.
But wiſhes for more are all fooliſh and vain,
And thought for to-morrow brings nothing but pain;
Enjoying to-day I ſhall find the beſt gain :
For ’tis better by half, &c.
Gome over to me, all ye gay blooming throng,
And take it, the way to be bleſt the year long,
Is to welcome ſweet love, wine, and ſoul-cheering.
ſong : -
And 'tis better by hait, &c.
s : Then


( 7 )
"Fhen Care, with his wrinkles, I give to the wind;
To mirth from this moment my heart is inclin'd :
I’m ſure of my bliſs, for the nymphs will be kind ;
More happy by half,
* Love and neétar to quaff;
All the days of my life thus I’ll frolic and laugh.
HE women all tell me I’m falſe to my laſs;
That I quit my poor Chloe, and ſtick to my
glaſs :
But to you, men of reaſon, my reaſons I’ll own ;
And if you don’t like them, why let them alone.
Although I have left her, the truth I’ll declare;
I believe ſhe was good, and I’m ſure ſhe was fair:
But goodneſs and charms in a bumper I ſee,
That make it as good and as charming as ſhe.
My Chloe had dimples and ſmiles, I muſt own ;
But though ſhe could ſmile, yet in truth ſhe could
- frown : -
But tell me, ye lovers of liquor divine,
Did you e'er ſee a frown in a bumper of wine *
Her lilies and roſes were juſt in their prime ;
Yet lilies and roſes are conquer’d by time;
But, in wine from its age, ſuch benefit flows,
That we like it the better, the older it grows.
They tell me my love would in time have been
cloy'd,
And that beauty’s inſipid when once ’tis enjoy’d ;
But in wine I both time and enjoyment defy,
For the langer I drink, the more thirſty am I.
Let murders, and battles, and hiſtory prove
The miſchiefs that wait upon rivals in love:
1. B 4. But


( 9 J
Such liquor ſhe'll diſtill from thence,
. As will tranſport your raviſh'd ſenſe:
Then kiſs, and never ſpare it,
*Tis a bottle of good claret.
Then kiſs, &c.
But, beſt of all ! ſhe has no tongue;
Submiſſive ſhe obeys me;
She’s fully better old than young,
And ſtill to finiling ſways me:
Her ſkin is ſmooth, complexion black,
4. And has a moſt delicious ſmack.
Then kiſs, and never ſpare it,
- 'Tis a bottle of good claret :
* Then kiſs, &c.
If you her excellence would taſte,
Be ſure you uſe her kind, ſir;
Clap your hand about her waiſt,
And raiſe her up behind, fir,
As for her bottom, never doubt,
Puſh but home, and you’ll find it out.
Then drink, and never ſpare it,
*Tis a bottle of good claret :
Then drink, &c.
DBA.; Tom, this brown jug, that now foams
with mild ale,
In which I will drink to ſweet Nan of the vale,
Was once Toby Filpot, a thirſty old ſoul,
As e'er drank a bottle, or fathom’d a bowl.
In boozing about, 'twas his praiſe to excel,
And amongſt jolly topers he bore off the bell.
He bore off the bell.
It chanc'd, as in dog-days he ſat at his eaſe,
In a flow'r-woven arbour, as gay as you flºw. h
1t


( 10 )
With a friend and a pipe, puffing ſorrow away,
And with honeſt old ſtingo was ſoaking his clay,
His breath-doors of life on a ſudden were ſhut,
And he dy’d full as big as a Dorcheſter butt.
His body, when long in the ground it had lain,
And time into clay had reſolv’d it again,
A potter found out in its covert ſo ſmug, *
And with part of fat Toby he form'd this brown jug,
Now ſacred to friendſhip, to mirth, and mild ale;
So here's to my lovely ſweet Nan of the vale.
Dº; ſurly and proud,
Who ſnarl’d at the Macedon youth,
Delighted in wine that was good,
Becauſe in good wine there is truth;
But growing as poor as a Job,
And unable to purchaſe a flaſk,
He choſe for his manſion a tub,
And liv'd by the ſcent of the caſk,
And liv'd by the ſcent of the caſk.
Heraclitus would never deny
A bumper to cheriſh his heart;
And, when he was maudlin, would cry,
Becauſe he had empty’d his quart :
Though ſome were ſo fooliſh to think
He wept at men's folly and vice,
'Twas only his cuſtom to drink
Till the liquor ran out at his eyes.
IDemocritus always was glad
To tipple, and cheriſh his ſoul ;
Would laugh like a man that was mad,
When over a jolly full bowl.
While his cellar with wine was well ſtor'd,
His liquor he'd merrily quaff;
And, when he was . as a lord,
At thoſe that were ſober he'd laugh.
Coper-


( 11 )
--
Copernicus too, like the reſt,
Believ'd there was wiſdom in wine;
And knew that a cup of the beſt
Made reaſon the brighter to ſhine:
With wine he repleniſhed his veins,
And made his philoſophy reel ;
Then fancy'd the world, as his brains,
Turn’d round like a chariot-wheel.
Ariſtotle, that maſter of arts,
Had been but a dunce without wine;
For what we aſcribe to his parts,
Is due to the juice of the vine:
His beily, ſome authors agree,
Was as big as a watering trough;
He therefore leap'd into the ſea,
Becauſe he'd have liquor enough.
When Pyrrho had taken a glaſs,
He ſaw that no objećt appear'd
Exaétly the ſame as it was
Before he had liquor'd his beard;
For things running round in his drink,
Which ſober he motionleſs found,
Occaſion'd the ſceptic to think
There was nothing of truth to be found.
Old Plato was reckon'd divine,
Who wiſely to virtue was prone;
But, had it not been for good wine,
His merits had never been known.
By wine we are generous made ;
It furniſhes fancy with wings ;
Without it, we ne'er ſhould have had
Philoſophers, poets, or kings.
HAT Cato adviſes, moſt certainly wiſe is,
Not always to labour, but ſometimes to Pl:
Q


( 12 )
To mingle ſweet pleaſure with ſearch after trea.
ſure,
Indulging at night for the toils of the day.
And while the dull miſer eſteems himſelf wiſer,
His bags will decreaſe, while his health does de-
cay ;
Our ſouls we enlighten, our fancies we brighten,
And paſs the long evening in pleaſures away.
All cheerful and hearty, we ſet aſide party;
With ſome tender fair each bright bumper is
crown'd ;
Thus Bacchus invites us, and Venus delights us,
While care in an ocean of claret is drown'd.
See here's our phyſician, we know no ambition,
But where there's good wine and good company
found ;
Thus happy together, in ſpite of all weather,
'Tis ſunſhine and ſummer with us the year round.
Wººl firſt to Cambridge we do come,
- Tol lol lol lol lol lol lolla,
From mama’s dear beloved home,
Tol lol lol lol lol lol lolla,
... Firſt we muſt have a new cap and gown,
And next the prettieſt girl in town.
Tol lol, &c.
Then next a tutor we muſt have :
'Tis ten to one he proves a knave,
Who minds not what we do all day,
So we come home at night, and pray.
Then ſtrait he buys us Ariſtotle,
Which we pawn often for a bottle;
And º Elements muſt pack,
For a better element, good ſack.
* Then


( 13 )
Then he writes home unto our friends,
For money to ſerve his own ends,
Which he keeps ſafe lock’d up in trunk,
Whilſt we abroad are getting drunk.
Item for Homer, that blind poet;
Be ſure your tutor does not know it:
But we’ll ſmoke, and drink, and merry be,
Until we are as blind as he.
Then hang all ſtudying to no end ;
Enjoy your bottle and your friend :
We’ll drink, and ſmoke, and take our fill ;
We may be parſons when we will.
N OW we're free from college rules,
Frem common-place-book reaſon,
From trifling ſyllogiſtic ſchools,
And ſyſtems out of ſeaſon.
Never more we’ll have defin’d
If matter thinks or thinks not :
All the matter we ſhall mind,
Is he who drinks or drinks not.
Metaphyſically to trace
The mind or ſoul abſtraćted,
Or prove infinity of ſpace,
By cauſe on cauſe effected:
Better ſouls we can’t become,
By immaterial thinking;
And, as to ſpace, we want no room,
But room enough to drink in.
Plenum, vacuum, minus, plus,
Are learned words, and rare too;
Thoſe terms our tutors may diſcuſs,
And thoſe who pleaſe may hear too:
C A plenum,


( 14 )
A plenum in our wine we ſhew,
With plus and plus behind, fir;
But, when our caſh is minus, low,
A vacuum ſoon we find, fir.
Copernicus, that learned ſage,
Dan Tycho's error proving,
Declares, in I can’t tell what page,
The earth round Sol is moving:
But which goes round, what’s that to us *
Each is perhaps a notion ; -
With earth and ſun we make no fuſs,
But mind the bottle’s motion.
Great Galileo ill was us’d
By ſuperſtitious fury;
Antipodeans were abus’d
By ignoramus jury :
But feet to feet we dare atteſt,
Nor fear a treatment ſcurvy;
For when we’re drunk, probatum eff,
We're tumbling topſy-turvy. .
Newton talk’d of lights and ſhades,
And diff'rent colours knew, fir;
But don’t let us diſturb our heads
With any more than two, ſir :
White and red our glaſſes boaſt,
Refle&tion and refraction ;
Yet after him we’ll name our toaſt,
The centre of attraction.
On that theſis we'll declaim,
With /?ratum ſuper ſtratum ;
There's mighty magic in the name,
'Tis nature's pºſtulatum :
Wine in nature’s next to love,
Then wiſely let us blend 'em ;
Firſt, though, phyſically prove,
That nunc tempus ºff bičendum. A
T-


- ( 15 )
TT END all, I pray, to the words I've to ſay,
In tablet of mem'ry inſert 'em.
Rich wines do us raiſe to the honour of bays:
34am non fecere diſertum *
Tol de rol. de rol lol lol lol lol.
Of all the briſk juice the gods can produce,
Good claret preferr'd is before 'em ;
'Tis claret ſhall ſtrait happy mortals create,
Mars, Bacchus, Apollo, virorum.
We abandon all ale, and beer that is ſtale,
Roſa ſolis, and damnable bum ;
But ſparkling bright red ſhall raiſe up its head
Above omne quod exit in um.
This, this is the wine, which, in former time,
Each wiſe-one of men they call’d Magi
Was wont to carouſe in a chaplet of boughs,
Recubans ſub tegminefagi.
Let the hop be their bane, let the rope be their
ſhame,
Let the gout and the colic ſtill pine 'em,
That offer to ſhrink, in taking their drink,
Seu Graecum ſºve Latinum.
Let the glaſs fly about till the bottle is out,
Let each do to each as he’s done to ;
Avaunt thoſe that hug th’ abominable jug
Amongſt us heteroclita ſunto.
There's no ſuch diſeaſe as he that doth pleaſe
His palate with beer, for to ſhaume us:
'Tis claiet that brings Madam Fancy her wings,
And ſays—Muſa, majora canamus.
He's either a mute, or does poorly diſpute,
That drinketh not wine as we men do:
C 2 The


( 16 ).
The more wine a man drinks, the more like ſubtle
fphynx, -
Tantum valet iſºe loquendo.
Art thou weak, art thou lame, doſt thou figh after
fame *
Call for wine, and thou quickly ſhalt have it :
It will make the lame riſe, it will make the foo}
wiſe,
Cui vim Natura negawit.
The more wine in my brain, the more merry my
vein ;
And this to me wiſdom and bliſs is :
For him that’s too wiſe I can juſtly deſpiſe;
Mecum confertur Ulyſſes.
H AIL, Burgundy, thou juice divine,
Inſpirer of my ſong !
The praiſes giv'n to other wine
To thee alone belong.
Of poignant wit and roſy charms
Thou canſt the pow'r improve ;
Care of its ſting thy balm diſarms,
Thou nobleſt gift of Jove 1
Care of its ſting thy balm diſarms,
Thou nobleſt gift of Jove.
Bright Phoebus, on the parent-vines
From whence thy current ſtreams,
Sweet-ſmiling, through the tendril ſhines,
And laviſh darts his beams.
The pregnant grape receives his fires,
And all his force retains ;
With that ſame warmth our brain inſpires,
And animates our ſtrains. -"
With that, &c.
From


( 17 )
From thee, my Chloe's radiant eye
New ſparkling beams receives;
Her cheeks imbibe a roſier dye ;
Her beauteous boſom heaves.
Summon'd to love by thy alarms,
Oh with what nervous heat
Worthy the fair, we fill their arms,
And oft our bliſs repeat.
Worthy the fair, &c.
The ſtoic, prone to thought intenſe,
Thy-ſoftneſs can unbend;
A cheerful gaiety diſpenſe,
And make him taſte a friend.
His brow grows clear, he feels content,
Forgets his penſive ſtrife ;
And then concludes his time well ſpent
In honeſt ſocial life.
And then, &c.
E’en beaux, thoſe ſoft amphibious things,
Wrapt up in ſelf and dreſs,
Quite loſt to the delight that ſprings
From ſenſe, thy pow'r confeſs.
The fop, with chitty maudlin face,
That dares but deeply drink,
Forgets his cue and ſtiff grimace,
Grows free, and ſeems to think.
Forgets his cue, &c. *
R*. 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 ;
C 3
*
Sip- a


( 18 )
Sipping quenches all our fire, :
. Bumpers light it up again.
Sipping quenches, &c. h
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.
And, when Death, &c. -
HEN I drain the roſy bowl,
‘W. Joy exhilarates my ſoul; .
To the Nine I raiſe my ſong,
Ever fair and ever young.
When full cups my cares expel,
Sober counſel then farewell.
Let the winds that murmur, ſweep;
All my ſorrows to the deep.
Let the winds that murmur, ſweep
All my ſorrows to the deep.
When I drink dull time away,
Jolly Bacchus, ever gay,
Leads me to delightful bow’rs,
Full of fragrance, full of flow’rs.
When I quaff the ſparkling wine,
And my locks with roſes twine,
Then I praiſe life's rural ſcene,
Sweet, £º, and ſerene.
When I drink the bowl profound,
(Richeſt fragrance flowing round),
And ſome lovely nymph detain,
Venus then inſpires the ſtrain. -
When,


( 19 )
When, from goblets deep and wide,
I exhauſt the gen’rous tide,
All my ſoul unbends—I play
Gameſome with the young and gay.
B'. the gaily-circling glaſs,
We can ſee how minutes paſs;
By the hollow caſk are told
How the waning night grows old.
Soon, too ſoon, the buſy day
Drives us from our ſport away.
What have we with day to do
Sons of Care, ’twas made for you ?
By the filence of the owl,
By the chirping on the thorn,
By the butts that empty roll,
We foretell th’ approach of morn.
Fill, then, fill the vacant glaſs,
Let no precious moment ſlip:—
Flout the moralizing aſs;
Joys find entrance at the lip.
Fº ſwiftly, ye minutes, till Comas receive
The nameleſs ſoft tranſports that beauty can
give.
The bowl's frolic joys let him teach her to prove,
And ſhe in return yield the raptures of love,
And ſhe in return yield the raptures of love.
Without love and wine, wit and beauty are vain,
All grandeur infipid, and riches a pain.
The fair ſplendid palace grows, dark as the grave.
Love and wine give,ye gods,or take back what ye gave.,
Love and wine give, ye gods,or take back what ye gºve.
THE


( 20 )
HE wanton god, who pierces hearts,
Dips in gall his pointed darts;
But the nymph diſdains to pine,
Who bathes the wound with roſy wine.
Then farewell lovers, when they’re cloy'd ;
jf I am ſcorn’d becauſe enjoy’d,
, Sure the puny fops are free,
To rid me of dull company.
Sure they’re free, ſure they're free,
To rid me of dull company.
They have charms, whilſt mine can pleaſe:
I keve them much, but more my eaſe.
Nor jealous fears my love moleſt,
Nor faithleſs vows ſhall break my reſt:-
Why ſhould they e'er give me pain.
Who to give me joy diſdain?
All I hope of mortal man
Is to love me whilſt he can.
Yº know that our ancient philoſophers hold,
There is nothing in beauty, or honour, or,
- gold : -
That bliſs in externals no mortal can find :
And in truth, my good friends, I am quite of their:
mind,
What makes a man happy I never can doubt;
'Tis ſomething within him, and nothing without.
This ſomething, they ſay, was the ſource of con--
tent ;
And, whatever they call’d it, 'twas wine that they,
Imeant.
Without us, indeed, it is not worth a pin ;
But, ye gods !. how divine, if ye get it within |
'Tis.


( 21 )
'Tis then of all bleſſings the flouriſhing root;
And, in ſpite of the world, we can gather the fruit. .
When the bottle is wanting, the ſoul is depreſs'd,
And beauty can kindle no flame in the breaſt :
But, with wine at our hearts, we are always in love;
We can ſing like the linnet, and bill like the dove.
The richeſt and greateſt are poor, and repine,
If with gold and with grandeur you give them no
wine;
But, wine to the peaſant or ſlave if you bring,
He's as rich as a Jew, and as great as a King.
With wine at my heart I am happy and free :
Externals without it are nothing to me.
Come, fill; and this truth from a bumper you’ll
know :—
That wine, wine alone, is our bleſſing below.
YE lads of true ſpirit, pay courtſhip to claret,
Releas'd from the the trouble of thinking :
A fool long ago ſaid we could nothing know;
The fellow knew nothing of drinking.
To pore over Plato, or practiſe with Cato,
Diſpaſſionate dunces.might make us :
But men, now more wiſe, ſelf-denial deſpiſe,
And live by the leſſons of Bacchus.
Big-wig'd, in fine coach, ſee the doćtor approach;
- He ſolemnly up the ſtairs paces ;
Looks grave—ſmells his cane—applies finger to
vein, -
And counts the repeats with grimaces.
As he holds pen in hand, life and death are at ſtand-
A toſs-up which party ſhall take us.
Away


( 22 )
Away with ſuch cant—no preſcriptions we want,
But the nouriſhing noſtrum of Bacchus.
We jollily join in the practice of wine,
While miſers 'midſt plenty are pining;
While ladies are ſcorning, and lovers are mourning,
We laugh at wealth, wenching, and whining.
Drink, drink, now ’tis prime; toſs a bottle to
Time, -
He’ll not make ſuch haſte to o’ertake us :
His threats we prevent, and his cracks we cement,
By the ſtyptical balſam of Bacchus.
What work is there made by the newspaper trade,
Of this man’s and t'other man's ſtation 1
The ins are all bad, and the outs are all mad;
In and out is the cry of the nation.
The politic patter which both parties chatter
From bumpering freely ſhan’t ſhake us ;. -
With half-pints in hand, independent we’ll ſtand.
- To defend Magna Charta of Bacchus.
Be your motions well tim’d ; be all charg’d and all
prim’d:
Have a care—right and left—and make ready.
Right hand to glaſs join—at your lips reſt your wine—
Be all in your exerciſe ſteady.
Our levels we boaſt, when our women we toaſt;
May graciouſly they undertake us !
No more we deſire—ſo drink and give fire,
A volley to Beauty and Bacchus !
ET a ſet of ſober aſſes
4 Rail againſt the joys of drinking,
While water, tea,
And milk, agree
To ſet cold brains a thinking.
Power


( 23 )
-ſ
.
Power and wealth,
Beauty, health,
Wit and mirth, in wine are crown'd
Joys abound,
Pleaſure’s found,
Only where, the glaſs goes round.
-
-
The ancient ſe&ts on happineſs
All differ'd in opinion;
But wiſer rules
Of modern ſchools
In wine fix her dominion.
Power and wealth, &c.
Wine gives the lover vigour,
Makes glow the cheeks of beauty;
Makes poets write,
And ſoldiers fight, -
And friendſhip do its duty.
Power and wealth, &c.
Wine was the only Helicon
Whence poets are long-liv'd ſo;
'Twas no other main
Than briſk champaign,
Whence Venus was deriv'd too.
Power and wealth, &c.
When heaven in Pandora’s box
All kind of ill had ſent us,
In a merry mood
A bottle of good
Was cork’d up to content us.
Power and wealth, &c.
All virtues wine is nurſe to,
Of ev'ry vice deſtroyer; -
Gives


( 24 )
Gives dullards wit,
Makes juſt the cit,
Truth forces from the lawyer.
Power and wealth, &c.
Wine ſets our joys a-flowing,
Our care and ſorrow drowning.
Who rails at the bowl,
Is a Turkin’s ſoul,
And a Chriſtian ne’er ſhould own him.
Power and wealth, &c.
Fº: your glaſſes, baniſh grief,
Laugh, and wordly care deſpiſe;
Sorrow ne'er will bring relief;
joy from drinking will ariſe.
Why ſhould we, with wrinkled care,
Change what nature made ſo fair
Drink, and ſet the heart at reſt;
Of a bad market make the beſt. !
Buſy brains we know, alas !
With imaginations run ;
Like the ſand i'th' hour-glaſs,
Turn’d and turn'd, and ſtill run on,
Never knowing where to ſtay,
But uneaſy every way.
Drink, and ſet the heart at reſt;
Peace of mind is always beſt.
Some purſue the winged wealth,
Some to honours high aſpire:
Give me freedom, give me health;
There's the ſum of my deſire.
What the world can more preſent,
Will not add to my content.
Drink,


( 25 )
Drink, and ſet your hearts at reſt;
Of a bad market make the beſt.
ſhCNTENTED I am, and contented I'll be;
For what can this world more afford,
Than alaſs who will ſociably fit on my knee,
And a cellar with liquor well ſtor'd,
My brave boys,
And a cellar with liquor well ſtor'd
My vault-door is open—deſcend and improve:
That caſk, fir, aye, that we will try;
*Tis as rich to the taſte as the lips of your love,
And as bright as her cheeks to the eye.
In a piece of ſlit hoop, ſee my candle is ſtuck;
*Twill light us the bottle to hand.
The foot of my glaſs for the purpoſe I broke,
For I hate that a bumper ſhould ſtand.
Sound theſe pipes, they're in tune; ſearch the bins,
they’re well fill'd ;
View that heap of old hock in the rear.
Yon bottles are Burgundy; mark how they're
pil’d,
Like artillery, tier over tier.
My cellar's my camp; my ſoldiers my flaſks,
All gloriouſly rang'd in review :
When I caſt my eyes round, I confider my caſks
As kingdoms I've yet to ſubdue.
Like Macedon’s madman, my glaſs I’ll enjoy,
Defying hyp, gravel, or gout.
He cry'd, when he had no more worlds to deſtroy:
I’ll weep when my liquor is out.
D 'Tis


( 27 )
From e'er being cheated by female decoys,
From hum'ring old men, and from reas'ning wºh
boys,
O Bacchus, &c.
From thoſe little troubleſome inſe&ts and flies, "
That think themſelves pretty, or witty, or wiſe,—
From carrying a quartan, for mortification,
As long as a Ratiſbon conſultation,--
O Bacchus, great Bacchus, for ever defend us;
And plentiful ſtore of good Burgundy ſend us!
…
IN Charles the Second's merry days,
For wanton frolics noted,
A lover of cabals I was,
With wine like Bacchus bloated.
I preach’d unto my crowded pews,
Wine was by God’s command, fir;
And damn’d was he who did refuſe
To drink while he could ſtand, fir.
And this is law I will maintain
Unto my dying day, fir:-
That, whatſoever king ſhall reign,
I’ll drink a gallon a day, fir.
When James the ſot aſſum'd the throne,
He ſtrove to ſtand alone, fir;
But quickly got ſo drunk, that down
He tumbled from the throne, ſir.
One morning,-crop-fick, pale, and queer,
By fitting up with gay men,
He reel'd to Rome, where prieſts ſevere
Deny the cup to laymen.
And this is law, &c.
Then Will, the tippling Dutchman ſav'd
Our liberties from ſinking ;
D 2 We


( 28 )
.
We crown'd him king of cups, and crav’d
The privilege of thinking.
He drank your Holland's gin, 'tis ſaid,
And held predeſtination :
Fool! not to to know the tippling trade
Admits no trepidation.
And this is law, &c.
When brandy-Nan became our queen,
'Twas all a drunken ſtory;
I ſat and drank from morn till e'en,
And ſo was thought a Tory.
Brim full of wine, all ſober folks
We damn'd, and moderation ;
And for right Nantz, we pawn'd to France
Our deareſt reputation.
And this is law, I will maintain,
... For ever and for aye, fir:
That, whether king or queen ſhall reign,
I’ll drink a gallon a day, fir.
King George the Firſt then fill'd the throne,
And took the reſolution
To drink all ſorts of liquors known,
To ſave the Conſtitution.
He drank ſucceſs in rare old rum,
Unto the State and Church, ſir,
Till with a doſe of Brunſwick mum,
He dropp'd from off the perch, fir.
And this is law, &c.
King George the Second then aroſe,
A wiſe and valiant ſoul, fir:
He lov’d his people, beat his foes,
And puſh’d about the bowl, ſir.
He drank his fill to Chatham Will,
To heroes, for he choſe 'em ;
With us true Whigs he drank until
He ſlept in Abra'm’s boſom.
And this is law, &c.


( 29 )
His preſent Majeſty then came,
Whom heaven long preſerve, firl
He glory’d in a Briton’s name, *
And ſwore he’d never ſwerve, fir.
Though evil counſellors may think
His love from us to ſever,
Yet let us loyal Britons drink—
King George the Third for ever ! .
And this is law I will maintain, * *
For ever and for aye, ſir : —
That, whatſoever king ſhall reign,
I'll drink both night and day, ſir.
Twº gods of great honour, Bacchus and Apollo,
One famous in muſic, the other in wine,
In heaven were raving, diſputing, and braving,
Whoſe theme was the nobleſt, and trade moſt di-
Wine. -
Your muſic, ſays Bacchus, would ſtun us, and rack us,
Did claret not ſoften the diſcord you make,
Songs are not inviting, nor verſes delighting,
Till poets of my great influence partake.
I'm young, plump, and jolly, free from melan-
choly ;
Who ever grew fat by the ſound of a ſtring :
Rogues doom'd to a gibbet, do often contribute
To purchaſe a bottle before they dare ſwing.
In love I am noted, by old and young courted :
A girl, when inſpir’d by me, is ſoon won.
So great are the motions of one of my potions,
The Muſes, though maids, I could whore ev'ry
one,
When mortals are fretted, perplex’d, or indebted,
To me, as a father, for ſuccour they cry :
D 3 In


( 3o )
In their ſad conditions, I hear their petitions ;
A bottle revives the oppreſs'd votary.
Then leave off your tooting, your fiddling and flu-
tlng 3
Afide throw your harp, and now bow to a fluſk.
My joys they are riper than ſongs from a piper :
What muſic is ſweeter than ſounding a caſk *
Says Phoebus—This fellow is drunk, ſure, or mel-
low, -
To prize muſic leſs than wine and Oétober;
When thoſe who love drinking are paſt thoughts of
thinking,
And want ſo much wit as to keep themſelves ſo-
ber. -
As they were thus wrangling, a ſcolding, and jan-
gling, -
Came buxom bright Venus, to end the diſpute :
Says ſhe—Now to eaſe ye, Mars beſt of all pleas'd
Ine, -
When arm'd with a bottle, and charm'd with a
flute.
Your muſic has charm'd me, your wine has alarm'd
Ine,
When I have been coy, and been hard to be won.:
When both have been moving, I could not help
loving ;
And wine has completed what muſic begun.
The gods, ſtruck with wonder, vow’d both, by Jove's
thunder,
They’d mutually join in ſupplying love's flame,
Since each, in their function, mov’d on in conjunc-
tion,
To melt with ſoft pleaſures the amorous Dame.
RIADNE one morning to Theſeus was turning,
When, miſſing her man, to the beach down
ſhe flew.
Her


( 31 )
Her cries unavailing, ſhe ſaw, far off ſailing,
His ſhip, 'fore the wind, leſs'ning ſwift to her
view. "
She tore her fine hair, beat her breaſt in deſpair;
Spread her arms to the ſkies, and ſunk down in a
ſwoon ;
When Bacchus, 'midſt aether, begg'd leave of his fa-
ther
To comfort the Lady: Jove granted the boon.
Then, gently deſcending, her ſorrows befriending,
His thyrſus he ſtruck ’gainſt the big-belly’d
earth,
When o'er the ſmooth gravel, in murmuring tra-
vel, -
A ſpring of Champaign at her head bubbled
forth.
She, wak'd with the ſcent, gave her ſorrows freſh
vent;
Yet to drink ſhe determin'd, exhauſted by tears.
She taſtes the Champaign, licks her lips—taſtes
again
gain,
And feels herſelf ſuddenly freed from her fears.
As ſtill ſhe kept fipping, her heart lightly leaping,
She look’d upon Theſ, as a pitiful elf.
Wine turn'd her to finging, in hopes it would bring in
A lover—’twas lonely to drink by herſelf.
The god, her adorer, confeſs'd ſtood before her; -
She hail'd the celeſtial, ſhe welcom'd the gueſt:
Champaign ſtopp'd refiſtance, ſhe kept not her diſ-
tance,
But jollily claſp'd the young buck to her breaſt.
Each girl, given over, betray’d by her lover,
To harts-horn, or ſalts, or ſalt-water, may fly ;
But we’ve an elixir will properly fix her,
If properly ſhe'll the preſcription apply. Th
hº


( 3.2 )
The recipe's wholeſome, ’tis beauty's beſt balſam ;
For which we refuſe, though, to pocket a fºe.
As gratis we give it, girls grateful receive it—
So here's to the pračtice of love's beaume de vie.
Bº: one day gaily ſtriding
On his never-failing ton,
Sneaking empty pots deriding,
Thus addreſs'd each toping ſon:—
Praiſe the joys that never vary,
And adore the liquid ſhrine ;
All things noble, gay, and airy,
Are perform'd by generous wine.
Ancient heroes, crown'd with glory,
Owe their noble riſe to me;
Poets wrote the flaming ſtory,
Fir’d by my divinity.
If my influence is wanting,
Mufic’s charms but ſlowly move ;
Beauty, too, in vain lies panting,
Till I fill the ſwains with love.
If you crave a laſting pleaſure,
Mortals, this way bend your eyes;
From my ever-flowing treaſure,
Charming ſcenes of bliſs ariſe.
Here's the foothing balmy bleſſing,
Sole diſpeller of your pain ;
Gloomy ſouls from care releaſing.
He, who drinks not, lives in vain :
WHEN once the gods, like us below,
To keep it up deſign,
Their goblets with freſh nectar flow,
Which makes them more divine.
Since


( 33 )
Since drinking deifies the ſoul,
Let’s puſh about the flowing bowl.
Since drinking, &c.
The glitt’ring ſtar, and ribband blue,
That deck the courtier’s breaſt,
May hide a heart of blackeſt hue,
Though by a king careſs'd.
Let him in pride and ſplendour roll -
We're happier o'er a flowing bowl.
A flowing bowl, &c.
For liberty let patriots rave,
And damn the courtly crew,
Becauſe, like them, they want to have
The loaves and fiſhes too.
I care not who divides the cohe,
So I can ſhare a flowing bowl.
A flowing bowl, &c.
Let Mansfield Lord-Chief-Juſtice be,
Sir Fletcher Speaker ſtill;
At home let Sandwich rule the ſea,
And North the Treaſury fill.
No place I want throughout the whole,
But one that's near a flowing bowl.
A flowing bowl, &c.
The ſon wants Square-toes at old Nick,
And Miſs is mad to wed;
The doćtor wants us to be fick;
The undertaker, dead.
All have their wants from pole to pole:
I want an ever-flowing bowl.
A flowing bowl, &c.
L*. ſoldiers fight for pay and praiſe,
And money be the miſer's wiſh ;
Poor


( 35 )
And drown all grim care and pale ſorrow.
Let us huſband to-day;
For time flies ſwift away,
And no one’s aſſur’d of to-morrow.
Of all the grave ſages
That grac'd the paſt ages,
Dad Noah the moſt did excel:
He firſt planted the vine,
Firſt tailed the wine,
And got nobly drunk, as they tell.
Say, why ſhould not we
Get as boſky as he, -
Since here's liquor as well will inſpire *
Thus I fill up my glaſs ;
I’ll ſee that it paſs
To the manes of that good old Sire.
Goº. long from being broke
The * luck of Eden-hall :
A doleful drinking-bout I ſing,
There lately did befall.
To chaſe the ſpleen with cup and can,
Duke Philip took his way ;
Babes yet unborn ſhall never ſee
The like of ſuch a day.
The ſtout and ever-thirſty Duke
A vow to God did make,
His pleaſure within Cumberland
Three live-long nights to take.
Sir Muſgrave, too, of Martindale,
A brave and worthy knight, -
Eftſoon
• Apint bumper at Sir Chriſtopher Muſgrave's.


( 36 )
Effoon with him a bargain made.
in drinking to delight.
The bumpers ſwiftly paſs about,
six in a hand went round;
And, with their calling for more wine,
They made the hall reſound.
Now, when theſe merry tidings reach”
The Earl of Harold's ears,
Andam I (quoth he with an oath)
Thus flighted by my peers?
Saddle my ſteed, bring forth my boots,
"I'll be with them right quick;
And, maſter ſheriff, come you too :
we’ll know this ſcurvy trick-
Lo, yonder doth Earl Harold come,
One did at table ſay.
'Tis well, reply'd the mettled Duke ;
How will he get away 2
when thus the Earl began : Great Duke,
I’ll know how this did chance,
without inviting me ; ſure.this
You did not learn in France *
One of us two, for this offence,
Under the board ſhall lie.
I know thee well; a Duke thou art;
So ſome years hence ſhall I.
But truſt me, Wharton, pity’twere
So much good wine to ſpill,
As theſe companions here may drink
Ere they have had their fill.
Let


( 37 )
Let thou and I, in bumpers full,
This grand affair decide.
Accurs’d be he, Duke Wharton ſaid,
By whom it is deny'd.
To Andrews, and to Hotham fair,
Many a pint went round ;
And many a gallant gentleman
Lay fick upon the ground.
When, at the laſt, the Duke eſpy’d
He had the Earl ſecure,
He ply'd him with a full pint glaſs,
And laid him on the floor :
Who never ſpoke more words than theſe,
After he downwards ſunk :—
My, worthy friends, revenge my fall;
Duke Wharton ſees me drunk.
Then, with a groan, Duke Philip took
The ſick man by the joint ;
And ſaid–Earl Harold, 'ſtead of thee,
Would I had drunk this pint.
Alack my very heart doth bleed,
And doth within me ſink ;
For ſurely a more ſober Earl
Did never ſwallow drink.
With that, the ſheriff, in a rage,
To ſee the Earl ſo ſmit,
Wow'd to revenge the dead-drunk Peer
Upon renown’d Sir Kit.
Then ſtepp'd a gallant’Squire forth,
Of viſage thin and pale !
Lloyd was his name, and of Gang-hall,
Faſt by the River Twale :
R Wh9


38 )
Who ſaid he would not have it told,
Where Eden river ran,
That unconcern'd he ſhould ſit by :-
So, ſheriff, I'm your man.
Now, when theſe tidings reach'd the room
Where the Duke lay in bed,
How that the ’Squire ſo ſuddenly
Upon the floor was laid:—
Oh I heavy tidings, quoth the Duke ;
Cumberland witneſs be,
I have not any captain more
Of ſuch account as he.
Like tidings to Earl Thanet came,
Within as ſhort a ſpace,
How that the under-ſheriff too
Was fallen from his place.
Now God be with him, ſaid the Earl,
Sith 'twill no better be ;
I truſt I have within my town
As drunken knights as he.
Of all the number that were there,
Sir Bains he ſcorn'd to yield ;
But, with a bumper in his hand,
He ſtagger'd o'er the field.
Thus did the dire contention end;
And each man of the ſlain
Was quickly carried off to bed,
His ſenſes to regain.
God bleſs the King, the Ducheſs fat,
And keep the land in peace;
And grant that drunkenneſs henceforth,
*Mongſt noblemen may ceaſe 1
And


|
( 39 )
And likewiſe bleſs our royal Prince,
Cºur kingdom's other hope;
And grant us grace for to defy
The Devil and the Pope 1
ERE is an old ſong, made by an old ancient
pate,
Of an old worſhipful gentleman who had a great
eſtate ;
Who kept an old houſe at a bountiful rate,
And an old porter to relieve the poor at his gate,
• Like an old courtier of the queen's, and the queen's
old courtier.
With an old lady, whoſe anger good words aſſuages,
Who ev’ry quarter pays her old ſervants their wages,
Who never knew what belongs to coachmen, foot-
men, and pages ;
But kept twenty or thirty old fellows with blue
clothes and badges :
Like an old courtier, &c.
With a ſtudy fill’d full of learned old books;
With an old rev'rend parſon—you may judge him
by his looks; -
With an old buttery-hatch, worn quite off the old
hooks ;
And an old kitchen, which maintains half-a-dozen
old cooks :
Like an old courtier, &c.
With an old hall, hung round about with guns, pikes,
and bows ;
With old ſwords and bucklers, which have borne
many ſhrewd blows ;
- E 2 And


( 4o )
And an old fryſadoe coat, to cover his worſhip’s
trunk hoſe ;
And a cup of old ſherry, to comfort his copper noſe :
Like an old courtier, &c.
With an old faſhion, when Chriſtmas is come,
To call in his neighbours, with bag-pipe and drum ;
And good cheer enough to furniſh every old room ;
And old liquor, able to make a cat ſpeak, and a wiſe
man dumb :
Like an old courtier, &c.
With an old huntſman, a falconer, and a kennel of
hounds,
Which never hunted, nor hawk'd, but in his owfl
grounds ;
Who, like an old wiſe man, kept himſelf within his
own bounds;
And, when he died, gave ev'ry child a thouſand old
. pounds:
Like an old courtier, &c.
But to his eldeſt ſon his houſe and land he aſſign'd,
Charging him, in his will, to keep the ſame bounti-
ful mind;
To be good to his ſervants, and to his neighbours
ind.
But, in the enſuing ditty, you ſhall hear how he was
inclin’d,
Like a young courtier of the king's, &c.
Like a young gallant newly come to his land,
That keeps a brace of creatures at's own command,
And takes up a thouſand pound upon 's own bond,
And lieth drunk in a new tavern till he can neither
go nor ſtand :
Like a young courtier, &c.
With


( 41 )
With a neat lady that is freſh and fair,
Who never knew what belong'd to good houſe-keep.
1ng or care ;
But buys ſeveral fans, to play with the wanton air,
And ſeventeen or eighteen dreſſings of other women's
hair :
Like a young courtier, &c.
With a new hall built where the old one ſtood,
Wherein is burned neither coal nor wood ;
And a new ſhuffle-board table where never meat
ſtood,
Hung round with pićtures which do the poor little
good:
• Like a young courtier, &c.
With a new ſtudy ſtuff'd full of pamphlets and plays;
With a new chaplain that ſwears faſter than he prays;
With a new buttery-hatch that opens once in four or
five days;
With a French, cock, French footman, and other
new Frenchified ways:
Like a young courtier, &c.
With a new faſhion, when Chriſtmas is come ;
With a journey up to London—we muſt be gone,
And leave no body at home but our new porter
- John,
Who relieves the poor with a thump on the back
with a ſtone :
Like a young courtier, &c.
With a gentleman-uſher, whoſe carriage is com-
plete ;
With a footman, a coachman, a page to carry meat;
With a waiting-gentlewoman whoſe dreſſing is very
In eat,
Who, when the maſter has dim’d, gives the ſervants.
little meat :
Like a young courtier, &c.
E 3 With


( 43 )
To ſhow his Whig devotion,
In keeping the ſabbath-day,
He the murder at Ramilly began
Upon a Whitſunday.
Oh, heatheniſh John, Duke of Marlborough 1
Though buſy in his ſlaughtering,
His avarice ran ſo high,
That, rather than ſpare the Moſt Chriſtian
King,
He ten thouſand pounds gave to a ſpy.
Oh, covetous John, Duke of Marlborough 1
At Audenard, ſo ill to treat foes,
And make widows of wives |
He took a delight to beat even thoſe
That never beat him in their lives.
Oh, cowardly John, Duke of Marlborough 1
Villars, that civil and good man,
Safe in his trenches cloſe,
From Mons he made run like a footman,
Though bulwark’d as high as his noſe.
Uncivil John, Duke of Marlborough 1
To ev'ry tender Chriſtian ear
When crimes like theſe ſhall come,
I know not how they abroad may appear;
I’m ſure they ſound oddly at home,
Theſe deeds of John, Duke of Marlborough.
Some facts, to make the French undone,
I’ve prov’d upon him well;
And truly what 'tis he has not done;
Impoſſible 'tis to tell,
Of this John, Duke of Marlborough.
To prove all theſe things are ſo,
And not what folks deviſe,
Was


( 44 )
Was he ever the man that once ſpar'd the foe,
Or ever affronted th’ allies ;
This ſame John, Duke of Marlborough
Ghent, Bruges, and Tournay too,
And late the ſtrong Bouchain,
Of his own head he forc’d to obey too,
Though wanting his brother Eugene.
Hot-headed John, Duke of Marlborough
Of theſe immortal things he brags,
'Cauſe we took no notice at all ;
You ſee, with his pitiful French bloody rags,
How he has litter'd poor Weſtminſter-Hall.
Oh! ſlovenly John, Duke of Marlborough 1
Nay, more he ſtill would fly at,
And all to mend the peace;
Lord! how can we ever be quiet,
If we pardon ſuch crimes as theſe, .
In any but John, Duke of Marlborough *
Twelve years, it ſadly true is,
By taking of towns and lines,
And baffling the poor King Lewis,
He has ſpoil'd the Pretender's deſigns.
Oh! meddleſome John, Duke of Marlborough
Succeſs ſtill made him bolder;
And, by the Monſieur's fall,
He has paſs'd on this iſle for a ſoldier:
But, it ſeems, he knows nothing at all.
Earl P-t ſays ſo of Marlborough,
This year for war he voted ;
But we reſolv’d on none,
For Monſieur was ſure to be routed;
And then high-church had been undone
By Engliſh John, Duke of Marlborough.
Yola


( 46 )
Since gods the Dean had three, fir,
And more by two than he, fir,
For he had got but one.
Now, whilſt theſe two were raging,
And in diſpute engaging,
The maſter of the charter
Said both had caught a Tartar;
For gods, fir, there were none.
That all the books of Moſes
Were nothing but ſuppoſes;
That he deſerv’d rebuke, ſir,
He wrote the Pentateuch, ſir;
'Twas nothing but a ſham :
That, as for father Adam,
And Mrs. Eve, his madam,
And what the ſerpent ſpoke, fir.
'Twas nothing but a joke, fir.
And well-invented flam.
Thus, in this battle-royal,
As none would take denial,
The Dame for whom they ſtrove, fir,
Could neither of them love, fir,
Since all had giv'n offence :
She, therefore, flily waiting,
Left all three fools a prating ;
And being in a fright, fir,
Religion took her flight, fir,
And ne'er was heard cf ſince.
HERE was once, it was ſaid, when is out of my
hcad, -
And where too; yet true is my tale,
That a round-belly’d vicar, bepimpled with liquor,
Could ſlick to no text like good ale.
Tol de rol. de rol lol lol lol lol.
He


( 48 )
Moſes begg’d he’d be gone, ſaying, Sir, the rain's
done ;
Pleaſe to riſe, and I’ll lend you my hand.—
Oh! 'tis hard, quoth the vicar, to leave thus my li-
quor,
And go, when I'm ſure I can’t ſtand.
Then the parſon ſore troubled, to the church-yard he
hobbled,
Lamenting the length of the way;
For Moſes, quoth he, were I a biſhop, d'ye ſee,
I neither need walk, preach, nor pray.
When he came to the grave, ſays he—Moſes, a ſtave.
Lord ' where's my tobacco-box hid
I declare this faſt walking prevents me from talk-
1ng ;
So, Moſes, pray give me a quid.
Then he open'd the book, and in’t ſeem'd to look ;
But o'er the page only he ſquinted:—
Says he, Moſes, I’m vex'd, for I can’t find the
text,
The book is ſo damnably printed.
Good people, let's pray. Life's, alas! but a day;
Nay, ſometimes 'tis over at noon;
Man is but a flower, cut down in an hour:
'Tis ſtrong ale, Moſy, does it ſo ſoon.
Woman of a man born—no, that's wrong, the leaf's
torn :
Upon woman the natural ſwell is;
The wºuld grow wild, were men got with
Callo! -
Moſes, you and I might have big bellies 1
Neigh-


( 51 )
Th’ illuſtrious Houſe of Hanover
And Proteſtant ſucceſſion,
To theſe I do allegiance ſwear,
While they can keep poſſeſſion ;
For, by my faith and loyalty,
I never more will faulter;
But George my lawful king ſhall be,
Until the times ſhall alter.
And this is law, I will maintain,
Until my dying day, fir:
That, whatſoever king ſhall reign,
I will be Vicar of Bray, fir.
WHEN Orpheus went down to the regions be.
- low,
Which men are forbidden to ſee,
He tun’d up his lyre, as old hiſtories ſhow,
To ſet his Eurydice free.
All hell was aſtoniſh’d a perſon ſo wiſe
Should raſhly endanger his life,
And venture ſo far; but how vaſt their ſurpriſe,
When they heard that he came for his wife l
To find out a puniſhment due to the fault,
Old Pluto long puzzled his brain;
But hell had not torments ſufficient, he thought;
So he gave him his wife back again.
But pity, ſucceeding, ſoon vanquiſh’d his heart;
And, pleas'd with his playing ſo well,
He took her again in reward of his art,
Such power has muſic in hell.
AM, (cry’d Apollo, when Daphne he woo'd,
Anº yºung for breath, the coy virgin pur-
u’d :
When his wiſdom, in manner moſt ample, expreſs'd
The long liſt of the graces his godſhip poſſeſs'd)
F 2 I’m


( 52 )
I'm the god of ſweet ſong, and inſpirer of lays.—
Nor for lays nor ſweet ſong the fair fugitive ſtays.—
I’m the god of the harp ; ſtop, my faireſt !—In vain :
Nor the harp nor the harper could fetch her again.
Ev'ry plant, ev'ry flow'r, and their virtues, I
know ;
God of light I’m above, and of phyſic below:
At the dreadful word phyſic the nymph fled more
faſt ;
At the fatal word phyſic ſhe doubled her haſte.
Thou fond god of wiſdom, then alter thy phraſe ;
Bid her view thy young bloom, and thy raviſhing
rays ;
Tell her leſs of thy knowledge, and more of thy
charms, -
And, my life for’t, the damſel ſhall fly to thy arms.
HENCE comes it, neighbour Dick,
That you, with youth uncommon,
Have ſerv'd the girls this trick,
And wedded an old woman *
Happy Dick |
Each belle condemns the choice
Of a youth ſo gay and ſprightly ;
But we, your friends, rejoice,
That you have judg’d ſo rightly:
Happy Dick |
Though odd to ſome it ſounds,
That on threeſcore you ventur'd,
Yet in ten thouſand pounds
Ten thouſand charms are center'd :
Happy Dick
Beauty, we know, will fade,
As doth the ſhort-liv'd flower;
Nor


( 53 ) .
Nor can the faireſt maid
Inſure her bloom an hour :
Happy Dick |
Then wiſely you reſign,
For fixty, charms ſo tranſient;
As the curious value coin
The more for being ancient:
Happy Dick |
With joy your ſpouſe ſhall ſee
The fading beauties round her,
And ſhe herſelf ſtill be
The ſame that firſt you found her:
Happy Dick
Oft is the married ſtate
With jealouſies attended;
And hence, through foul debate,
Are nuptial joys ſuſpended:
Happy Dick
But you, with ſuch a wife,
No jealous fears are under *
She’s yours alone for life,
Or much we all ſhall wonder:
Happy Dick |
Her death would grieve you ſore;
But let not that torment you.
My life ſhe’ll ſee fourſcore,
If that will but content you:
Happy Dick |
On this you may rely,
For the pains you took to win her,
She’ll ne'er in child-bed die,
Unleſs the devil’s in her:
Happy Dick :
Some have the name of hell
To matrimony given;
F 3 How


( 54 )
How falſely you can tell,
Who find it ſuch a heaven :
Happy Dick :
With you, each day and night
Is crown'd with joy and gladneſs;
While envious virgins bite
The hated ſheets for madneſs :
Happy dick |
With ſpouſe long ſhare the bliſs
Y’had miſs'd in any cther;
And when you’ve bury'd this,
May you have ſuch another:
Happy Dick
Obſerving hence, by you,
In marriage ſuch decorum,
Our wiſer youth ſhall do
As you have done before 'em :
Happy Dick
ELCOME, welcome, brother debtor,
To this poor but merry place,
Where no bailiff, dun, or ſetter,
Dare to ſhew his frightful face.
But, kind fir, as you’re a ſtranger,
Down your garniſh you muſt lay,
Or your coat will be in danger;
You muſt either ſtrip or pay.
Ne'er repine at your confinement
From your children or your wife :
Wiſdom lies in true refinement,
Through the various ſcenes of life.
Scorn to ſhew the leaſt reſentment,
Though beneath the frowns of fate:
Knaves and beggars find contentment,
Fears and cares attend the great.
Though


( 55 )
Though our creditors are ſpiteful,
And reſtrain our bodies here,
Uſe will make a jail delightful,
Since there's nothing elſe to fear.
Every iſland's but a priſon,
Strongly guarded by the ſea :
Kings and princes, for that reaſon,
Pris’ners are as well as we.
What was it made great Alexander
Weep at his unfriendly fate
*Twas becauſe he could not wander
Beyond the world's ſtrong priſon gate.
The world itſelf is ſtrongly bounded
By the heav'ns and ſtars above:
Why ſhould we then be confounded,
Since there’s nothing free but love
EAR Chloe, while thus, beyond meaſure,
You treat me with doubts and diſdain,
You rob all your youth of its pleaſure,
And hoard up an old-age of pain.
Your maxim, that love is ſtill founded
On charms that will quickly decay,
You'll find to be very ill grounded,
When once you its dićtates obey.
The love that from beauty is drawn,
By kindneſs you ought to improve:
Soft looks and gay ſmiles are the dawn,
Fruition’s the ſun-ſhine of love :
And, though the bright beams of your eyes
Sould be clouded, that now are ſo gay,
And darkneſs obſcure all the ſkies,
You ne'er can forget it was day.
Old


( 56 )
Old Darby with Joan by his fide,
You’ve often regarded with wonder :
He's dropſical, ſhe is dim-ey'd,
Yet they’re ever uneaſy aſunder;
Together they totter about,
Or fit in the ſun at the door;
And, at night, when old Darby's pipe's out,
His Joan will not ſmoke a whiff more.
No beauty nor wit they poſſeſs,
Their ſeveral failings to ſmother;
Then what are the charms, can you gueſs,
That make them ſo fond of each other ?
'Tis the pleaſing remembrance of youth,
The endearments which youth did beſtow ;
The thoughts of paſt pleaſure and truth,
The beſt of our bleſſings below.
Thoſe traces for ever will laſt,
No ſickneſs or time can remove :
For, when youth and beauty are paſt,
And age brings the winter of love,
A friendſhip inſenſibly grows,
By reviews of ſuch raptures as theſe ;
The current of fondneſs ſtill flows,
Which decrepit old-age cannot freeze.
OME ſay women are like the ſeas;
Some the waves, and ſome the rocks;
Some the roſe that ſoon decays ;
Some the weather, ſome the cocks:
But, if you’ll give me leave for to tell,
There’s nothing can be compar’d ſo well
As wine, ...; women and wine; they run in a pa-
rallel.
Women are witches when they will,
So is wine, ſo is wine;
They


( 57 )
They make the ſtateſman loſe his ſkill,
The ſoldier, lawyer, and divine ;
They put a jig in the graveſt ſkull,
And ſend their wits to gather wool.
'Tis wine, wine, women and wine, they run in a pa-
rallel.
What is't that makes your viſage ſo pale *
What is't makes your looks divine *
What is't that makes your courage to fail
Is it not woman Is it not wine
*Tis wine that will make you fick when you're
well ;
*Tis woman that makes your forehead to ſwell;
'Tis wine, wine, women and wine, they run in a pa-
rallel.
Why ſo pale and wan, fond lover ?
Prithee, prithee, why ſo pale *
Will, when looking well can’t move her,
Looking ill, looking ill prevail?
Why ſo dull and mute, young finner *
Prithee, prithee, why ſo mute
Will, when ſpeaking well can’t move her,
Will thy ſaying nothing do’t
Quit, quit, for ſhame ! this will not move;
This cannot, cannot, cannot, cannot take her.
If of ºf ſhe will not love, nought can make
er ;
Let the devil take her, let the devil, let the devil’s
devil take her.
H! what had I a-do for to marry
My wife ſhe drinks naithing but ſack and Ca-
nary.
I to


( 58 )
I to her friends complain’d right airly.
Oh! gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly, hoofy
and fairly;
Oh! gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly.
Firſt ſhe drunk crummie, and ſyne ſhe drunk garie,
Now ſhe has drunken my bonny gray marie,
That carried me ay through the dub and the larie.
Oh! gin my wife, &c.
If ſhe'd drink but her ain things, I wad na much
care :
She drinks my claiths I canna well ſpare.
To th' kirk and the market Iſe gang fu' barely.
Oh! gin my wife, &c.
If there is ony filler, ſhe maun keep the purſe ;
If I ſeek but a baubie, ſhe’ll ſcold and ſhe’ll curſe;
She gangs like a queen, I ſcrimpet and ſparely.
Oh! gin my wife, &c.
I never was given to wrangling nor ſtrife,
Nore’er did refuſe her the comforts of life.
Ere it came to a war, I am ay for a parley.
Oh! gin my wife, &c.
A pint withe cummere I wad her allow :
But when ſhe fits down, ſhe fills herſel fow;
And when ſhe’s fow, ſhe is unco camſterie.
Oh! gin my wife, &c.
She rins out to the caſy, ſhe raves and ſhe rants,
Has na dread of neighbours, nor minds the houſe
wants.
Roars ſome fooliſh lilt out, Tak up thy heart, Char-
lie. -
Oh! gin my wife, &c.
Aad


( 59 )
And when ſhe comes haim, ſhe lays on the lads,
She ca’s the poor laſſes both limmers and jads,
And I my ain ſel a poor auld cuckold Carly.
Oh! gin my wife, &c.
HE bride came in from the barn,
And ſhe was dighting her cheeks:—
How can I be marry'd to-day,
That have neither blankets nor ſheets
I have neither blankets nor ſheets ;
I want a covering too :
The bride that has aw things to borrow,
Has e'en right muckle to do.—
Woo’d and marry’d and aw,
Marry’d and woo'd and aw;
And was not ſhe vary weel off,
That was woo'd and marry’d and aw
Then ſpake up the bride's mother;
The de'il ſtick a this pride,
I had not a plack in my pocket
The day I was made a bride.
My gown was linfie-winfie,
And never a ſark at a ;
And you have gowns and buſkins
More than ane or twa.
Woo'd and marry’d, &c.
Then ſpake the bride's father,
As he came in frae the plough:—
Ha’d your tongue, my daughter,
And ye’ſe get gear enough.
The ſtirk that gangs on the tether,
And our braw-baſſen’d yade,
To lead your corn in harveſt,
What wad ye hae mair, ye jade
Woo’d and marry’d, &c.
What


( 6o )
What is the matter quo' Donald :
Though we be ſcarce o' claiths,
We'll creep the cloſer together,
And fley away the flaes.
The ſummer is coming on,
And we’ll get puckles of woo,
We’ll fee alaſs of our ain,
And ſhe'll ſpin blankets enough.
Woo’d and marry’d, &c.
M% Jeany and I have toil'd
The live-long ſummer's day,
Till we were almoſt ſpoil’d,
At making of the hay.
Her kerchy was of Holland clear,
Ty’d on her bonny brow;
I whiſper’d ſomething in her ear,
But what is that to you ?
Her kerchy was, &c.
Her ſtockings were of kerſy green,
As tight as ony filk.
Oh! fic a leg was never ſeen;
Her ſkin was white as milk:
Her hair was black as ane could wiſh,
And ſweet, ſweet was her mou.
Oh! Jeany daintily can kiſs;
But what is that to you ?
The roſe and lily baith combine
To make my Jeany fair;
There is nae benniſon like mine,
I have amaiſt no care:
But, when another ſwain, my dear,
Shall ſay you’re fair to view,
Let Jeany whiſper in his ear,
Pray what is that to you ?
DE’IL


( 61 )
E’IL take the war, that hurry'd Willy from me,
Who to love me juſt had ſworn ;
They made him captain ſurely to undo me ;
Woe is me ! he’ll ne'er return.
A thouſand loons abroad will fight him;
He from thouſands ne'er will run ;
Day and night I did invite him
To ſtay ſafe from ſword or gun.
I us’d alluring graces,
With muckle kind embraces:
Now fighing, then crying, tears dropping fall;
And, had he my ſoft arms
Preferr'd to war’s alarms,
By love grown mad,
Without the man of Gad,
I fear in my fit I had granted all.
I waſh'd and patch'd, to make me look provoking,
Snares that they told me would catch the men ;
And on my head a huge commode ſat poking,
Which made me ſhew as tall again.
For a new gown too I paid muckle money,
Which with golden flow’rs did ſhine :
Well might my lover think me gay and bonny,
No Scotch laſs was e'er ſo fine.
My petticoat I ſpotted,
Fringe, too, with thread I knotted;
Lac’d ſhoes, and ſilken hoſe, too, garter'd over
knee :
But, oh, the fatal thought !
To Willy theſe were nought,
Who rode to towns,
And rifled with dragoons,
When he, filly loon might have plunder'd me.
V HEREVER I’m going, and all the day long,
At home and abroad, or alone in a throng, d
I fin


( 6.2 )
I find that my paſſion's ſo lively and ſtrong,
That your name, when I’m filent, ſtill runs in my
ſong.
Sing Balin a mone ora, Balin a mone ora,
Balin a mone 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 ſtomach that glows,
By St. Patrick, I fear it will burn through my
clothes.
Sing Balin a mone ora, &c.
Your pretty black hair for me.
In my conſcience I fear I ſhall die in my grave,
Unleſs you comply, and poor Phelim will ſave,
And grant the petition your lover does crave,
Who never was free till you made him your ſlave.
Sing Balin a mone ora, &c.
Your pretty black eyes for me.
On that happy day when I make you my bride,
With a ſwinging long ſword how I’ll ſtrut and I’ll
ſtride :
With coach and ſix horſes with honey I’ll ride,
As before you I walk to the church by your fide.
Sing Balin a mone ora, &c.
Your lily-white fiſt for me.
O% ! let no eyes be dry,
O hone ! O hone !
But let’s lament and cry,
O hone ! Oſhone !
‘We’re quite undone almoſt ;
For Daphne, on this coaſt,
Has yielded up the ghoſt,
O hone O hone !
Daphne,


( 63 ) º
Daphne, my deareſt bitch,
Who did all dogs bewitch,
Was by a careleſs maid,
Pox take her for a jade,
In the night overlaid.
Oh! may ſhe never more
Sleep quietly, but ſnore
May never Iriſh lad
Sue for her maidenhead,
Until it ſtinks, igad!
Oh! may ſhe never keep
Her water in her ſleep !
May never pence nor pounds
Come more within the bounds
Of her pocket, adſounds !
O hone ! O hone !
OH: my ſweet pretty Mog, you're as ſoft as a
bog,
And as wild as a kitten, as wild as a kitten ?
Thoſe eyes on your face (arrah ; pity my caſe)
Poor Dermot have ſmitten, poor Dermot have ſmit-
ten . º
Far ſofter than filk, and as fair as new milk,
Your lily-white hand is, your lily-white hand is
Your ſhape's like a pail, from your head to your
tail:
Oh you're ſtraight as a wand is, you're ſtraight
as a wand is
Your lips, red as cherries; and your curling hair
1s
As black as the devil, as black as the devil;
Your breath is as ſweet, too, as any potatoe,
Or orange from Seville, or orange from Seville !
G 2 • When


( 65 )
Varewell, Doll, Kate, Zis, and Zue,
Vor I ſhall never zee you more :
Vor theſe guns are zuch peſtilent things,
To pat a pellet in one's brow :
Vour vurlongs off, ch've heard zome zay,
Ch’ill kill a man, a knows not how.
HEARD much talk of Oxford town,
And fain l would go thither.
When ploughing and ſowing that was done,
It being gallant weather;
Father he did to't agree,
That Nell and I ſhould go:
But mother cry’d that we ſhould rider
So we had Dobbin too.
So I goes unto fiſter Nell,
And bids her make her ready ;-
And put on all her Zundy cloſe,
As fine as any lady:
'Tis a gallant day; the morning's grey, ,
And likely to be fair;
Therefore make haſte, and ſoon be lac'd,
And I'll go bait the mare.
So up upon the mare we got,
And away we rid together;
And every body as we met,
We aſk’d how fºr 'twas thither.,
Till at the laſt, when on the top
Of Chiſſeldºn hill we riſs,
I ſomewhat ºpy’d, like ſteeples; and cry'd,
Zooks, Néſ, look yonder ’tis. .
Sºbº, as nearer to't we came, . . .
*Ye Fee folks infant thick ;
G 3 I heard


( 66 )
I heard a little baſtard zay,
Look, here comes country Dick.
Another baſtard calf'd me Ralph ;
And, How is't, honeſt Joan
And Roger, too ; how's little Sue,
And all the folk at home 2
So we rode on, and nothing ſaid,
But looked for an alehouſe;
At laſt we zee a hugeous ſign,
As big as any gallows ;
It was two dogs: ſo in we rode,
And called for the hoſtler :
Out came a luſty fellow them,
I warrant he was a wroſtler.
Here take this horſe, and ſet’en up,
And ge'n a lock of hay ;
For we be come to zee the town,
And tarry here all day.
Yes, ſir, he ſaid, and call'd the maid,
That ſtood within the entry:
She had us into a room as clean
As though we’d both been gentry,
So we zet down, and bid 'em fetch
A flaggon of their beer:
But when it come, Nell ſhook her head,
And zed 'twas plaguy dear.
Says ſhe to me, lif long we ſtay,
*Twill make us go a begging;
For I am ſure it cannot be
So much as old Martin’s flaggon.
So we got up, and away we went
To zee the gallant town ;
And at the gate we met a man
With a pitiful ragged gown:
- For,


( 67 )
For, as for a ſleeve, I do believe
That they wur both tore off;
And, inſtead of a hat, he wore a cap,
'Twas a trencher cover'd w” cloth.
And, as we were going along the town,
I thote I had found a knife;
I ſtooped down to pick it up,
But was ne'er ſo ſham’d in my life.
For the underſide was all be—t
With an arrant Chriſtian's t—d :
The boys fell a hollowing, An April fool!
But I zed never a word.
As we went through a narrow lane,
One catch’d faſt hold of ſiſter;
He'd parſon’s cloſe, and he du’dn’t know us;
But fain he would ha’ kiſs'd her.
He was plaguy fine ; but, to my mind,
He look’d much like a wencher:
I up wi' my ſtick, and ge'en a lick,
I b'lieve I ſlit his trencher.
Then we went into a fine place ;
And there we went to church :
I kneeled down to ſay my pray’rs,
And du’dn’t think no hurt.
I’th' midſt o'th’ pray'rs, juſt up the ſtairs,
Was bagpipes to my thinking ;
And the folk below fell a finging too,
As though they’d been a drinking.
I du’dn’t like the doings there,
And zo I took my hat:
I du’dn’t think they would ha” done ſo
In zitch a place as that ;
But Nell was for ſtaying, till they’d quite done
playing,
Becauſe ſhe lik’d the tune ;
For


( 68 )
For ſhe was ſure ſhe ne'er did hear
Old Crundall play’t at home.
Then we went into a fine garden,
All up upon a hill:
And juſt below, a dial did grow,
Much like a waggon wheel;
But bigger by half, which made me laugh,
'Twas like a garden knot:
When the zun ſhone bright, it went as right
As our parſon's clock.
Then we went out o' that fine place,
And went into another, .
Which was vorty times as fine
As any of the other.
Bleſs me, our John, quite all along
There's books pil’d up like mows;
Faith, Nell, I wiſh that mother was here,
If 'twas not for the cows.
And in the middle ſtood two things
As round as any ball ;
They told us 'twas the pićture of
The world, the zea, and all :
And thoſe that knew how to turn 'em right,
And how to turn 'em round,
Could tell us what it was a clock
In the world under ground.
And many more things they could tell,
That was almoſt as ſtrainge;
As when the ſun ſhould ſet and riſe, .
And when the moon ſhould change.
I du’dn’t care to ſtand ſo near,
When all theſe things I heard ;
For I thote in my heart it was the black art,
And I was a little afeard.
The


( 69 )
The ſun being low, then we begun
To think of going home ;
But one thing more we zaw before
We got quite out of town:
We went apace; for, being in haſte, -
For fear of being benighted,
Two hugeous men ſtood ſtrutting within,
And Nell and I was frighted.
Nell had a colour as red as a roſe,
And darſt not go no furder.
They had bloody weapons in their hands,
Stood ready there for murder.
So we went back, and took our mare,
And away come trotting home,
Wi’ ſtories enough to tell father and mother,
And little ſiſter Joan.
UMBARTON's drums beat bonny-o,
When they mind me of my dear Jonny-o;
How happy am I
When my ſoldier is by,
When he kiſſes and bleſſes his Annie-ol
'Tis a ſoldier alone can delight me-o ;
For his graceful looks do invite me-of
While guarded in his arms,
I’ll fear no war's alarms;
Neither danger nor death ſhall e'er fright me-o.
My love is a handſome laddie-o,
Genteel, but ne'er foppiſh nor gaudy-o.
Though commiſſions are dear,
Yet I’ll buy him one this year:
For he ſhall ſerve no longer a cadie-o.
A ſoldier has honour and bravery-o;
Unacquainted with rogues and their knavery-o,
He minds no other thing,
But


( 7o )
But the ladies or the king ;
For every other care is but ſlavery-o.
Then I'll be the captain's lady-o:
Farewell to my friends and my daddy-o.
I’ll wait no more at home,
But I’ll follow with the drum ;
And when e'er that beats, I’ll be ready-o.
Dumbarton's drums ſound bonny-o,
They are ſprightly like my dear Jonny-o.
How happy ſhall I be,
When on my ſoldier's knee,
And he kiſſes and bleſſes his Annie-O !
Alºnd, up aloft; ſwab the couch fore and
aft ;
For the punch-clubbers ſtrait will be fitting.
For fear the ſhip roll, ſling off a full bowl;
For our honour let all things be fitting. -
In an ocean of punch we to-night will all ſail; *
I’th’ bowl we're in ſea-room enough, we ne'er fear.
Here’s to thee, meſſmate.
Thanks, honeſt Tom. 'Tis a health to the King.
Whilſt the larboard-man drinks, let the ſtarboard-
man fing.
With full double cups,
We’ll liquor our chaps,
And then we’ll turn out,
With a who up ! who who
But let's drink ere we go,
But let's drink ere we go.
The wind's veering aft, then looſe ev'ry ſail;
She’ll bear all her top-ſails a-trip.
Heave the log from the poop ; it blows a freſh gale;
And a juſt account on the board keep. h
She


( 72 )
-"
See the crew in flannel jerkins,
Drinking, toping flip 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 !
Ruſtle, buſtle, buſtle, my boy ;-
Let us ſtir, let us toil;
But let’s drink all the while ;
For labour's the price of our joy.
Life is checquer’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 their notes
Through their ruſty throats,
On the deck is heard no other ſound, &c. &c.
Life is checquer’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,
Let them loſe or win,
On the deck is heard no other found, &c. &c.
OME, buſtle, buſtle, drink about,
And let us merry be ;
Our can is full, we’ll ſee it out,
And then all hands to ſea.
And a ſailing we will go, will go,
And a ſailing we will go.
-
Fine


( 73 )
:
Fine Miſs at dancing-ſchool is taught
The minuet to tread :
But we go better, when we’ve brought
The fore-tack to cat-head.
And a ſailing, &c.
The jockey’s call'd to horſe, to horſe,
And ſwiftly rides the race:
But ſwifter far we ſhape our courſe,
When we are giving chace.
And a ſailing, &c.
When horns and ſhouts the foreſt rend,
The pack the huntſmen cheer:
As loud we halloo, when we ſend
A broadſide to Monſieur.
And a ſailing, &c.
The what's-their-names at uproars ſquall,
With muſic fine and ſoft:
But better ſounds our boatſwain's call,—
2. All hands, all hands aloft .
And a ſailing, &c.
With gold and filver ſtreamers fine,
The ladies rigging ſhow:
But Engliſh ſhips more grandly ſhine,
- When prizes home we tow.
And a ſailing, &c.
What's got at ſea we ſpend on ſhore,
With ſweethearts and with wives;
And then, my boys, hoiſt ſail for more:-
Thus ſailors paſs their lives.
And a ſailing, &c. -
H THURSDAY


( 74 )
HURSDAY in the morn, the nineteenth of
May,
(Recorded be for ever the famous ninety-two)
Brave Ruſſel did diſcern, by break of day,
The lofty ſails of France advancing to.
All hands aloft, they cry; let Engliſh courage ſhine;
Let fly a culverine, a ſignal for the line;
Let ev'ry man ſupply his gun.
Follow me, you ſhall ſee
That the battle it will ſoon be won.
Tourville on the main triumphant roll’d,
To meet the gallant Ruſſel in combat o'er the
deep :
He led a noble train of heroes bold, -
To fink the Engliſh Admiral and his fleet.
Now ev'ry gallant mind to victory does aſpire;
The bloody fight’s begun, the ſea is all on fire :
And mighty Fate ſtood looking on,
Whilſt a flood, all of blood,
Fill'd the ſcuppers of the Riſing Sun.
Sulphur, ſmoke, and noiſe, diſturbing the air,
With thunder and wonder affright the Gallic
ſhore;
Their regulated bands ſtood trembling near,
To ſee their lofty ſtreamers now no more.
At fix o'clock the red the ſmiling victors led,
To give a ſecond blow, the fatal overthrow.
Now death and horror equal reign.
Now they cry, Run or die
Britiſh colours ride the vanquiſh'd main.
See, they fly amaz'd o'er rocks and o'er ſands !
One danger they graſp, to ſhun a greater fate :
In vain they cry for aid to weeping lands :
The nymphs and ſea-gods mourn their loſt *:
Ol' -


( 75 )
For ever more adieu, ill-omen’d Riſing Sun ?
From thy untimely end, thy Maſter's fate's begun f
Enough, thou mighty gºd of war !
Now we fing, Bleſs the King !
And doubly bleſs each brave Engliſh tar!
FASE, rude Boreas, bluſt'ring railer
Liſt, ye landſmen, all to me;
Meſſmates, hear a brother-ſailor
Sing the dangers of the ſea.
From bounding billows, firſt in motion,
When the diſtant whirlwinds riſe,
To the tempeſt-troubled ocean,
Where the ſeas contend with ſkies.
Hark ] the boatſwain hoarſely bawling,
By topſail-ſheets and haulyards ſtand 1
Down top-gallants, quick be hauling !
Down your ſtay-ſails, hand, boys, hand 1
Now it freſhens, ſet the braces ;
Quick the topſail-ſheets let go ;
Luff, boys, luff, don’t make wry faces !
Up your topſails nimbly clew 1
Now all you on down-beds ſporting,
Fondly lock'd in beauty's arms,
Freſh enjoyments wanton courting,
Free from all but love’s alarms,
Round us roars the tempeſt louder;
Think what fears our minds enthrall !
Harder yet, it yet blows harder
Now, again, the boatſwain calls :
The topſail-yards point to the wind, boys;
See all clear to reef each courſe :
Let the fore-ſheets go ; don’t mind, boys,
Though the weather ſhould be worſe.
H 2 Fore


( 76 )
Fore and aft the ſpritſail-yard get;
Reef the mizen ; ſee all clear ;
Hands up, —each preventer-brace ſet ;
Man the fore-yard ; cheer, lads, cheer :
Now the dreadful thunder's roaring !
Peals on peals contending claſh!
On our heads fierce rain falls pouring !
In our eyes blue lightnings flaſh!
One wide water all around us,
All above us one black ſky |
Different deaths at once ſurround us!
Hark! what means that dreadful cry
The foremaſt’s gonel cries ev'ry tongue out,
O'er the lee, twelve feet 'bove deck.
A leak beneath the cheſt-tree's ſprung out:
Call all hands to clear the wreck.
| Quick the lanyards cut to pieces: *.
Come, my hearts, be ſtout and bold !
Plumb the well;-the leak increaſes 1
Four feet water's in the hold ! A
While o'er the ſhip wild waves are beating,
We for wives or children mourn;
Alas ! from hence there's no retreating;
Alas! to them there’s no return.
Still the leak is gaining on us;
Both chain-pumps are choak'd below:
Heav'n have mercy here upon us !
For only that can ſave us now !
Ö'er the lee-beam is the land, boys;
Let the guns o'erboard be thrown;
To the pump come ev'ry hand, boys;
See, our mizen-maſt is gone.
The leak we've found; it cannot pour faſt;
We've lighten’d her a foot or more ;
UP,


( 77 )
Up, and rig a jury fore-maſt;
She rights, ſhe rights, boys' ware off ſhore.
Now once more on joys we're thinking,
Since kind Fortune ſpar'd our lives;
Come, the can, boys, let’s be drinking
To our ſweethearts, and our wives.
Fill it up, about ſhip wheel it;
Cloſe to th’ lips a brimmer join.
Where's the tempeſt now who feels it
None ! our danger's drown'd in wine !
H%. ſtands the glaſs around 2 -
For ſhame 1 ye take no care, my boys.
How ſtands the glaſs around
Let mirth and wine abound.
The trumpets ſound;
The colours they are flying, boys.
To fight, kill, or wound,
May we ſtill be found,
Content with our hard fate, my boys,
On the cold ground. .
Why, ſoldiers, why,
Should we be melancholy, boys
Why, ſoldiers, why
Whoſe buſineſs 'tis to diel
What, fighing fiel
Damn fear, drink on, be jolly, boys
'Tis he, you, or I
Cold, hot, wet, or dry,
We're always bound to follow, boys,
And ſcorn to fly
'Tis but in vain,- *
I mean not to upbraid ye, boys,
H 3 *Tis


( 78 )
*Tis but in vain
For ſoldiers to complain.
Should next campaign
Send "s to him who made us, boys, -
We're free from pain
But, if we remain,
A bottle and kind landlady
Cure all again.
Wr. a cheerful old friend, and a merry old
ſong,
And a tankard of porter, I could ſit the night long,
And laugh at the follies of thoſe that repine,
Though I muſt drink porter, while they can drink
Wine,
I envy no mortal, be he ever ſo great;
Nor ſcorn I the wretch for his lowly eſtate;
But what I abhor, and deem as a curſe,
Is meanneſs of ſpirit, not poorneſs in purſe.
Then let us, companions, be cheerful and gay,
And cheerfully ſpend life’s remainder away;
Upheld by a friend, our foes we'll deſpiſe,
For, the more we are envy'd, the higher we rife.
EAR the ſide of a pond, at the foot of a hill,
A free-hearted fellow attends on his mill.
freſh health blooms her ſtrong roſy hue o'er his
face,
And honeſty gives ev'n to awkwardneſs grace.
Beflour'd with his meal, does he labour and ſing;
And, regaling at night, he’s as bleſt as a king.
After heartily eating, he takes a full ſwill;
In liquor home-brew’d drinks ſucceſs to his mill.
He


( 8o )
And this the burden of his ſong for ever us’d to be :
I care for nobody, no, not I, if nobody cares for me.
I live by my mill, God bleſs her 1 ſhe's kindred, child,
and wife ;
I would not change my ſtation for any other in life.
No lawyer, ſurgeon, or doctor, e'er had a groat from
me :
I care for nobody, no, not I, if nobody cares for me.
When ſpring brings its merry career, oh how his
heart grows gay!
No ſummer's drought alarms his fears, nor winter's
ſad decay.
No forefight mars the miller's joys, who’s wont to
fing and ſay,+
Let others toil from year to year, I live from day to
day.
Thus, like the miller bold and free, let us rejoice
and ſing:
The days of youth are made for glee, and time is on
the wing.
This ſong ſhall paſs from me to thee, along this jo-
vial ring:
Let heart, and voice, and all agree, to ſay, Long live
the King !
IF I live to grow old, as I find I go down,
A Let this be my fate: In a fair country town
Let me have a warm houſe, with a ſtone at my gate,
And a cleanly young girl to rub my bald pate.
May I govern my paſſions with an abſolute ſway;
And grow wiſer and better as my ſtrength wears.
away,
Without gout or ſtone, by a gentle decay.
33
s
º
º


( 82 )
Where you may fit, and think, and fing,
Far off from court, God bleſs the King.
Safe from the harpies of the law,
From party rage, and great man’s paw ;
A few choice friends of your own taſte,
A wife agreeable and chaſte.
An open, but yet cautious mind,
Where guilty cares no entrance find ;
Nor miſer’s fears, nor envy’s ſpight,
To break the ſabbath of the night.
Plain equipage, and temp'rate meals,
Few tailor’s, and no doctor’s bills:
Content to take, as heav'n ſhall pleaſe,
A longer or a ſhorter leaſe.
Sº ditties would my Patty fing:
Old Chevy-chace, God ſave the King,
Fair Roſamond, and Sawney Scot,
Lillibullero, and what not:
All theſe would fing 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 for very mad did cry,
Ah could I but again, ſaid I,
Hear the ſweet voice of blue-ey’d Patty 1
Love taught me how : I work'd, I ſang;
My anvil glow’d, my hammer rang,
Till


{ 83 ) .
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 in the patten roſe,
Which takes its name from blue-ey’d Patty.
A"; you that are wiſe, and think life worth en-
Joying, •
Or ſoldier, or ſailor, by land or by ſea,
In loving and laughing your time be employing;
You gº to your lip, and your laſs on your
nee.
Come fing away, honeys, and caſt off all ſorrow !
Though we all die to-day, let’s be merry to-mor-
row ;
A hundred years hince ’twill be too late to borrow
A moment of time to be joyous and free -
Chorus.-Come fing away, honeys, &c.
My lord and the biſhop, in ſpight of their ſplendor,
When Dith gives the call, from their glories muſt
part ; -
Your beautiful dame, whin the ſummons is ſint her,
Will feel the blood ebb from the cheek to the
heart.
Then ſing away, honeys, and caſt off your ſorrow !
Though you all die to-day, yet be merry to-mor-
- row !
A hundred years hince 'twill be too late to borrow
A cordial to cheriſh the ſorrowful heart 1
Then ſing, &c.
For riches and honour, then, why all this riot,
Your wrangling, and jangling, and all your
alarms 2 -
Arrah! burn you, my honeys, you'd better be quiet,
And take, while you can, a kind girl to your
arrils. 3.
You'd


( 84 )
You'd better be ſinging, and caſting off ſorrow !
Though you all die to-day, ſure be happy to-mor-
row !
A hundred years hince 'twill be too late to bor-
row
One moment to toy and enjoy her ſweet charms!
You'd better be finging, &c.
YE ſportſmen, draw near, and ye ſportſwomen
too,
Who delight in the joys of the field.’
Mankind, though they blame, are all eager as you,
And no one the conteſt will yield.
His lordſhip, his worſhip, his honour, his grace,
A hunting continually go;
All ranks and degrees are engag'd in the chace,
With Hark forward, huzza, Tally ho.
The lawyer will riſe with the firſt of the morn,
To hunt for a mortgage or deed;
The huſband gets up at the ſound of the horn,
And rides to the commons full ſpeed;
The patriot is thrown in purſuit of his game;
The poet too often lies low,
Who, mounted on Pegaſus, flies after fame,
With Hark forward, huzza, Tally ho.
While fearleſs o'er hills and o'er woodlands we ſweep,
Though prudes on our paſtime may frown,
How oft do they Decency's bounds overleap,
And the fences cf Virtue break down
Thus public, or private, for penſion, for place,
For amuſement, for paſſion, for ſhow,
All ranks and degrees are engag'd in the chace,
With Hark forward, huzza, Tally ho,
COME


( 85 )
Co.; ye ſportſmen ſo brave, who delight in the
field,
Where the bud-barren mountain freſh raptures can
yield; -
Let the health-breathing chace rouſe the ſoul with
delight,
With the jolly god Bacchus be jovial at night.
See the high-mettled ſteeds, where ſnorting they
fly
while flaunch the dogs cover the ground in full
cry!
How can ye, my boys, from ſuch ſports now refrain,
When the horn's cheerful ſound calls ye forth to the
plain
Poor Puſey ſhe flies, and ſeems danger to ſcorn,
Then redoubles her ſpeed, as ſhe bounds o'er the
lawn.
See the high, &c.
She has cunningly cheated the ſcent of the hounds;
Through hedge-rows ſhe creeps, and ſculks o'er the
downs:
Bruſh them in, my bold hearts : ſhe ſits panting for
breath !
The vićtim is ſeiz'd-Hark! the horn ſounds her
death.
See the high, &c.
Tº: bluſh of Aurora now tinges the morn,
And dew-drops beſpangle the ſweet-ſcented
thorn;
Then º brother ſportſman, ſound, ſound the gay
Orn,
Till Phoebus awakens the day,
Till Phoebus awakens the day:
I And


( 86 )
And ſee now he riſes! in ſplendor how bright :
I O Paean I O Pacan l
For Phoebus, for Phoebus, the god of delight,
All glorious in beauty, now baniſhes night:
Then, mount boys, to horſe, and away;
To horſe, and away ; to horſe, and away, away.
All glorious in beauty, &c. -
What raptures can equal the joys of the chace!
Hale, bloom, and contentment, appear in each
ace
And in our wift courſers what beauty and grace,
While we the fleet ſtag do purſue ;
While we, &c. -
At the deep and harmonious ſweet cry of the hounds,
wing’d by terror, wing’d by terror,
Wing’d by...” he burſts fom the foreſt’s wide
unds;
And though like the lightning he darts o'er the
rounds,
Yet ſtill, boys, we keep him in view,
we keep him in view, we keep him in view, in
view.
And though like lightning, &c.
When chac'd till quite ſpent, he his life does re-
ſign.
Our vićtim we’ll offer at Bacchus’s ſhrine,
And revel in honour of Nimrod divine,
That hunter ſo mighty, of fame,
That hunter, &c. - - - -
Our glaſſes then charge to our Country and King;
Love and beauty, love and beauty,
Love and beauty we’ll fill to, and jovially fing;
Wiſhing health and ſucceſs, till we make the houſe
ring,
- Te


( 87 )
|
To all ſportſmen, and ſons of the game,
And ſons of the game, and ſons of the game, the
game ;
Wiſhing health and ſucceſs, &c.
^OME rouſe, brother ſportſmen, the hunters all
cry,
We've got a ſtrong ſcent, and a favouring ſky.
The horn’s ſprightly notes, and the lark's early
ong, º
Will chide the dull ſportſman for ſleeping ſo long.
Bright Phoebus has ſhewn us the glimpſe of his face,
Peep'd in at our windows, and call'd to the chace,
He ſoon will be up, for his dawn wears away,
And makes the fields bluſh with the beams of his
ray.
Sweet Molly may teaze you, perhaps, to lie down ;-
And if you refuſe her, perhaps ſhe may frown:
But tell her, ſweet love muſt to hunting give place,
For, as well as her charms, there are charms in the
chace.
Look yonder, look yonder, old Reynard I ſpy;
At his bruſh nimbly follows briſk Canter and Fly.
They ſeize on their prey, ſee his eye-balls they roll;
We're in at the death, now return to the bowl.
There we’ll fill up our glaſſes, and toaſt to the King;
From a bumper freſh loyalty ever will ſpring.
To George peace and glory may heavens diſpenſe,
And fox-hunters flouriſh a thouſand years hence 1
H ARK away ! 'tis the merry-ton’d horn
Calls the hunters all up with the morn,
I 2 To


( 89 )
Such comforts, my friend, *
On the ſportſman attend,
No pleaſure like hunting is found:
For when it is o'er,
As briſk as before,
Next morning we ſpurn up the ground.
L*. Valentine's day, when bright Phoebus,
- ſhone clear,
(I had not been hunting for more than a year)
Tally ho, Tally ho, Tally ho, Tally ho,
J mounted Black Sloven, o'er the road made him.
bound ; -
For I heard the hounds challenge, and horns ſweetly
ſound.
Tally ho, Tally ho, &c.
Hallow into covert, old Antony cries;
No ſooner he ſpoke, but the fox, fir, he ſpies.
Tally ho. -
This being the fignal, he then crack'd his whip;
Tally ho was the word, and away we did leap. Tally,
ho.
Then up rides Dick Dawſon, who car'd not a pin ;.
He ſprang at the drain, but his horſe tumbled in,
Tally ho.
And as he crept out, why he ſpied the old Ren,
With his tongue hanging out, ſtealing home to his,
den. Tally ho.
Qur hounds and our horſes were always as good
As ever broke covert, or daſh'd through the wood.
Tally ho. -
Old Reynard runs hard, but muſt certainly die.
Have at you, old Tony, Dick. Dawſon, did cry..
Tally ho.
I: 3 The


( 90 )
The hounds they had run twenty miles, now, or
more ;
Old Anthony fretted, he curs'd, too, and ſwore.
Tally ho.
But Reynard, being ſpent, ſoon muſt give up the
ghoſt,
Which will heighten our joys when we come to each
toaſt. Tally ho.
The day's ſport being over, the horns we will ſound,
To the jolly fox-hunters let echoes reſound. Tally ho.
So fill up your glaſſes, and cheerfully drink,
To the honeſt true ſportſman who never will ſhrink.
Tally ho.
ROM the eaſt breaks the morn;
See the ſun-beams adorn
The wild heath, and the mountains ſo high :
Shrilly opes the ſtaunch hound,
1 he ſteed neighs to the ſound,
And the floods and the valleys reply.
Our forefathers, ſo good,
Prov’d their greatneſs of blood,
By encount’ring the pard and the boar :
Ruddy health bloom'd the face,
Age and youth urg’d the chace,
And taught woodlands and foreſts to roar.
Hence of noble deſcent,
Hills and wilds we frequent,
Where the boſom of nature’s reveal’d :
Though in life's buſy day
Man of man makes a prey,
Still let ours be the prey of the field.
with the chace in full fight,
Gods, how great the delight !
How
f
;


( 91 )
How our mutual ſenſations refine!
Where is care 2 where is fear 2
Like the winds, in the rear ;
And the man's loſt in ſomething divine.
Now to horſe, my brave boys.
Lo, each pants for the joys
That anon ſhall enliven the whole,
Then at eve we’ll diſmount.
Toils and pleſaures recount,
And renew the chace over the bowl.
*
Now the hill-tops are burniſh’d with azure and
old, -
And ºpea around us moſt bright to behold,
The hounds are all trying the mazes to trace,
The ſteeds are all neighing, and pant for the chace.
Then rouſe, each true ſportſman, and join, at the
dawn,
The ſong of the hunters, and ſound of the horn.
Health braces the nerves, and gives joy to the face,
Whilſt over the heath we purſue the fleet chace ;
See, the downs now we leave, and the coverts ap-
ear,
As eager we follow the fox or the hare.
Cho. Then rouſe each, &c.
Wherever we go, pleaſure waits on us ſtill,
If we ſink in the valley, or riſe on the hill;
O'er hedges and rivers we valiantly fly,
For, fearleſs of death, we ne'er think we ſhall die.
Cho. Then rouſe each, &c.
From ages long paſt, by the poets we're told
That hunting was lov’d by the ſages of old :
d g was y ge y That


( 92 )
That the ſoldier and huntſman were both on a par,
And the health-giving chace made them bold in the
war.
Cho. Then rouſe each, &c.
When the chace is once over, away to the bowl,
The full-flowing bumpers ſhall cheer up the ſoul;
Whilſt jocund our ſongs ſhall with choruses ring,
We'll toaſt to our laſſes, our country, and king,
Cho. Then rouſe each, &c. -
ET the ſlave of ambition and wealth,
On the frolic of fortune depend;
I aſk but old claret and health,
A pack of good hounds, and a friend.
In ſuch real joys will be found,
True happineſs centers in theſe ;
While each moment that dances around,
Is crown'd with contentment and eaſe.
Old claret can drive away care;
Health ſmiles on our days as they rolſ.
What can with true friendſhip compare :
And a Tally I love with my ſoul.
Then up with your bumpers, my boys,
Each hour that flies we’ll improve ;
A heel tap's a ſpy on our joys—
Here's to fox-hunting, friendſhip, and love.
OUSE, rouſe, jolly ſportſmen, the hounds are
all out,
The chace is begun, I declare;
Come up, and to horſe, let us follow the rout,
And join in the chace of the hare.
- Hark i.


( 93 )
Hark! hark | don’t you hear they are now in the
dale? -
The horn, how melodious it ſounds !
Poor Puſs, in a fright, how ſhe ſtrives to prevail,
And fly from the cry of the hounds !
And fly, &c.
Though up to the hills and the mountains ſhe
ſcales,
Whoſe top ſeems to join to the ſky;
We mount in the air like a kite in a gale,
And follow the hounds in full cry;
Though into the copſe there for * ſhe flies,
We kill her, it's twenty the odds :
While echo ſurrounds us with hooting and cries,
We ſeem to converſe with the gods.
We ſeem, &c.
Our freedom with conſcience is never alarm’d,
We are ſtrangers to envy and ſtrife;
When bleſt with a wife, we return to her arms,
Sport ſweetens the conjugal life.
Our days paſs away in a ſcene of delight,
Which kings and their courtiers ne'er taſte ;
In pleaſures of love we revel all night,
Next morning return to the chace.
Next morning, &c.
TH: whiſtling ploughman hails the bluſhing
dawn,
The thruſh melodious drowns the ruſtic note;
Loud ſings the blackbird through reſounding groves,
And the #. ſoars to meet the riſing ſun.
Away to the copſe, to the copſe lead away,
And now, my boys, throw off the hounds;
I’ll warrant he ſhews us, he ſhews us ſome play:
See, yonder he ſkulks through the grounds.
- Then


( 94 )
Then ſpur your briſk courſers, and ſmoke 'em, my
bloods,
'Tis a delicate ſcent-lying morn:
What concert is equal to thoſe of the woods,
Betwixt echo, the hounds, and the horn ?
Each earth, ſee, he tries at in vain,
In cover no ſafety can find ;
So he breaks it, and ſcours amain,
And leaves us at diſtance behind.
O'er rocks, and o'er rivers, and hedges we fly,
All hazard and danger we ſcorn ;
Stout Reynard we’ll follow until that he die :
Cheer up the good dogs with the horn.
'And now he ſcarce creeps through the dale ;
All parch'd, from his mouth hangs his tongue;
His ſpeed can no longer prevail,
Nor his life can his cunning prolong;
From our ſtaunch and fleet pack ’twas in vain that
he fled.
See his bruſh falls bemir’d, forlorn ;
The farmers with pleaſure behold him lie dead,
And ſhout to the ſound of the horn.
Tº: from the eaſt tips the mountains with
And the meadows all ſpangled with dew-drops be-
Hark! ºne. early matin proclaims the new
And atº, cheerful ſummons rebukes our delay.
With the ſports of the field there's no pleaſure
can Vle,
While jocund we follow the hounds in full cry.
- Let


( 95 )
Let the drudge of the town make riches his ſport,
And the ſlave of the State hunt the ſmiles of the
Court;
No care nor ambition our patience annoy,
But innocence ſtill gives a zeſt to our joy.
Cho. With the ſports, &c.
Mankind are all hunters in various degree :
The prieſt hunts a living, the lawyer a fee;
The doćtor, a patient; the courtier, a place;
Though often, like us, they’re flung out with diſ-
race. -
Cho. With the ſports, &c.
The cit hunts a plumb, while the ſoldier hunts
fame ; * * s
The poet, a dinner; the patriot, a name; ' ' '
And the artful coquette, though ſhe ſeems to refuſe,
Yet, in ſpite of her airs, ſhe her lover purſues.
Cho. With the ſports, &c.
Let the bold and the buſy hunt glory and wealth;
All the bleſfings we aſk, is the bleſſing of health,
With hounds and with horns through the woodlands
to roam,
And when tir’d abroad, find contentment at home.
Cho. With the ſports, &c.
THE echoing horn calls the ſportſmen abroad;
To horſe, my brave boys, and away;
The morning is up, and the cry of the hounds
Upbraids our too tedious delay. -
What pleaſure we find in purſuing the fox I
O'er hill and o'er valley he flies:
Then follow, we'll ſoon overtake him, huzza!
The traitor is ſeiz'd on, and dies.
Trium-


( 96 )
Triumphant i." at night with the ſpoil,
Like Bacchanals, ſhouting and gay;
How ſweet with a bottle and laſs to refreſh,
And loſe the fatigues of the day !
With, ſport, love, and wine, fickle fortune defy:
Dull wiſdom all happineſs ſours.
Since life is no more than a paſſage at beſt,
Let's ſtrew the way over with flow’rs.
With flow’rs, let’s ſtrew, &c.
Tº: morning is charming, all nature looks gay;
Away, my brave boys, to your horſes away;
For the prime of our humour's in queſt of the hare;
We have not ſo much as a moment to ſpare.
Hark, the lively-ton’d horn, how melodious it
ſounds,
To the muſical tone of the merry-mouth’d hounds !
O'er highlands, and lowlands, and woodlands we
fly, • * * * * * *
Our horſes full ſpeed, and our hounds in full cry,
So match'd in the mouth, and ſo ſwiftly they run,
Like the trine of the ſpheres, and the race of the ſun;
Health, Joy, and Felicity, dance in the rounds,
And bleſs the gay circle of hunters and hounds.
The old hounds puſh forward, a very ſure ſign
That the hare, though a ſtout one, begins to de- "
cline;
A chace of two hours or more ſhe has fed.
She’s tº-lock about you—they have her—ſhe's
ead. º - -
How glorious a death to be honour’d with ſounds
Of horns, and a ſhout to the chorus of hounds !
WHEN


( 97 )
Wº Phoebus begins juſt to peep o'er the hills,
With horns we awaken the day;
And rouze, brother ſportſmen, who ſluggiſhly ſleep,
With hark 1 to the woods ! hark | away !.
See the hounds are uncoupled in muſical cry,
How ſweetly it echoes around;
And high-mettled ſteeds with their neighings all ſeem
With pleaſure to echo the ſound. w
Behold where ſly Reynard, with panic and dread,
At diſtance o'er hillocks doth bound ;
The pack on the ſcent fly with rapid career;
Hark! the horns ! O how ſweetly they ſound!
Now on to the chace, o'er hills and o'er dales,
All dangers we nobly defy ;
Our nags are all ſtout, and our ſports we'll purſue,
With ſhouts that reſound to the ſky.
But ſee how he lags, all his arts are in vain,
No longer with ſwiftneſs he flies;
Each hound in his fury determines his fate;
The traitor is ſeiz’d on, and dies. -
With ſhouting and joy we return from the field,
With drink crown the ſports of the day;
Then to reſt we recline, till the horn calls again;
Then away to the woodlands, away.
V HEN Sol from the eaſt had illumin’d the
ſphere,
And gilded the lawns and the riv'lets ſo clear,
I roſe from my tent, and like Richard I call’d
For my horſe, And my hounds, too, loudly I bawl’d.
Hark forward, my boys, Billy Meadows he cry’d :
No ſooner he ſpoke, but Old Reynard he ſpy’d.
Over-joy’d at the fight, we began for to ſkip ;
Tontaron went the horn, and ſmack went the whip.
K Tom


( 98 )
Tom Bramble ſcour'd forth; when almoſt to his chin,
O'erleaping a ditch,--by the lord he leap'd in ;
When juſt as it hap’d, but the ſly maſter Ren
Was ſneakingly haſt’ning to make to his den.
Then away we purſued, brake, covert, and wood;
Not quickſet, nor thickſet, our pleaſure withſtood.
So! ho! maſter Reynard–Jack Rivers he cry’d,
Old Ren, you ſhall die—Daddy Hawthorn reply'd.
All gay as the lark the green woodlands we trac'd,
While the merry-ton’d horn inſpir’d as we chac'd;
No longer poor Reynard his ſtrength could he boaſt,
Toth'hounds he knock’d under, and gave up the ghoſt.
The ſports of the field when concluded and o'er,
We ſound the horn back again over the moor;
At night take the glaſs, and moſt chearily ſing
The fox-hunters round, not forgetting the king.
WI. early horn, ſalute the morn,
That gilds this charming place;
With chearful cries, bid Echo riſe,
And join the jovial chace,
With early horn, &c.
The vocal hills around,
The waving woods,
The chryſtal floods,
All, all return th’ enliv'ning ſound.
With early horn, &c.
E ſluggards, who murder your lifetime in ſleep,
Awake, and purſue the fleet hare;
From life, ſay, what joy, ſay, what pleaſure you reap,
. That e'er could with hunting compare.
When Phoebus begins to enliven the morn,
The huntſman attended by hounds,
Rejoices and glows at the ſound of the horn,
Whilſt woods the ſweet echo reſound.
The


( 99 )
The courtier, the lawyer, the prieſt have a view,
Nay ev'ry profeſſion the ſame ;
But ſportſmen, ye mortals, no pleaſure purſue,
But ſuch as accrue from the game.
While drunkards are pleas'd in the joys of the cup,
And turn into day ev’ry night,
At the break of each morn the huntſman is up,
And bounds o'er the lawns with delight.
Then quickly, my lads, to the foreſt repair,
O'er hills, dales, and valleys let’s fly;
For who can, ye gods, feel a moment of care,
When each joy will another ſupply
Thus each morning, each day, in raptures, we paſs,
And deſire no comfort to ſhare,
But at night to refreſh with the bottle and glaſs,
And feed on the ſpoil of the hare.
Asxº Beau, and a ſimp'ring young Cit,
An artful Attorney, a Rake, and a Wit,
Set out on the chace in purſuit of her heart,
Whilſt Chloe diſdainfully laugh'd at their art;
And rouz'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 chace,
The Cit with exačtneſs made up his account,
The Rake told his conqueſts, how vaſt the amount I
She laugh’d at their follies, and, blithe as the morn,
Tantivy, ſhe follow'd the echoing horn.
Their clamorous noiſe rouz'd a jolly young ſwain;
Hark forward, he cry’d, then bounc'd over the plain:
He diſtanc'd the Wit, the Cit, and the Beau,
And won the fair nymph with hollo! hillio!
Now together they fing a ſweet hymn to the morn;
Tantivy, they follow the echoing horn.
K2. BRIGHT


( too )
RIGHT dawns the day with roſy fice,
And calls the ſportſman to the chace.
With muſical horn ſalute the gay morn,
Theſe jelly companions to cheer;
With enliv'ning ſounds encourage your hounds
To rival the ſpeed of the deer.
If you'd find out his lair, to the woodlands repair:
Hark! hark he's unharbour'd, they cry;
Then fleet o'er the plain we gallop amain;
All, all is a triumph of joy.
O'er hills, heaths, and woods, thro' foreſts and floods,
The ſtag flies as ſwift as the wind;
The valley reſounds with a chorus of hounds,
That chaunt in a concert behind.
Adieu to old Care, pale Grief, and Deſpair;
We ride in oblivion of fear;
All ſorrow and pain we leave to the train,
Sad wretches that lag in the rear.
Lo, the ſtag ſtands at bay, the pack's at a ſtay,
They eagerly ſeize on their prize;
The welkin reſounds with a chorus of hounds,
Shrill horns wind his knell, and he dies.
Co.; away, come away, hark, the ſound of the
horn,
And the hounds’ noble chorus has wak’d the new
in orn. -
Briſkly follow, my boys; ſee, old Reynard is found,
And no doubt, before night, he will lead us a round.
Huzza, my brave boys, to the woods we'll re-
pair,
To chace the fly fox, or o’ertake the fleet hare.
What


( 101 )
What manhood can boaſt, may in hunting be found:;
We leap ſtiles and hedges, and fly o'er the ground;.
We ne'er fear our necks while the chace is in fight; .
The greater the danger, the more our delight.
Cho. Huzza, &c.
When Reynard is caught, with ſhrill hound, horn,
and voice, -
We make the woods ring, and the peaſants re-
Joice ;
Our triumph with innocent pleaſure they view,
And acknowledge that hunters were always True:
Blue..
Cho. Huzza, &c.
To the joys of the day ſucceed thoſe of the night,
A well-furniſh’d table is then our delight;
'Tween Bacchus and Venus our time glides away,
Till the horn calls us forth to the chace of the day.
Huzza, my brave boys; now we’ll homeward re-
pair, .
From the chace of the fox, to the charms of the
fair.
-
>=-l-
H*. hark the joy-inſpiring horn.
; 1 Salutes the roſy riſing morn,
And echoes through the dale ;-
With clam’rous peals the hills reſound,
The hounds quick-ſcented ſcow'r the ground;
And ſnuff the fragrant gale.
Nor gates nor hedges can impede.
The briſk, high-mettl’d, ſtarting ſteed; -
The jovial pack purſue;
likelightning, darting o'er the plains,
The diſtant hills with ſpeed he gains,
And ſees the game in view.
K 3 Her


( 102 ) ---
Her path the timid hare forſakes,
And to the copſe for ſhelter makes,
There pants a-while for breath ;
When now the noiſe alarms her ear,
Her haunt’s deſcry’d, her fate is near,
She ſees approaching death.
Direčted by the well-known breeze,
The hounds their trembling vićtim ſeize ;
She faints, ſhe falls, ſhe dies :
The diſtant courſers now come in,
And join the loud, triumphant din,
Till echo rend the ſkies.
O the woods and the fields, my brave boys, haſte
away;
Our ſport is to follow the hare ;
For the morning is clear, and delightfully gay;
Sure nothing with this can compare.
Then our horſes ſo ſwift, and courageouſly bold,
Our hounds ſo well ſcented and fleet,
Hark, hark, they're all off, they’re croſſing the
field,
Let's purſue them with courage and heat.
See, ſee, how poor Puſſey redoubles her ſpeed;
Throughbriars, brakes, hedges, ſhe flies;
With the hounds in full tone, and Old Ball in the
lead ;
Sweet echo reſounds to the ſkies.
But, behold, on a ſudden, the hounds are all Hoſt;
She's ſquatted, and now pants for breath;
*Till, alas! ſhe ſoon finds, and that to her coſt,
The purſuit will ſoon finiſh in death.
Then


( 163 )
Then huzza, my brave boys; let us haſten to crown
The pleaſures of this happy day;
For our ſpouſes and ſweethearts we’ll never diſown,
But be always blithe, jolly, and gay.
OW Aurora is up, the ſweet goddeſs of day,
Let’s hail the gay nymph of the morn;
Bid the ſhepherds and maids tune their tabors, and
play;
Bid the huntſman attend with his horn.
To ſlaviſh dull rules let the cit be confin'd,
Let him toil day and night too for wealth:
To hunting and fowling our lives are confin’d ;
And our riches, my lads, is good health.
By yon rural copſe juſt op'ning to fight,
View the young tender brood, and prepare ;
Let them firſt for the ſky, my good boys, wing their
flight;
True ſportſmen delight to ſhoot fair.
When return'd from the chace, let the bumpers go.
round, w
Let us merrily revel and fing; -
In women and wine true harmony's found ;
Fill your glaſſes, and toaſt to the King,
Th; duſky night rides down the ſky,
And uſhers in the morn:
The hounds all join in glorious cry,
The huntſman winds his horn.
And a hunting we will go,
A hunting we will go,
A hunting we will go,
A hunting we will go.
zy The


( 104 )
The wife around her huſband throws-
Her arms to make him ſtay:
My dear, it rains, it hails, it blows;
You cannot hunt to-day.
Yet a hunting, &c.
Sly’Reynard now like lightning flies,
And ſweeps acroſs the vale;
But when the hounds too near he ſpies,
He drops his buſhy tail.
Then a hunting, &c.
Fond Echo ſeems to like the ſport,
And join the jovial cry;
The woods, the hills, the ſound retort, ,
And muſic fills the ſky.
When a hunting, &c.
At laſt his ſtrength to faintneſs worn, .
Poor Reynard ceaſes flight ;
Then hungry, homeward we return.
'To feaſt away the night.
And a drinking, &c.
Ye jovial hunters, in the morn
Prepare then for the chace,
Riſe at the ſounding of the horn,
And health with ſport embrace..
When a hunting, &c.
H9. ſmooth glides the ſtream the gay meadows.
along !
The birds are all cheerful, how tuneful their ſong tº
How Flora the meads with her gifts doth adorn,
The violet, the roſe, and the fair-blooming º * .
Then


( 105 .)
Then harkſ ſtill to heighten the joys of this place.
The ſound of the horn ſpeaks the hounds are in
chace. -
See, over yon clover the hare ſwiftly flies,
While the hunters purſue her with clamorous cries:
Haſte, haſte then, away, let us join in the ſport;
Leap the banks, fly the gates, to yon covert reſort;
There trembling ſhe lies, panting, gaſping for
breath :
Let's follow with ſpeed, to be in at the death.
'Tis done—ſhe is breathleſs: now home we repair,
While peals, loud, triumphant, reſound through the
air :
Not a hii, or a valley, or cavern around,
Where Echo reſides, but repeats the glad ſound ;
While Phoebus, well pleas'd, the gay proſpect ſur-
veys
And fireik, the fair morn with his brighteſt of
rays.
Thus, bleſs'd with the pleaſure the country affords,
Content with our ſtation, more happy than lords;
With hearts true and loyal we jovially ſing ;
Not troubled with cares from ambition that ſpring :
While the courtier is eagerly hunting a place,
We jocundly join in the ſports of the chace.
O YES! O yes! a proclamation's made:
Diana ſoon the wood begins to cheer;
Her will and pleaſure then muſt be obey'd,
And, at her call, her nymphs and train be here.
From ſleep's downy charms each a hunter muſt riſe,
The horn's loud alarms bids us ſlumber deſpiſe.
From the eaſt the gay morning diſcovers her face,
And hounds, men, and horſes, now pant for the
chace.
Nor


( 106 )
Nor gates, floods, or mounds,
Our ſpeed can allay :
Hark! the hollow reſounds
As we follow our prey.
Hills and valleys we leave in a moment behind;
We clear the deep woodland, and outſtrip the wind.
Our bold female train
No dangers diſmay;
Fear checks them in vain,
They ſhare in the day.
They lead the gay band, while the deer is in view ;
Like lightning he flies, and as ſwift they purſue.
The briſk driving chace
Enlivens each vein,
Gives bloom to each face,
And diſperſes all pain.
May the joys of the field be our ſport and our play?
Wake, wake, at the call of the Hark! hark! away t
IVE round the word Diſmount, Diſmount,
While echo'd by the ſprightly horn;
The toils and pleaſures we recount,
Of this ſweet health-inſpiring morn.
'Twas glorious ſport, not one did lag,
Nor drew amiſs, nor made a ſtand ;
But all as firmly kept their pace,
As had Aétaron been the ſtag,
And we had hunted by command
Of the goddeſs of the chace.
The hounds were out, and ſnuff"d the air,
And ſcarce had reach'd th’ appointed ſpot,
But pleas'd they heard a Layer, a Layer,
And preſently drew on the ſlot.
'Twas glorious ſport, &c.
- And


( 167 )
And now o'er yonder plain he fleets:
The deep-mouth’d hounds begin to bawl;
And echo note for note repeats,
While ſprightly horns reſound a call.
'Twas glorious ſport, &c.
And now the ſtag has loſt his pace;
And while war-haunch the huntſman crics,
His boſom ſwells, tears wet his face—
He pants, he ſtruggles, and he dies.
'Twas glorious ſport, &c.
TH E ſprightly horn awakes the morn,
And bids the hunter riſe;
The op'ning hound returns the ſound,
And echo fills the ſkies.
See ruddy health, more dear than wealth,
On yon blue mountain's brow ;
The neighing ſteed invokes our ſpeed,
And Reynard trembles now.
In ancient days, as ſtory ſays,
The woods our fathers ſought;
The ruſtic race ador'd the chace,
And hunted as they fought.
Come, let’s away, make no delay,
Enjoy the foreſt’s charms;
Then o'er the bowl expand the ſoul,
And reſt in Chloe's arms.
OW little do the landmen know
Of what we ſailors feel,
When waves do mount and winds do blow!
But we have hearts of ſteel. N
Q


( 10.8 )
No danger can affright us,
No enemy ſhall flour;
We'll make the Monſieurs right us;
So toſs the can about.
Stick ſtout to orders, meſſmates;
We’ll plunder, burn, and fink;
Then France, have at your firſt-rates,
For Britons never ſhrink.
We'll rummage all we fancy,
We'll bring them in by ſcores;
And Moll, and Kate, and Nancy,
Shall roll in Louis-d'ors.
While here at Deal we're lying,
With our noble Commodore,
We’ll ſpend our wages freely, boys,
And then to ſea for more.
In peace we’ll drink and fing, boys;
In war, we'll never fly.
Here's a health to George our king, boys,
And the Royal Family.
Cº. and liſten to my ditty,
All ye jolly hearts of gold;
Lend a brother tar your pity,
Who was once ſo ſtout and bold :
But the arrows of blind Cupid,
Alas! have made me rue:
Sure true love was ne’er ſo treated,
As I am by ſcornful Sue.
When I landed firſt at Dover,
She appear'd a goddeſs bright;
From foreign parts I was juſt come over,
And was ſtruck with ſo fair a fight.
_* On


( 109 )
On the ſhore pretty Sukey walk'd,
Near to where our frigate lay ;
And, although ſo near the landing,
I, alas! was caſt away.
When firſt I hail'd my charming creature,
The delight of land and ſea, -
No man ever ſaw a ſweeter;
I’d have kept her company.
I’d fain have grappled with my true love,
In church, for better or for worſe ;
But, alas, no helm or compaſs
Could make her ſteer the marriage courſe,
Once no greater joy and pleaſure
Could have come into my mind,
Than to ſee the bold Defiance,
Sailing right before the wind.
Oe’r the white waves as ſhe danc'd,
And her colours gaily flew ;
She was never half ſo charming,
As the trim of lovely Sue.
On a rocky coaſt I’ve driven,
Where the ſtormy tempeſts riſe,
Where the rolling mountain billows
Lift a veſſel to the ſkies.
But from land, or from the ocean,
Little dread I ever knew,
When compar'd to threat'ning dangers,
In the frowns of ſcornful Sue.
Long I wonder'd why my jewel
Had the heart to uſe me ſo;
Till I found, by often ſounding,
She’d another love in tow;
I, Se


( 11o )
So farewell, hard-hearted Suſan :
I'll my fortune ſeek at ſea,
And try in a more friendly harbour,
Since in yours I cannot be.
EAR me, gallant ſailor, hear me:
While your country has a foe,
He is mine too, never fear me;
I may weep, but you ſhall go.
Though the flow'ry ſeaſon woos you
To the peaceful ſports of May,
And Love fighs ſo long to loſe you,
Love to glory muſt give way.
Can the ſons of Britain fail her,
While her daughters are ſo true :
Your ſoft courage muſt avail her.
We love honour, loving you.
War and danger now invite us:
Blow, ye winds, auſpicious blow;
Ev'ry gale will moſt delight us,
That can waft us to the foe.
ISTRESS me with theſe tears no more :
One kiſs, my girl, and then adieu ;
The laſt boat deſtin’d for the ſhore,
Waits, deareſt girl, alone for you.
Soon, ſoon, before the light winds borne,
Shall I be ſever'd from your fight;
You left the lonely hours to mourn,
And weep through many a ſtormy night.
When


( 1 11 )
When far along the reſtleſs deep,
In trim array, the ſhip ſhall ſteer,
Your form Rememb’rance ſtill ſhall keep,
Your worth Affection ſtill revere ;
And with the diſtance from your eyes,
My love for you ſhall be increas'd ;
As to the pole the needle lies,
And fartheſt off ſtill varies leaſt.
While round the bowl the jovial crew
Shall ſing of triumphs on the main,
My thoughts ſhall fondly turn to you,
Of you alone ſhall be my ſtrain;
And when we’ve bow'd the leaguing foe,
Revengeful of our country’s wrong,
Returning home, my heart ſhall ſhew,
No fiction grac'd my artleſs ſong.
OW away, my brave boys, hoiſt the flag, beat
the drum ;
Let the ſtreamers wave over the main ;
When Old England ſhe calls us, we merrily come,
She can’t call a ſailor in vain.
Already we ſeem an Armada to chace,
Already behold the galleons;
Undaunted, unconquer’d, look death in the face,
And return with a load of doubloons.
Then farewell, for a time, lovely ſweethearts dear
wives |
Nancy, fear not the fate of True Blue ;
Though we leave you, and merrily venture our lives,
To our doxies we’ll ever be true.
With ſpirit we go, an Armada to chace,
With rapture behold the galleons !
Undaunted, unconquer'd, look death in the face,
And return with a load of doubloons.
L 2 COME,


( 112 )
OME, come, my jolly lads,
The wind’s abaft,
Briſk gales our fails ſhall croud;
Come, buſtle, buſtle, buſtle, boys,
Hawl the boat,
The boatſwain pipes aloud:
- The ſhip’s unmoor’d,
All hands on board ;
The riſing gale
Pills ev'ry fail,
The ſhip's well mann’d and ſtor'd.
Then ſling the flowing bowl:
Fond hopes ariſe ;
The girls we prize,
Shall bleſs each jovial ſoul:
The can, boys, bring,
We’ll drink and fing,
While foaming billows roll.
Though to the Spaniſh coaſt
We’re bound to ſteer,
We'll ſtill our rights maintain;
Then bear a hand, be ſteady, boys;
Soon we’ll ſee
Old England once again.
From ſhore to ſhore,
While cannons roar,
Our tars ſhall ſhow
The haughty foe,
Britannia rules the main.
Then ſling the flowing bowl:
Fond hopes ariſe;
The girls we prize,
Shall bleſs each jovial ſoul:
The


( . 113 )
The can, boys, bring,
We'll drink and fing,
While foaming billows roll.
Cho. Then ſling the, &c.
-
STANP 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 ſponge them well;
Let us be ſure the balls will tell ;
The cannons roar ſhall ſound their knell;
Be ſteady, boys, be ſteady.
Not yet, nor 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.
CoMº all you ſailors bold,
Lend an ear, lend an ear: .
It’s of our Admiral’s fame,
Brave Benbow call’d by name,
How he fought on the main,
You ſhall hear, you ſhall hear. -
I, 3 Brave


( 114 )
Brave Benbow he ſet ſail
The French to fight, the French to fight,
Brave Benbow he ſet ſail, the French to fight:
Brave Benbow he ſet ſail,
With a fine and pleaſant gale;
- But his captains they turn’d tail,
Tn a fright, in a fright.
Says Kirby unto Wade,
I will run, I will run ;
Says Kirby unto Wade, I will run:
I value not diſgrace
Nor the loſing of my place;
My enemies I’ll not face
With a gun, with a gun.
'Twas the Ruby and Noah's Ark
And their brave boys, their brave boys,
Twas the Ruby and Noah's Ark, and their brave boys,
That fought the Frenchmen all:
Though they had ten ſhips tall,
They valued them not at all,
Nor their noiſe, nor their noiſe.
Our admiral loſt his legs
With a chain ſhot, with a chain ſhot,
Our admiral loſt his legs with a chain ſhot:
Our admiral loſt his legs,
And to his men he begs;
Fight on, my boys, he ſays,
"Tis my lot, 'tis my lot.
While the ſurgeon dreſs'd his wounds,
Thus he ſaid, thus he ſaid,
While the ſurgeon dreſs'd his wounds, thus he ſaid:
Let my cradle now in haſte . -
On the quarter-deck be plac'd,
That my enemies I may face,
Till I'm dead, till I’m dead.
- And


( 115 )
And there bold Benbow lies, “)
Crying out, crying out,
And there bold Benbow lies, crying out:
Let us tack about once more,
We’ll drive them to their own ſhore;
I value not half a ſcore,
Nor their noiſe, nor their noiſe.
We ſail'd to Virginia, and thence to New York,
Where we water'd our ſhipping, and ſo weigh’d
for Cork.
Full in view on the ſeas, ſeven ſil we did eſpy;
O we manned our capſtern, and weigh’d ſpeedily.
The firſt two we came up with, were brigantine
ſloops;
We aſk'd if the other five were as big as they look’d;
But turning to windward as near as we could lie,
We found them French men of war cruizing hard by.
We took our leave of them, and made quick diſpatch;
And we ſteered our courſe to the iſland of Vache;
But turning to windward as near as we could lie,
On the fourteenth of Auguſt ten ſail we did eſpy.
They hoiſted their pendants, their colours they
ſpread
And they hoiſted their bloody flag on the main-top-
maſt head;
Then we hoiſted the Jack flag at our mizen peak,
And ſoon form'd the line, though our ſquadron was .
weak.
The very next morning the engagement prov’d hot,
When brave Admiral Benbow receiv'd a chain ſhot,
O, when he was wounded, to his men he did ſay,
Take me up in your arms, boys, and bear me away.
O the


( 116 )
*
O the guns they did rattle, and the bullets did fly,
While brave Admiral Benbow for help, loud did cry,
To the cockpit convey me, and ſoon eaſe my ſmart;
Should my brave fellows ſee me, 'twould ſure break
their heart.
And there Captain Kirby prov’d a coward at laſt,
And with Wade play’d at bopeep behind the main-
maſt : -
Oh! there did they ſtand, boys, and quiver and
ſhake,
Leſt thoſe French dogs ſhould conquer, and their
lives they ſhould take.
The very next morning, at break of the day,
We hoiſted our topſails, and ſo bore away,
We bore to Port Royal, where the people flock'd
much,
To ſee Admiral Benbow brought to Kingſton-Town
church.
Come, all ye brave fellows, wherever you have been,
Let us drink a health to great George and his Queen,
And another good health to the girls that we know,
Aud a third in remembrance of Admiral Benbow.
HEN 'tis night, and the mid-watch is come,
And chilling miſts hang o'er the darken'd.
main,
Then ſailors think of their far diſtant home,
And of thoſe friends they ne'er may ſee again:
But when the fight's begun,
Each ſerving at his gun,
Should any thought of them come o’er our mind,
We think, but ſhould the day be won,
How 'twili cheer
Their hearts to hear,
That their old companion he was one.


( 117 )
Or, my lad, if you a miſtreſs kind
Have left on ſhore, ſome pretty girl, and true,
Who many a night doth liſten to the wind,
And fighs to think how it may fare with you ;
Oh! when the fight’s begun,
Each ſerving at his gun,
Should any thought of her come o'er your mind,
Think only, ſhould the day be won,
How 'twill cheer
Her heart to hear,
That her own true ſailor he was one.
THE wand'ring ſailor ploughs the main, .
A competence in life to gain,
Undaunted, braves the ſtormy ſeas,
To find at laſt content and eaſe,
To find at laſt content and eaſe:
In hopes, when toil and danger's o'er,
To anchor on his native ſhore;
In hopes, when toil and danger's o'er,
To anchor on his native ſhore.
When winds blow hard, and mountains roll,
And thunders ſhake from pole to pole,
Though dreadful waves ſurrounding foam,
Still flatt’ring fancy wafts him home,
Still flatt’ring fancy wafts him home :
In hopes, when toil and danger’s o'er,
To anchor on his native ſhore ;
In hopes, &c.
When round the bowl the jovial crew
The early ſcenes of life renew,
Though each his favºrite fair will boaſt,
This is the univerſal toaſt,
This is the univerſal toaſt :


( 1 18 )
May we, when toil and danger's o'er,
Caſt anchor on our native ſhore ;
May we, when toil and danger's o'er,
Caſt anchor on our native thore.
LL in the Downs the fleet was moor’d,
The ſtreamers waving to the wind,
When black-ey’d Suſan came on board:
... Oh where ſhall I my true love find
Tell me, ye jovial ſailors, tell me true,
If my ſweet William ſails among your crew.
William, who, high upon the yard,
Rock’d with the billows to and fro,
Soon as her well-known voice he heard,
He figh’d, and caſt his eyes below;
The cord glides ſwiftly through his glowing hands,
And quick as lightning on the deck he ſtands.
So the ſweet lark, high pois'd in air,
Shuts cloſe his pinions to his breaſt,
If chance his mate's ſhrill call he hear,
And drops at once into her neſt.
The nobleſt captain in the Britiſh fleet
Might envy William’s lips thoſe kiſſes ſweet.
O Suſan, Suſan, lovely dear,
My vows ſhall ever true remain;
Let me kiſs off that falling tear;
We only part to meet again.
Change as ye liſt, ye winds, my heart ſhall be
The faithful compaſs that ſtill points to thee.
Believe not what the landmen ſay,
Who tempt with doubts thy conſtant mind,
They'll


( t 10 )
They’ll tell thee, ſailors, when away,
In ev'ry port a miliefs find.
Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee ſo,
For thou art preſent wherefoe'er I go,
lf to far India’s coaſt we ſail,
Thy eyes are ſeen in dimonds bright;
Thy breath is Africk's ſpicy gale,
Thy ſkin is ivory ſo white.
Thus, ev'ry beauteous object that I view,
Wakes in my ſoul ſome charm of lovely Sue.
Though battle calls me from thy arms,
Let not my pretty Suſan mourn ;
Though cannons roar, yet, ſafe from harms,
William ſhall to his dear return.
Love turns aſide the balls that round me fly,
Left precious tears ſhould drop from Suſan’s eye.
The Boatſwain gave the dreadful word,
The ſails their ſwelling boſom ſpread;
No longer muſt ſhe ſtay aboard:
They kiſs'd, ſhe figh’d, he hung his head.
Her leſs’ning boat unwilling rows to i.nd:
Adieu ! ſhe cries, and wav'd her lily hand.
Bºy high, blow low, let tempeſts tear
The main-maſt by the board,
My heart with thoughts of thee, my dear,
And love well ſtor’d,
Shall brave all danger, ſcorn all fear,
The roaring winds, the raging ſea,
In hopes on ſhore to be once more
Safe moor’d with thee.
Aloft, while mountains high we go,
The whiſtling winds that ſcud along, And
n


( 120 )
And the ſurge roaring from below,
Shall my ſignal be to think on thee,
And this ſhall be my ſong.
And on that night, when all the crew
The mem’ry of their former lives
O'er flowing cans of flip renew,
And drink their ſweethearts and their wives,
I’ll heave a figh, and think on thee;
And as the ſhip rolls through the ſea,
The burden of my ſong ſhall be.
WEET Annie frae the ſea-beach came,
Where Jockey ſpeel'd the veſſel's fide:
Ah ! wha can keep her heart at hame,
When Jockey’s toſs'd aboon the tide
Far aff’till diſtant realms he gangs,
But Iſe be true, as he ha been ;
And when ilk laſs around him thrangs,
He’ll think on Annie’s faithful teen.
Our weelthy laird I met yeſtern;
- With gowd in hand he tempted me;
He prais'd my brow, and rowan een,
And made a brag of what he’d gie.
But though my Jockey’s far away,
Blaw’d up and down the aweſome main,
Iſe keep my heart anither day,
Syne Jockey may return again.
Nae mair, ſauſe Jamy, fing mae mair,
And fairly caſt your pipe away;
Thy Jockey wad be trubled fair,
To ſee his freen his loobetray.


( 121 )
Yer ſangs, and a yer verſe is vain,
While Jockey’s notes do faithful flow ;
To him my heart ſal true remain,
Iſe keep it for my conſtant Jo.
Blaw ſoft, ye gales, round Jockey's head;
And gar, ye waves, be cawn and ſtill;
His hameward ſails with breezes ſpeed,
And dinna a' my pleaſures ſpill.
Though full o'erlang will be his ſtay,
Yet then he’ll braw in ſiller ſhine.
Iſe keep my heart anither day,
Syne Jockey will agin be mine.
WHEN the ſheep are in the fauld, and a' the
kye at hame,
And all the weary warld aſleep is gane;
The waes o' my heart fall in ſhowers fra my eye,
While my gude mon ſleeps ſound by me.
Young Jamie lov'd me weel, and aſk'd me for his
bride;
But ſaving a crown, he had nae thing beſide:
To make that crown a pound, my Jamie went to
ſea, -
And the crown and the pound were baith for me.
He had nae been game but a year and a day,
When my father brake his arm, and our cow was ſtole
•way,
My mitmer ſhe fell fick, and my Jamie at the ſea,
And auld Robin Gray came a courting to me.
My faither cou’d nae wark, and my mither cou’d nae
ſpin,
I toiled day and night, but their bread I cou’d nae
win:
M Auld


( 122 )
Auld Robin fed en baith, and, wi' tears in his eye,
Said, Jeany, for their ſake, O pray marry me.
My heart is faſt hae, and I look'd for Jamie back;
But the wind it blew hard, and his ſhip it was a
wrack,
His ſhip was a wrack ; why did nae Jeanie dee,
And why was ſhe ſpared to cry, Wae is me *
My fººd me fair, but my mither did nae
ſpeak,
But ſhe ja in my face till my heart was like to
break;
Sa they gied him my hand, though my heart was at
the ſea,
And auld Robin Gray was a gude mon to me.
I had nae been a wife but weeks only four,
When ſitting ſa mournfully out my ain door,
I ſaw my Jamie's ghaiſt, for I cou’d nae think it he,
Till he ſaid, Love, I am com’d hame to marry thee.
Sair, fair did we greet, and mickle did we ſay:
We took but ane kiſs, and we tore ourſels away;
I wiſh I were dead, but I’m nae like to dee;
O why was I born to ſay, Wae is me
Igang like a ghaiſt, and I canna like to ſpin ;
I dare nae think o' Jamie, for that wou’d be a ſin;
But I’ll da my beſt a gude wife to be, -
For auld Robin Gray is very kind to me.
"Twº when the ſeas were roaring,
With hollow blaſts of wind,
A damſel lay deploring.
All on a rock reclin'd.
Wide o'er the rolling billows
She caſt a wiſhful look ;
Her head was crown'd with willows
That trembled o'er the brook.
Twelve


( 123 )
Twelve months are gone and over,
And nine long tedious days;
Why didſt thou, vent’rous lover,
Why didſt thou truſt the ſeas
Ceaſe, ceaſe, then, cruel ocean,
And let my lover reſt
Ah! what’s thy troubled motion,
To that within my breaſt :
The merchant, robb'd of pleaſure,
Views tempeſts in deſpair;
But what’s the loſs of treaſure
To the loſing of my dear *
Should you ſome coaſt be laid on,
Where gold and di'monds grow,
You'd find a richer maiden, -
But none that loves you ſo.
How can they ſay that Nature
*:::::cthing made in vain r
Why then beneath the water
Do hideous rocks remain *
No eyes the rocks diſcover,
That lurk beneath the deep,
To wreck the wand'ring lover,
And leave the maid to weep.
All melancholy lying,
Thus wail'd ſhe for her dear;
Repaid each blaſt with fighing,
Each billow with a tear :
When, o'er the white waves ſtooping,
His floating corpſe ſhe ſpy’d;
Then, like a lily drooping,
She bow'd her head, and dy’d.
Aº US ſpirits, guard my love,
In time of danger near him 'bide,
M 2 with


( 124 )
With outſpread wings around him move,
And turn each random ball aſide.
And you, his foes, though hearts of ſteel,
Oh, may you then with me accord;
A ſympathetic paſſion feel,
Behold his face, and drop the ſword!
Ye winds, your bluſt'ring fury leave,
Like airs that o'er the garden ſweep;
Breathe ſoft, in fighs, and gently heave
The calm, ſmooth boſom of the deep.
Till Halycon Peace, return'd once more,
From blaſts ſecure, and hoſtile harms,
My ſailor views his native ſhore,
And harbours ſafe in theſe fond arms,
And harbours, &c.
Fº ploughing the ocean, and threſhing Mon-
ſieur,
In Old England we’re landed once more.
Your hand, my brave comrades; hola, boys, what
cheer, -
For a ſailor that’s juſt come on ſhore ?
What cheer,-For a ſailor, &c.
Thoſe hečtoring blades thought to ſcare us, no
doubt,
And to cut us, and ſlaſh us, Morbleu !
But hold there ! avaſt ! they were plaguily out;
We’ve ſlic’d'em, and pepper'd 'em too,
We’ve ſlic’d,—We’ve ſlic’d 'em, &c.
Then courage, my hearts, your own conſequence
know;
Yoninvaders ſhall ſoon do us right;
The lion may rouze, when he hears the cock sº
lit.


( 125 )
º,
º
But can never be put in a fright.
No, no,-But can never, &c.
You’ve only to ſhun your nonſenſical jars,
Your damn'd party and idle conteſt,
And let all your ſtrife be, like us honeſt tars, ,
Who ſhall fight for his country the beſt, ,
The beſt—Who ſhall fight, &c.
Now long live the King; may he proſperous reign,
Of no faction, no power afraid;
May Britain’s proud flag ſtill exult o'er the main, ,
At all points of the compaſs diſplay’d,
Diſplay’d—At all points, &c.
No quick-ſands endanger, no rocks overwhelm:
Steady, ſteady, and ſafe, may ſhe ſail : .
No ignorant pilot e'er fit at her helm,
Or her anchor of liberty fail.
No, no,-Or her anchor, &c..
M. former time how briſk and gay; .
Vi Soblithe was I, as blithe as blithe could be;
But now I’m ſad, Ah well-a-day,
For my true love is gone to ſea.
The lads purſue, I ſtrive to ſhun,
Their wheedling arts are loſt on me;
For I to death ſhall love but one,
And he, alas ! is gone to ſea.
As droop the flowers, till light return,
As mourns the dove its abſent ſhe ;
So will I droop, ſo will I mourn,
Till my true love returns from ſea.
EHOLD 1 from many a hoſtile ſhore,
And all the dangers of the main,
M 3 Where;


( 126 )
Where tempeſts burſt, and billows roar,
Your faithful Tom returns again ;
Returns, and brings with him a heart,
Which ne'er from Sally ſhall depart.
Which ne'er, &c,
After long toil, and danger paſt,
How ſweet to tread our native ſoil ;
With conqueſt to come home at laſt,
And deck our ſweethearts with the ſpoil :
No one to beauty ſhould pretend,
But ſuch as dare its rights defend.
No one, &c.
Sºº. time and experience repeatedly tell,
In life no diverſion can hunting excel,
Make much of the ſport, ev’ry ſeaſon embrace,
And honour each call that invites to the chace.
We ſtart with the day, at the dwarf-holes parade,
Break covert, and inſtantly daſh through the glade;
In hopes of true pleaſure led cheerfully on,
Our game to make ſure of, or run down the ſun.
How charming the proſpect, how num’rous the
train,
A hundred or more to behold on the plain ;
And of the appearance that number exceeds,
When Birmingham ſportſmen have mounted their
fleeds!.
To Lord Donegal our beſt wiſhes we give,
That long to partake of the joys he may live.
When the day's ſport is crown'd, crown the night
** o'er a bowl :
A fox-hunter never wants freedom of ſoul.
The


( 127 )
The greatneſs of pleaſures the world can beflow,
Is only, my worthies, for hunters to know;
The true jolly ſportſman looks cheerful as ſpring,
And the prince of a huntſman is ſeen in a King.”
* The name of the buntſman.
ELL met, brother ſportſman; what ſay’ſ to
the morn ?
Doſt not think it a ſcent-laying day
With the heart-cheering hounds, and enrapturing
horn,
To the coppice let’s haſten away.
The morning is freſh, and the winds are all ſtill,
The day-light approaches apace,
The bright God of Day tips with gold the blue
hill,
And awaits for the charms of the chace.
Second Sportſman.
This morn, by a ſhepherd (hard by) was I told,
That Old Reynard has been in the field,
And ſtole a young lambkin away from the fold,
Beſides many more that he kill’d. -
Then to horſe, let’s away, and abroad with the
hounds;
We'll draw yonder copſe, if you pleaſe,
Where echo ſhall double and treble the ſounds,
And the traitor reclines at his eaſe.
Firſt Sportſman.
'Tis agreed: come away, ſound, ſound the gay
horn,
The hounds are impatient to go;
And bluſhing Aurora, fair Queen of the morn,
Will chide us for loitering ſo,
Second


( 128 )
Second Sportſman.
Up mountains we'll climb, and we'll dart through
the woods ;
The hounds and the horn ſhall combine,
With echo's ſweet notes rolling over the floods:
May ſuch rapture for ever be mine!
Wº. ſport can compare
To the hunting of the hare?
In the morning, in fair and pleaſant weather,
With our horſes, and our hounds,
We will ſcour o'er the grounds,
And Tantara, Huzza, brave boys, we will follow.
When poor Puſs doth riſe,
Then away from us ſhe flies,
And we give her a thundering hollow ;-
With our horſes and our hounds.
We will pull her courage down,
And Tantara, Huzza, brave boys, we will follow.
When poor Puſs is kill’d,
We retire from the field,
To be merry, boys, and drink away all ſorrow ; ;
We have nothing more to fear,
But to drown old father Care,
And to baniſh, Huzza, all his wants till to-morrow.
E ſons of dull ſloth, who in cities reſide,
Infipid yourſelves, ye our ſports may deride ; ,
We envy you not all your honours or wealth:
Our objećt is pleaſure, united with health.
Hark! the horn: ſee, the hounds and the horſes ap-
pear,
And Tan-tan-tan-tivy ſalutes the gladear. O
Ił -


( 129 )
On the wings of the wind we purſue the fleet hare,
Leap gate, hedge, and ditch, quite forgetful of
ear;
Kind Echo returns the enlivening ſounds,
And the welkin is rent with the horns and the
hounds.
Hark! the horn, &c.
Diana, the Empreſs of Hunters, thought fit,
Her ſeat 'mong the Gods in Olympus to quit:
Why think you the goddeſs and nymphs left the
place,
But to meet, in the woods, us gay ſons of the chace
Hark! the horn, &c.
Thus ſteal we through life in a round of delight,
With hunting all day, and with bumpers at night.
Let us puſh round the glaſs to the girl of our heart,
And drink till Love whiſpers, "Tis time to depart.
Hark! the horn, &c.
FA; Sally 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 the ſpinning wheel,
Sung of her bonny ſeaman.
The winds blew loud, and ſhe grew paler,
To ſee the weather-cock turn round ;
When, lo! ſhe ſpy’d her bonny ſailor
Come whiſtling o'er the fallow ground :
With nimble haſte he leap'd the ſtile,
And Sally met him with a ſmile,
And hugg’d her bonny ſailor.
Faſt


( 130 )
Faſt round the waiſt he took his Sally,
But firſt around his mouth wip'd he ;
Like home-bred ſpark he could not dally,
But preſs'd and kiſs'd her with a glee.
Through winds, and waves, and daſhing rain,
Cry’d he, Thy Tom's return'd again,
And biings a heart for Sally.
Welcome, ſhe cry’d, my conſtant Thomas,
Though out of fight, ne’er out of mind;
Our hearts, though ſeas have parted from us,
Yet they my thoughts did leave behind ;
So much hath fancy took thy part,
That time nor abſence from my heart
Could drive my bonny Thomas.
This knife, the gift of lovely Sally,
I ſtill have kept, for her dear ſake;
A thouſand times, in am’rous folly,
Her name I’ve carv'd upon the deck.
Again this happy picáge returns,
To tell how truly. Thomas burns,
- How truly burns for Sally.
This thimble didſt thou give to Sally:
Whilſt this I ſee, I think of you;
Then why does Tom ſtand ſhill-I, ſhall-I,
While yonder ſteeple is in view .
Tom, never to occaſion biind,
Now took her in the coming mind,
And went to church with Sally.
HEN here, Lucinda, firſt we came,
Where Arno rolls his ſilver ſtream,
How briſk the nymphs, the ſwains how gay !
Content inſpir’d each rural lay : Th
e


( 131 )
The birds in livelier concert ſung,
The g. apes in thicker cluſters hung;
All look’d as joy could never fail,
Among the ſweets of Arno's vale.
But now, fince good Palemon dy’d,
The chief of ſhepherds, and the pride,
Now Arno’s ſons muſt all give place
To Northern ſwains, an iron race :
The taſte of pleaſure now is o’er;
Thy notes, Lucinda, pleaſe no more;
The Muſes droop, the Goths prevail;
Adieu ! the ſweets of Arno’s vale.
T Roſs, how alter’d is the ſcene
Lo, Penyard’s beauties fail!
Loſt is his crown of ſmiling green,
And fogs his ſummit veil;
Old Wye, his mazy courſe reſtrain'd,
Lies o'er his urn ſupine ;
In ice his idle feet are chain'd,
With froſt his treſſes ſhine.
On yonder hills, that bound our ſight,
Already lies the ſnow;
Their ſides long ſtreaks of dazzling white,
Amidſt their azure ſhow. -
Thy trees, Kyrle, favourite of the muſe,
Bare, bleak, and naked ſtand ;
No pleaſing ſpots, no charming views,
Thy proſpect can command.
*Tis cold and melancholy all,
'Tis dreary to the eye,
And with Cºd Wilton’s warlike wall,
In ruin ſeems to lie.
What


( 133 )
My vital bloom would thus be froze,
If luckleſs torn from thee;
For, what the root is to the roſe,
My Delia is to me.
Two doves I found, like new-fall'n ſnow,
So white the beauteous pair;
The birds to Delia I’ll beſtow,
They're like her boſom fair.
May they of our connubial love
A happy omen be!
Then, ſuch fond bliſs as turtles prove,
Shall Delia ſhare with me.
I. a ſmall pleaſant village, by Nature complete,
Of a few honeſt peaſants the quiet retreat,
There liv'd a young laſs of ſo lovely a mien,
As ſeldom at courts or at balls can be ſeen :
The ſweet damaſk roſe was full blown on her cheek,
The lily diſplay’d all its white on her neck;
The lads of the village all ſtrove to prevail,
And call’d her, with rapture, Sweet Nan of the
Vale.
Firſt poor Hodge ſpoke his paſſion, till quite out of
breath,
Crying, Wounds ! he could hug her, and kiſs her to
death ;
And Dick with her beauty was ſo much poſſeſs'd,
That he loathed his food, and abandon’d his reſt:
But ſhe could find nothing in them to endear,
So ſent each away with a flea in his ear,
And ſaid, no ſuch boobies could tell a love tale,
Or bring to compliance Sweet Nan of the Vale.
Tiſſ young Roger, the ſmarteſt of all the gay green,
Who late on a frolic to London had been,
Came


|
( 134. )
Came back, much improv’d in his air and addreſs,
And boldly attack'd her, not fearing ſucceſs ;
He ſaid, Heav'n form'd ſuch ripe lips to be kiſs'd,
And preſs'd her ſo cloſe that ſhe could not reſiſt
He ſhew'd the dull clowns the right way to affail,
And brought to his wiſhes Sweet Nan of the Vale.
IN my pleaſant native plains,
Wing’d with bliſs, each moment flew;
Nature there inſpir'd the ſtrains,
Simple as the joys I knew ;
Jocund morn, and ev’ning 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 fing,
Would not join the ſong of love
Your ſweet notes, and chauntings gay,
Claim'd the merry roundelay.
HILE the lads of the village ſhall merrily,
ah,
Sound their tabors, I’ll hand thee along ;
And I ſay unto thee, that verily, ah,
Thou and I will be firſt in the throng.
Juſt


( 135 )
Juſt then, when the youth who laſt year won the
dow'r, -
With his mate ſhall the ſports have begun,
When the gay voice of gladneſs is heard from each
bow'r,
And thou long’ſ 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.
This cold flinty heart, it is you who have warm'd;
You waken'd my paſſions, my ſenſes have
charm'd.
In vain againſt merit and Cymon I ſtrove :
What's life, without paſſion, ſweet paſſion of love?
The froſt nips the buds, and the roſe cannot blow :
From the youth that is froſt-nipp'd no rapture can
flow :
Elyſium to him but a deſert will prove.
What's life without paſſion, ſweet paſſion of love
The ſpring ſhould be warm, the young ſeaſon be gay,
Her biº and her flow'rets make blithſome ſweet
ay ;
Love bleſſes the cottage, and fings through the grove,
What’s life without paſſion, ſweet paſſion of love
Wºº Yanko dear fight far away,
Some token kind me ſend :—
N 2 One


( 136 )
One branch of Olive; for dat ſay,
1e wiſh de battle end.
De Poplar tremble while him go,
Say, Of dy life take care;
Me ſend no Laurel, for me know,
Of dat he find him ſhare.
De Ivy ſay, my heart be true;
Me droop, ſay Willow-tree;
De Torn, he ſay, Me fick for you;
De Sun-flow'r tink of me.
Till laſt, me go weep wid de Pine,
For fear poor Yanko dead.
He come, and I de Myrtle 'twine,
In chaplet for him head.
> WAS in the bloom of May,
... When odours breathe around,
When mymphs are blithe and gay,
And all with mirth abound,
That happily l ſtray'd,
To view my fleecy care,
Where I beheld a maid,
No mortal e'er ſo fair.
She wore upon her head
A bonnet made of ſtraw,
Which ſuch a face did ſhade,
As Phoebus never ſaw :
Her locks, of nut-brown hue,
A round-ear'd coif conceal’d ;
Which to my pleaſing view
A ſportive breeze reveal’d.
Around her ſlender waiſt
A ſcrip embroider'd hung ;
The lute, her fingers grac'd,
Accompany'd with a ſong.
With


(. 137 )
With ſuch a pleaſing note,
The hermit might regale,
More than the linnet’s throat,
That warbles through the vale.
Not long I ſtood to view,
Struck with her heav'nly air ; ;
I to the charmer flew,
And cºught the yielding fair..
Hear this, ye ſcornful belles,
And milder ways pu: ſue:
She that in charms excels,
Excels in kindneſs too. .
"Toº as I ſat in a ſycamore ſhade,
Young Damon came whiſtling along ;
I.trembled, I bluſh'd, a poor innocent maid,
And my heart caper’d up to my tongue.
Silly heart, I cry'd, fye what a flutter is here !
Young Damon deſigns you no ill;
The Shepherd's ſo civil, you’ve nothing to fear: .
Then, prithee, fond urchin, lie ſtill.
Sly Damon drew near, and knelt down at my feet;,
One kiſs he demanded, no more ; .
But urg’d the ſoft preſſure with ardour ſo ſweet, .
I could not deny him a ſcore.
My lambkins I’ve kiſs'd, and no change ever found, ,
As often we play’d on the hill;
But Damon's dear lips made my heart gallop round,
Nor would the fond urchin lie ſtill..
When flames the bright ſun, to the ſycamore ſhade:
For ſhelter, I'm ſure to repair;
And, virgins, in faith, I'm no longer afraid, .
Although the dear Shepherd be there..
N, 3
3 At-


( 138 )
At ev'ry fond kiſs that with freedom he takes,
My heart may rebound, if it will :
There's ſomething ſo ſweet in the buſtle it makes,
I’ll die ere I bid it lie ſtill.
I’; fing of my love all night and all day;
He's ever good-natur'd, and frolic, and gay ;
His voice is as ſweet as the nightingale's lay,
And well on the bag-pipe my Shepherd can play :
And a bonny young lad is my Jockey.
. He ſays that he loves me, I’m witty, and fair,
And praiſes my eyes, my lips, and my hair :
Roſe, violet, nor lily, with me can comparc.
If this be to flatter, 'tis pretty, I ſwear:
And a bonny, &c.
He kneel'd at my feet, and, with many a figh,
He cry’d, O ! my dear, will you never comply :
If you mean to deſtroy me, why, do it; I'll die.
I trembled all over, and anſwer'd, Not I:
* ... And a bonny, &c.
---
- - -
Around the tall May-pole he dances ſo meat;
And ſonnets of love the dear boy can repeat:
He's conſtant, he's valiant, he's wiſe, and diſcreet ;
His looks are ſo kind, and his kiſſes ſo fiveet :
- And a bonny, &c.
At eve, when the ſun ſeeks repoſe in the weſt,
And May’s tuneful choriſts all ſkim to their neſt,
When I meet on the green the dear boy I love beſ,
My heart is juſt ready to burſt from my breaſt:
Such a bonny &c.
But,
º


( 14o )
I ſtole a kiſs the other day;
And, truſt me, nought but truth I ſay,
The fragrant breath of blooming May
Was not ſo ſweet as Peggy.
While bees from flow'r to flow'r, ſhall rove,
And linnets warble through the grove,
Or flately ſwans the waters love,
So long ſhall I love Peggy.
And when Death, with his pointed dart,
Shall ſtrike the blow that rives my heart,
My words ſhall be, when I depart,
Adieu ! my lovey Peggy.
Y fond ſhepherds of late were ſo bleſt,
Their 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 2
Muſt the ſweet rural paſtime be o'er
Shall the tabor no more it ike the ear 2
Shall the dance on the green be no more ?'
Will the flocks from their paſtures be led :
Muſt the herds go wild ſtraying abrºad
Shall the looms be all ſtopp'd in each ſhed ;-
And the ſhips be all moor'd in each road
Muſt the arts be all ſcatter'd around 2. -
And ſhall Commerce grow fick of its tide
Muſt Religion expire on the ground ;
And ſhall Virtue fink down by her fide Pº
ELL me, lovely ſhepherd, where,
Thou feed'ſt, at noon, thy fleecy care;.
Direct


( 14.2 )
Y banks, they are furniſh'd with bees,
Whoſe murmur invites one to ſleep;
My grottos are ſhaded with trees,
And my hills are white over with ſheep.
I ſeldom have met with a loſs,
Such health do my mountains beſtow;
My fountains are border'd with moſs,
Where the harebells and violets grow.
I've found out a gift for my fair;
I’ve found where the wood-pigeons breed:
But, let me that plunder forbear;
She’ll ſay, 'Twas a barbarous deed.
He ne'er could be true, ſhe averr'd,
Who could rob a poor bird of its young ;
And, I hov’d her the more, when I heard
Such tenderneſs fall from her tongue.
But where does my Phillida ſtray, -
And where are her grots and her bow'rs f
Are the groves and the valleys as gay,
And the ſhepherds as gentle as ours ?
The groves may perhaps be as fair,
The face of the valleys as fine;
The ſwains may in manners compare,
But their love is not equal to mine.
T
CoMº. Roger and Nell, come, Simkin and Bell,
Each lad with his laſs hither come ;
With finging and dancing, in pleaſure advancing,
To celebrate harveſt home.
'Tis Ceres bids play, and keep holiday,
To celebrate harveſt home. -
Our labour is o'er, and our barns, in full ſtore,
Now ſwell with rich gifts of the land:
Let.


( 143 )
Let each man then take, for his prong and his rake,
His can and his laſs in his hand.
Cho. For Ceres bids play, &c.
No courtier can be ſo happy as we,
In innocent paſtime and mirth,
While thus we carouſe with our ſweetheart or ſpouſe,
And rejoice o'er the fruits of the earth.
Cho. When Ceres bids play, &c.
OME, come, my good ſhepherds, our flocks we
muſt ſheer ;
In your holiday ſuits, with your laſſes appear.
The happieſt of folks are the guileleſs and free;
And who are ſo guileleſs, ſo happy as we ?
We harbour no paſſions by luxury taught,
We practiſe no arts with hypocriſy 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.
That giant, Ambition, we never can dread,—
Our roofs are to low for ſo lofty a head :
Content, and ſweet Cheerfulneſs, open our door;
They ſmile with the fimple, 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 fimple we ſport and we play,
And leave to fine folk to deceive and betray.
TO


( 144 )
To an arbour of woodbines ye both ſhall be
led ;
Soft leaves for your pillow, the graſs for your bed :
While wanton young ſparrows chirp over your head,
All under the greenwood ſhade.
When the morn, with pale luſtre, peeps through the
dark grove,
And nightingales anſwer the chaſte turtle-dove,
The maid, without bluſhing, ſhall claſp her true
love
Ali under the greenwood ſhade.
Our innocent pleaſures begin with the day;-
While guileleſs our hearts, we have cauſe to be gay.
No virgins diſſemble, no ſhepherds betray,
All under the greenwood ſhade.
Should frowns for a while arm the face of the fair,
Yet ſoon the young lover forgets all his care,
When lovely young Phillis forbids him deſpair,
All under the the greenwood ſhade.
Uº. a ſummer's ev’ning clear,
Dione, hapleſs maid,
All wan with grief, and pining care,
Sought out a ſecret ſhade.
How wretched, ah ] how chang'd am I,
Unhapppy maid! ſaid ſhe ;
No ſcene is pleaſing to my eye,
No flow’r is ſweet to me.
..So many vows could Colin make
To me, ah faithleſs ſwain :
And yet thoſe plighted vows to break,
And leave me to complain
Why


( 145 )
Why did I raſhly ſeek his arms
Why his fond tale believe
Alas! I yielded all my charms,
Nor thought he could deceive.
Yet, why of roſes ſuch a ſtore,
And lilies in my face,
Since Lucy now can pleaſe you more,
And claim your fond embrace
My brighteſt charms I’d willing give,
Reſign my roſy hue ;
Content with Lucy's charms, I’d live
A rural maid, for you.
Rut Colin's deaf, while I upbraid,
Nor heeds, though I complain;
Thinks not that I’m the injur’d maid,
And he the perjur’d ſwain.
Yet know, falſe man, Dione’s ſhade
To fright you ſhall appear;
And, when you climb the marriage bed,
Dione ſhall be there.
OW bleſs'd has my time been, what days have I
known, -
Since wedlock’s ſoft bondage made Jeſſy my own
So joyful my heart is, ſo eaſy my chain, .
That freedom is taſteleſs, and roving a pain.
Through walks grown with woodbines as often we
ſtray,
Around us our girls and boys frolick and play :
How pleaſing their ſport is, the wanton ones ſee,
And borrow their looks from my Jeſſy and me.
O What


( 146 )
what though on her cheek the roſe loſes its hue,
Her eaſe and good-humour bloom all the year
through;
Time, ſtill as he flies, brings increaſe to her truth,
And gives to her mind what he ſteals from her
youth.
Ye ſhepherds ſo gay, who make love to enſnare,
And cheat, with falſe vows, the too credulous fair,
In ſearch of true pleaſure how vainly you roam!
To hold it for life, you muſt find it at home.
PRING returns, the fawns advance,
Leading on the ſprightly dance,
O'er the fallow, o'er the glade,
Through the ſun-ſhine, through the ſhade;
Whilſt I, forlorn and penſive ſtill,
Sit fighing for my Daffodil.
See the wanton nymphs appear,
Smiling all as ſmiles the year,
Sporting print where'er they tread,
Daiſy ground, or primroſe bed.
Whilſt I, &c.
Now the ſwain, with wat'ry ſhoe,
Bruſhes cff the morning dew ;
With officious love, to bear
Freſh-blown cowſlips to his fair:
Whilſt I, &c.
Gentle nymphs, forſake the mead,
To my love for pity plead :
Go, ye ſwains, and ſeek the fair :
This, my laſt petition, bear.
Whilſt I, &c.
Sweeteſ


( 147 )
Sweeteſt maid that e'er was ſeen:
Dance at wake, or trip the green,
See a love-ſick, fighing ſwain;
Hear my vows, relieve my pain :
Or, with your frowns, for pity kill,
Two charming, cruel Daffodil.
HF live-long day, forlorn I go ;
My heart is compaſs'd round with woe,
With woe, Ah well-a-day !
The cauſe you hear in ev'ry figh,
You ſee it wrote within my eye :
'Tis love, Ah! well-a-day !
HEN war's alarms entic'd my Willy from
~ Inê,
My poor heart with grief did ſigh;
Each fond remembrance brought freſh ſorrow on
me,
I woke ere yet the morn was migh.
No other could delight him :
Ah! why did I e'er ſlight him,
Coldly anſwering his fond tale
Which drove him far,
Amidſt the rage of war,
And left filly me, thus to bewail.
But I no longer, though a maid forſaken,
Thus will mourn, like yonder dove;
For, ere the lark to-morrow ſhall awaken,
I will ſeek my abſent love.
The hoſtile country over,
1'll fly, to ſeek my lover,
O 2 Scorning


( 148 )
Scorning ev'ry threat’ning fear:
Nor diſtant ſhore,
Nor cannon's roar,
Shall longer keep me from my dear.
Y Nancy leaves the rural train,
M
A camp's diſtreſs to prove ;
All other ills ſhe can ſuſtain,
But living from her love:
Yet, deareſt, though your ſoldier's there,
Will not your ſpirit fail,
To mark the hardſhips you muſt ſhare,
Dear Nancy of the Dale
Or, ſhould my love each danger ſcorn,
Ah how ſhall I ſecure
Your health, 'mid toils which you were born
To ſoothe, but not endure ?
A thouſand perils I muſt view,
A thouſand ills aſſail;
Nor muſt I tremble e'en for you,
Dear Nancy of the Dale.
HE fife and drum ſound merrily;
A ſoldier, a ſoldier's the lad for me;
With my true love I ſoon will be:
For who's ſo kind, ſo true as he
With him in ev’ry toil I'll ſhare;
To pleaſe him ſhall be all my care :
Each peril I’ll dare,
And all hardſhips bear;
For a ſoldier, a ſoldier's the lad for me.
Then, if kind Heav'n preſerve my love,
What rapt’rous joy ſhall his Nancy prove
Swif:


( 149 )
Swift through the camp ſhall my footſteps bound,
To meet my William, with conqueſt crown'd.
Cloſe to my faithful boſom preſt,
Soon ſhall he huſh his cares to reſt;
Claſp'd in theſe arms,
Forget war’s alarms : -
For a ſoldier, a ſoldier's the lad for me.
O, 'twas neither form or feature
Made me own your ſov’reign ſway;.
E’en then the proudeſt gifts of Nature
Could have triumph’d but a day.
Beauty's graces, though inviting,
Scarce the raviſh’d ſenſe will bind ::
But, with Virtue’s charms uniting,
Steal Love’s fetters o'er the mind.
Twº youths for my love are contending in.
Vain ;
For, do what they can,
Their ſuff’rings I rally, and laugh at their pain;
Which, which is the man
Who deſerves me the moſt, let me aſk of my heart ;.
Is it Robin, who ſmirks and who dreſſes ſo ſmart,
Or Tom, honeſt Tom, who makes plainneſs his,
plan f
Which, which is the man *
They bid me be prudent, and ačt as I ought;"
I do what I can ;
Yet, ſurely Papa and Mama are in fault.
To a different man
O 3. "They


( 150 )
They each have advis'd me to yield ºp my heart:—
Mama praiſes Robin, who dreſſes ſo ſmart;
Papa, honeſt Tom, who makes plainneſs his plan.
Which, which is the man
Be honeſt, my heart, then, and point out the youth;
I’ll do what I can,
His love to return, and return it with truth,
- Whoever’s the man.
No longer I need to examine my heart;
'Tis not Robin, who ſmirks, and who dreſſes ſo
ſmart,
But Tom, honeſt Tom, who makes plainneſs his
lan :
P He, he is the man.
Tº farewell, my trim-built wherry!
Oars, and coat, and badge, farewell
Never more at Chelſea Ferry
Shall your Thomas take a ſpell.
But, to hope and peace a ſtranger,
In the battle's heat I go ;,
Where, expos'd to ev'ry danger,
Some friendly ball ſhalſ lay me low.
Then, mayhap, when homeward ſteering,
With the news my meſſmates come,
Even you, my ſtory hearing,
With a figh, may cry, Poor Tom 1
F ſweethearts, ſo conſtant as I am,
Dear Nancy, you’ll meet but with few ;
To love you more true, I defy 'em ;—
I always am thinking of you.
There


( 151 )
There are maidens would have me, in plenty,
Nell, Cicely, Priſcilla, and Sue :
But, inſtead of all theſe, were there twenty,
I never ſhould think but of you.
Falſe hearts all your money may ſquander,
And only have pleaſure in view;
Ne’er from you a moment I’ll wander,
Unleſs to get money for you.
The tide, when 'tis ebbing and flowing,
Is not to the moon half ſo true ; -
Nor my oars to their time, when I’m rowing,
As my heart, my fond heart is to you.
H%. 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.
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 hills, the groves, the ſtreams remain;
But, Damon there I ſeek in vain.
From hill, from dale, each charm is fled,
Groves, 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 ſtill 1 ſeek in vain.
LOWE’s


( 154 )
And thy ſoft, perſuaſive tongue
Oft has held me in the dale.
Take, O Damon, while I live,
All which virtue ought to give.
Nor the verdure of the grove,
Nor the garden's faireſt flow’rs,
Nor the meads where lovers rove,
Tempted by the vernal hours,
Can delight thy Damon's eye,
If Florella is not by.
Not the water's gentle fall
By the banks, with poplars crown'd,
Not the feather’d ſongſter's call, .
Nor the pipe's melodious ſound,
Can delight Florella's ear,
If her Damon be not near.
Ilet us love, and let us live,
Like the cheerful ſeaſon, gay ?
Baniſh care, and let us give
Tribute to the fragrant May :
Like the cuckow, and the dove,
Liſten to the voice of Love.
N love, ſhould there meet a fond pair,
Untutor’d by faſhion or art,
Whoſe wiſhes are warm and ſincere,
Whoſe wºrds are th’exceſs of the heart;
If ought of ſubſtantial delight
On this ſide the ſtars can be found,
'Tis, ſure, when this couple unite,
And Cupid by Hymen is crown'd.
FAl REST


( 156 )
What either might want, he bid either to move:
But they wanted nothing, but ever to love.
He ſaid all to bleſs them his godhead could do;
That they ſtill ſhould be kind, and they ſtill ſhould
be true.
L9. 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 ſong, of dance, of ſports, you
Scarce will meet his like again.
T
HEPHERDS, I have loſt my love :
Have you ſeen my Anna :
Pride of ev'ry ſhady grove,
Upon the banks of Banna.
I, for her, my home forſook,
Near yon miſty mountain,
Left my flock, my pipe, my crook,
Greenwood ſhade, and fountain :
Never ſhall I ſee them more
Until her returning ;
All the joys of life are o’er,
From gladneſs chang'd to mourring.
Whither is my charmer flown
Shepherds, tell me whither ?
Ah woe for me ! perhaps ſhe's gone,
For ever, and for ever, -
STRAY


( 157 )
TRAY not to thoſe diſtant ſcenes;
From thy comfort do not rove ;
Tarry in theſe peaceful glens :
Tread the quiet paths of love.
Is not this ſequeſter'd ſhade
Richer than the proud alcove?
Tarry in this peaceful ſhade;
Tarry here, with me and love.
Liſten to the wood-lark's note,
Liſten to the cooing dove;
Hark! the thruſh’s mellow note;
All uniting carol love.
See, the limpid brooks around,
Winding through the varied grove.
This is Paſſion's fairy ground:
Tarry here, with me and love.
Włº ſhepherd, or nymph of the grove,
Can blame me for dropping a tear,
Or lamenting aloud as Irove,
Since Delia no longer is here
My flocks, if at random they ſtray,
What wonder, fince ſhe's from the plains :
Her hand they were wont to obey :
She rul’d both the ſheep and the ſwains.
Can I ever forget how I 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 P
There, ſweet by my fide 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 !
P How


( 159 )
Methought, ſhe might like to retire
To the grove I had labour'd to rear:
For, whatever I heard her admire,
I haſted, and planted it there.
Her voice ſuch a pleaſure conveys,
So much I her accents adore ;
Let her ſpeak, and whatever ſhe ſays,
I’m ſure ſtill to love her the more.
And now, ere I haſte to the plain,
Come, ſhepherds, and talk of her ways;
I could lay down my life for the ſwain
That would fing me a ſong in her praiſe.
While he fings, may the maids of the town
Come flocking, and liſten awhile;
Nor on him let Hebe once frown,
But I cannot allow her to ſmile.
To ſee, when my charmer goes by,
Some hermit peep out of his cell,
How he thinks of his youth with a ſigh;
How fondly he'wiſhes her well ! * *
On him ſhe may ſmile, if ſhe pleaſe;
"Twill warm the cold boſom of Age ;-
But ceaſe, gentle Hebe, Oh, ceaſe !
Such ſoftneſs will ruin the ſage.
I’ve ſtole from no flow'rets that grow,
To paint the dear charms I approve;
For what can a bloſſom beſtow
So ſweet, ſo delightful as love 2
I ſing in a ruſtical way,
A ſhepherd, and one of the throng;
Yet Hebe approves of my lay,+
Go, poets, and envy my ſong.
P 2 . - ASK


( 162 )
He had better here be wooing, [...]
Than with others fondly playing. |
Tell me truly, where he's roving, -
That I may no longer ſorrow ;
If he's weary grown of loving,
Let him tell me ſo to-morrow.
Does ſome favºrite rival hide thee
Let her be the happy creature;
I'll not plague myſelf to chide thee,
Nor diſpute with her a feature.
But I can’t, and will not tarry,
Nor will kill myſelf with ſorrow;
I may loſe the time to marry,
If I wait beyond to-morrow. y
Think not, ſhepherd, thus to brave me:
If I'm yours, pray wait no longer;
If you won’t, another’ll have me;
I may cool, but not grow fonder.
If your lovers, girls, forſake ye,
Whine not in deſpair and ſorrow ;
Bleſt another lad may make ye:
Stay for none beyond to-morrow.
W IERE, dear maid, (ſhouldſt thou forſake me)
Could unhappy Damon fly
To what other fair betake me,
Baniſh'd from thy love-fraught eye
In the breaſt my bliſs reſides;
Woe in ev'ry place beſides
Should I thence by ſcorn be driven,
For me remains no other Heav'n. s
Other


( 163 )
Other maids may ſhine in riches,
Other charms enchain the ſwain ;
But the heart which love bewitches,
Seeks in vain to ſhift its chain.
In the ardent realms of Love,
Joy and Peace united move;
Sep’rate each can never dwell:
All is Heav'n, or all is Hell.
O 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 had 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 muſe, to ſee them rove :
They aſk the cauſe: i anſwer, Love 1
Neglected love flrſt taught my eyes
With tears of anguiſh to o'erflow ;
'Twas that which fill'd my breaſt with fighs,
And tun’d my pipe to notes of woe.
Love has occaſion’d all my ſmart,
Diſpers'd my flock, and broke my heart.
BENEATH


( 165 )
Yet ſtill he cry’d, 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 thee with a ruſh ring :
Thy frozen heart ſhall melt with 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.
Yet ſtill, &c.
Yoº Lubin was a ſhepherd boy,
Fair Roſalie a ruſtic maid ;
They look'd, they lov'd : each other's joy,
Together o'er the hills they ſtray’d.
Their parents ſaw, and bleſt their love,
Nor would their happineſs delay :
To-morrow’s dawn their bliſs ſhall prove,
To-morrow be their wedding day.
When, as at eve, beſide the brook,
Where ſtray'd their flocks, they ſat and ſmil'd,
One luckleſs lamb the current took ;
'Twas Roſalie's; ſhe ſtarted wild.
Run, Lubin, run, my favºrite ſave 1
Too fatally the youth obey'd ;
He ran, he plung'd into the wave,
To give the little wand’rer aid.
But, ſcarce he guides him to the ſhore,
When, faint and ſunk, poor Lubin dies;


( 166 )
Ah, Roſalie for evermore
In his cold grave thy lover lies :
On that lone bank, Oh, ſtill be ſeen,
Faithful to grief, thou hapleſs maid;
And, with ſad wreaths of Cypreſs green,
For ever ſoothe thy Lubin’s ſhade!
I SEEK my ſhepherd, gone aſtray;
He left our cot the other day.
Tell me, ye gentle nymphs and ſwains,
Paſs'd the dear rebel through your plains
Oh I whither, whither muſt I roam,
To find, and charm the wand’rer home *
Sports he upon the ſheaven green,
Or joys he in the mountain ſcene *
Leads he his flocks along the mead,
Or does he ſeek the cooler ſhade 2
Oh! teach a wretched nymph the way
To find her lover, gone aſtray.
To paint, ye maids, my truant ſwain—
A manly ſoftneſs crowns his mien ;
Adonis was not half ſo fair;
And, when he talks,’tis heav'n to hear !
But, Oh! the ſoothing poiſon ſhun :
To liſten, is to be undone.
He'll ſwear no time ſhall quench his flame,
To me the perjur’d ſwore the ſame,
Too fondly loving, to be wiſe,
Who gave my heart an eaſy prize;
And, when he tun’d his Syren voice,
Liſten’d, and was undone by choice.
But,


( 167 )
But, ſated now, he ſhuns the kiſs
He counted once his greateſt bliſs ;
Whilſt I with fiercer paſſions burn,
And pant, and die for his return.
Oh! whither, whither ſhall Irove,
Again to find my ſtraying love 2
Dº you ſee e'er a ſhepherd, ye nymphs, paſs
this way,
Crown'd with myrtle, and all the gay verdure of
May
'Tis my ſhepherd; Oh, bring him once more to
my eyes;
From his Lucy, in ſearch of new pleaſures, he
flies.
All the day, how I travell’d, and toil'd o'er the
plains,
In purſuit of a rebel, that's ſcarce worth the pains!
Take care, maids, take care, when he flatters and
ſwears,
How you truſt your own eyes, or believe your own
ears ;
Like the roſe-bud in June, ev'ry hand he’ll in-
vite
But wound the kind heart, like the thorn out of
fight; -
And truſt me, whoe'er my falſe ſhepherd detains,
She’ll find him a conqueſt that’s ſcarce worth her
pains.
Three months at my feet did he languiſh and
ſigh -
gh,
Ere he gain’d a kind look, or a tender reply;
Love,


( 168 )
Love, honour, and truth, were the themes that he
ſung, -
And he vow'd that his ſoul was akin to his
tongue.
Too ſoon I believ'd, and reply'd to his ſtrains,
And gave him too frankly my heart for his pains.
The trifle once gain'd, like a boy at his play,
Soon the wanton grew weary, and flung it away;
Now cloy'd with my love, from my arms he does
In ſarº; another as filly as I: w
But, truſt me, whoe'er my falſe ſhepherd detains,
She’ll find him a conqueſt that's ſcarce worth her
pains. -
Beware, all ye nymphs, how you ſoothe the fond
- flame,
And believe, in good time, all the ſex are the
ſame ;
Like Strephon, from beauty to beauty they
range ;
Like him, they will flatter, diſſemble, and change;
And, do all we can, ſtill this maxim remains,
That a man, when we’ve got him, is ſcarce worth the
pains.
A*. why muſt words my flame reveal 2
What needs my Damon bid me tell
What all my ačtions prove
A bluſh, whene'er I meet his eye,
Whene'er I hear his name, a figh
Betrays my ſecret love.
In all their ſports upon the plain,
My eyes ſtill fix’d on him remain,
And him alone approve ;
w The


( 169 )
The reſt, unheeded, dance or play;
He ſteals from all my praiſe away :
And can he doubt my love *
Whene'er we meet, my looks confeſs
The pleaſures which my foul poſſeſs,
And all its cares remove ;
Still, ſtill too ſhort appears his ſtay;
I frame excuſes for delay :
Can this be aught but love
Does any ſpeak in Damon's praiſe,
How pleas'd am I with all he ſays,
And ev'ry word approve
Is he defam’d, though but in jeſt,
I feel reſentment fire my breaſt :
Alas ! becauſe I love 1
But, Oh! what tortures tear my heart,
When I ſuſpect, his looks impart
The leaſt deſire to rove |
I hate the maid who gives me pain;
Yet him I ſtrive to hate in vain ;
For, ah! that hate is love.
Then, aſk not words, but read my eyes;
Believe my bluſhes, truſt my fighs:
- All theſe my paſſion prove.
Words may deceive, may ſpring from art;
But the true language of my heart
To Damon, muſt be love.
Hº. imperfeit is expreſſion,
Some emotions to impart,
When we mean a ſoft confeſſion,
And yet ſeek to hide the heart :
When


( 17o )
When our boſoms, all complying,
With delicious tumults ſwell,
And beat what broken, fault'ring, dying
Language would, but cannot tell.
Deep Confuſion’s roſy terror,
Quite expreſſive, paints my cheek:
Aſk no more, behold your error—
Bluſhes eloquently ſpeak.
What, though filent is my anguiſh,
Or breath'd only to the air
Mark my eyes, and, as they languiſh,
Read what yours have written there.
Oh! that you could once conceive me,
Once my ſoul’s ſtrong feelings view ;
Love has nought more fond, believe me,
Friendſhip, nothing half ſo true.
From you, I am wild, deſpairing;
With you, ſpeechleſs, as I touch :
This is all that bears declaring,
And, perhaps, declares too much.
W. heaves my fond boſom Ah! what can it
mean *
Why flutters my heart, which was once ſo ſerene
Why this fighing, and trembling, when Daphne is
near 2
Or why, when ſhe's abſent, this ſorrow and fear
For ever, methinks, I with wonder could trace
The thouſand ſoft charms that embelliſh thy face ;
Each moment I view thee, new beauties I find :
With thy face I am charm’d, but enſlav’d by thy
mind.
Untainted


( 173 )
*Tis true, a noſegay I had dreſs'd,
To grace the witty Daphne's breaſt;
But, 'twas at her defire, to try
If Damon caſt a jealous eye.
Theſe flow’rs will fade, by morning dawn,
Negle&ted, ſcatter'd o'er the lawn;
But, in thy fragrant boſom, lies
A ſweet perfume, that never dies.
To keep my gentle Jeſſy,
What labour would ſeem hard?:
Each toilſome taſk, how eaſy,
Her love the ſweet reward l:
The bee, thus uncomplaining,
Eſteems no toil ſevere,"
The ſweet reward obtaining, :
Of honey, all the year.
Fº Kitty, beautiful and young,
And wild as colt untam’d,
Beſpoke the Fair from whom ſhe ſprung,
With little rage inflam'd ;
Inflam'd with rage, at ſad reſtraint,
Which wiſe Mama ordain'd,
And ſorely vex'd, to play the ſaint,
While wit and beauty reign'd,
While wit and beauty reign'd,
And ſorely vex'd, &c.
Muſt Lady Jenny friſk about,
And viſit with her couſins f
At balls, muſt ſhe make all the rout,
And bring home hearts by dozens?
Q-3 What:


( 175 )
But Gravity itſelf muſt ſmile,
The wranglers to have heard;
For place diſputing all the while,
Though each his own preferr'd ;
Till, chancing from her lips to ſlide,
One fell on Chloe's breaſt,
And, as it heav'd, in triumph cry’d,
Whoſe ſtation's now the beſt P
Fº me my Fair a wreath has wove,
Where rival flow’rs in union meet;
As oft ſhe kiſs'd this gift of love,
Her breath gave ſweetneſs to the ſweet-
A bee, within a damaſk roſe,
Had crept, the neétar'd dew to ſip ;
But leſſer ſweets the thief foregoes,
And fixes on Louiſa's lip.
There, taſting all the bloom of ſpring,
Wak’d by the rip'ning breath of May;
Th’ ungratefal ſpoiler left his ſting,
And with the honey fled away.
TELLA, and Flavia, ev'ry hour
Do various hearts ſurpriſe;
In Stella’s ſoul is all her pow'r,
And Flavia’s in her eyes.
More boundleſs Flavia's conqueſts are,
And Stella’s more confin’d ;
All can diſcern a face that’s fair,
But few a heav'nly mind.
Stella, like Britain's Monarch, reigns.
O'er cultivated lands;
Like


( 177 )
To be vex’d at a trifle or two that I writ,
Your judgment, at once, and my paſſion, you
wrong ;
You take that for fact, which will ſcare be found
w1t :
Odds-life I muſt one ſwear to the truth of a
ſong
The God of us verſemen, you know, child, the Sun,
How, after his journey, he ſets up his reſt;
If, at morning, o'er earth 'tis his fancy to run,
At night he reclines on his Thetis's breaſt.
So, when I am wearied with wand'ring all day,
To thee, my delight, in the ev’ning I come:
No matter, what beauties 1 met in the way;
They were but my viſits, but you are my home:
Then, finiſh, dear Chloe, this paſtoral war,
And let us, like Horace and Lydia, agree;
For thou art a girl as much brighter than her,
As he was a poet ſublimer than me.
*
HE ſilver moon’s enamour’d beam
Steals ſoftly through the night,
To wanton in the winding ſtream,
And kiſs refle&ted light.
To Courts be gone, heart-ſoothing ſleep,
Where you’ve ſo ſeldom been,
Whilſt I my faithful vigil keep,
With Kate of Aberdeen.
The nymphs and ſwains expe&tant wait,
In primroſe chaplets gay, -
Till Moºn unbars her golden gate,
And gives the promis'd May.
The


( 178 )
The nymphs and ſwains ſhall all declare
The promis'd May, when ſeen,
Not half ſo fragrant, half ſo fair,
As Kate of Aberdeen.
I'll tune my pipe to playful notes,
And rouſe yon nodding grove,
Till new-wak'd birds diſtend their throats,
And hail the maid I love ;
At her approach, the lark miſtakes,
And quits the new-dreſs'd green.
Fond birds, 'tis not the morning breaks—
'Tis Kate of Aberdeen.
Now, blithſome o'er the dewy mead,
Where elves diſportive play,
The feſtal dance young ſhepherds lead,
Or ſing their love-tun'd lay;
Till May, in morning-robe, draws nigh,
And claims a virgin queen,
The nymphs and ſwains, exulting, cry,
Here’s Kate of Aberdeen.
OWN the bourn, or through the mead,
His golden locks wav'd with the wind,
Johnny, lilting, tun’d his reed,
And ſought his Annie fair and kind.
Dear ſhe lov’d the weel-knawn ſong,
While her Johnny,
Blithe and bonny,
Sung her praiſe the whole day long.
- Down the bourn, &c.
Of coſtly claiths, ſhe had bit few,
Of pearls or jewels nae grat ſtore ; Fai
Fair


( 180 )
I think not ſtrange, at Nature’s change,
Since parents ſhew’d ſuch cruelty;
Therefore my love from me does rove,
And knows not to what deſtiny.
The pretty kids, and tender lambs,
Shall ceaſe to ſport upon the plain;
But they lament, in diſcontent,
For th’ abſence of my darling ſwain.
Kind Neptune, let me you intreat,
To ſend a fair and pleaſant gale;
Your dolphins ſweet, upon me wait,
For to convey me on their tail.
May heavens bleſs me with ſucceſs,
While croſſing on the raging main,
And ſend me o’er to that ſame ſhore,
To meet my lovely, darling ſwain.
All joy and mirth, at our return,
Shall then abound from Tweed to Tay;
The bells ſhall ring, the birds ſhall fing,
To grace and crown our nuptial day.
Thus, bleſt with charms, in my love’s arms,
Once more my heart I will obtain ;
I’ll range no more tº a diſtant ſhore,
But will enjoy my darling ſwain.
Wi. broken words, and downcaſt eyes,
Poor Colin ſpoke his paſſion tender;
And, parting with his Griſy, cries,
Ah woe's my heart, that we ſhould ſunder 1
To others I am cold as ſnow,
But kindle with thine eyes, like tinder ;
From thee, with pain, I’m forc’d to go;
It breaks my heart, that we ſhould ſunder.
Chain’d


( 181 )
Chain’d to thy charms, I cannot range :
No beauty new, my love ſhall hinder;
Nor time, nor place, ſhall ever change
My vows, though we’re oblig'd to ſunder.
The image of thy graceful air,
And beauty, which invites our wonder,
Thy lovely wit, and prudence rare,
Shall ſtill be preſent, though we ſunder.
Dear nymph, believe thy ſwain in this,
You’ll ne'er engage a heart that’s kinder;
Then, ſeal a promiſe with a kiſs,
Always to love me, though we ſunder.
Ye Gods, take care of my dear laſs,
That as I leave her, I may find her:
When that bleſt time ſhall come to paſs,
We'll meet again, and never ſunder.
I WINNA marry ony mon but Sandy o'er the
Lee ;
I winna marry ony mon but Sandy o'er the Lee.
I winna ha the Dominee, for gude he cannabe ;
But I will ha my Sandy lad, my Sandy o'er the
Lee ;
For he's aye a kiſſing, kiſſing, aye a kiſſing me,
He's aye a kiſſing, kiſſing, aye a kiſſing me.
I will not ha the miniſter, for all his godly looks;
Nor yet will I the lawyer ha, with all his wily
crooks.
I will not ha the ploughman lad, nor yet will I the
miller :
But I will ha my Sandy lad, without one penny
- ſiller;
For he's aye a kiſſing, &c.
R I will


( 183 )
I liſten’d, and heard the ſoft fair,
While thus ſhe began for to mourn:
Sa merry as we twa ha been
My heart, it is like to deſpair,
When I think on the days I have ſeen 1
When thou, my dear ſhepherd, waſ there,
Each bird did ſo cheerfully fing,
That the cold nipping winter did wear
Soft looks, that reſembled the ſpring.
Sa merry, &c.
No king was ſo happy as I,
When we parted laſt time on the green 1
Our flocks feeding cloſe by our fide,
And he fondly graſping my hand,
I view'd the wide world with much pride,
And laugh’d at defire and command.
Sa merry, &c.
When my heart and my eyes did combine,
To give eaſe to my languiſhing ſwain.
When you, my dear ſhepherd, thought fit
To diſperſe the impertinent throng,
What joy and what pleaſure was it,
To be with my ſhepherd alone !
Sa merry, &c.
No king was ſo happy as I,
When we parted laſt time on the green
My dear, he would oftentimes ſay,
Why are you hard-hearted to me?
And why do you fly ſo away
From him that is dying for thee
Sa merry, &c.
I envy’d no Princes or Powers,
• When I heard the ſoft fighs of my ſwain.
R 2 But,


{ 184 )
But, now he is far from my fight,
Perhaps a deceiver may prove,
Which gares me repent, day and night,
That ever I granted my love.
Sa merry, &c.
My heart's like to break with deſpair,
For the days that are now paſt and gone
At e'en, when the reſt of the fºlk
Are thrang'd with their coag and their ſpoon,
I ſet myſel down by yon oak,
And heartily figh at the moon.
Sa merry, &c.
My heart's like to break with deſpair,
For the days that will ne'er come again!
SHAME 'light on this world's pelf,
When I ſee how little o't I’ve got to myſelf!
I’m was, when I look on my thread-bare coat;
O ſhame fa’ the gear, and the brag"rie o't I
For Jenny was the laſs that mucked the byre;
But now ſhe is clad in her ſilken attire ;
And Jenny was the laſs that wore the plaiden coat :
O ſhame % the gear, and the brag"rie o't I
And Jockey was the laddie that gade at the plough,
Though now he’s gotten gowd, and gear enough ;
But I have ſeen the day, when he was not worth a
roat;
O ſhame fa’ the gear, and the brag"rie o't
But all this ſhall never dauntin me,
As long as I keep my fancy free;
As long’s I have a penny, to pay for my pot,
May the de'i! take the gear, and the brag"rie o't!
O H AID
|


( 185 )
HAD away, had away,
O Had away frae me, Donald ;
Your heart is made o'er large for ane;
It is not meet for me, Donald.
Some fickle miſtreſs you may find,
Will jilt as faſt as thee, Donald;
To ilka ſwain ſhe will prove kind,
And nae leſs kind to thee, Donald.
But I’ve a heart that’s nae thing ſuch,
'Tis fill'd with honeſty, Donald;
I’ll ne'er love mony, I'll love much;
I'll hate all levity, Donald.
Therefore, nae mair with art pretend
Your heart is chain'd to mine, Donald;
For words of falſehood, I’ll defend
A roving love like thine, Donald.
Firſt when you courted, I muſt own,
I frankly favour'd you, Donald;
Apparent worth, and fair renown,
Made me believe you true, Donald.
Ilk virtue, then, ſeem'd to adorn
The man eſteem’d by me, Donald ;
But now, the maſk fall’n aff, I ſcorn,
To ware a thought on thee, Donald.
And now, for ever, had away,
Had away from me, Donald !
Gae, ſeek a heart that’s like your aim,
And come nae mair to me, Donald !
For I’ll reſerve myſel for ane,
For ane that's liker me, Donald.
If fica ane I canna find,
I’ll ne'er loo man nor thee, Donald.
R 3 ONº.


( 187 )
Her arms, white, round, and ſmooth;
Breaſts riſing in their dawn,
To Age it would give youth,
To preſs them with his handl
Through all my ſpirits ran
An extacy of bliſs,
When I ſuch ſweetneſs found,
Wrapt in a balmykiſs.
Without the help of art,
Like flow’rs that grace the wild,
She did her ſweets impart,
Whene'er ſhe ſpoke or ſmil’d.
Her locks, they were ſo mild,
Free from affected pride,
She me to love beguil'd;
I wiſh’d her for my bride.
Ch, had I all the wealth,
Hopton’s high mountains fill,
Inſur’d long life and health,
And pleaſure at my will ;
I’d promiſe, and fulfil,
That none but bonny ſhe,
The Laſs of Patie's Mill,
Should ſhare the ſame with me.
IN cooling ſtream, O ſweet repoſe,
Thoſe balmy dews diſtill,
That ſteal the mourner from his woes,
And bid deſpair be ſtill.
Prolong the ſmiling infant’s reſt,
Who yet no ſorrow knows:
But, oh the mother’s bleeding breaſt,
To ſofteſt peace compoſe I
For


( 189 )
In all that I’ll do, I'll thy judgment require;
Thy taſte ſhall corre&t what thy wit did inſpire;
Then I'll kiſs, and careſs thee, till youth is all o'er;
And then live on friendſhip, when paſſion’s no more.
"Tº: in that ſeaſon of the year
When all things gay and ſweet appear,
That Colin, with the morning ray,
Aroſe, and ſung his rural lay.
Of Nanny’s charms the ſhepherd ſung :
The hills and dales with Nanny rung;
Whilſt Roſline-Caſtle heard the ſwain,
And echoed back the cheerful ſtrain.
Awake, ſweet Muſe ! the breathing ſpring
With rapture warms; awake, and ſing;
Awake and join the vocal throng,
Who hail the morning with a ſong ;
To Nanny, raiſe the cheerful lay : .
Oh! bid her haſte, and come away;
In ſweeteſt ſmiles herſelf adorn,
And add new graces to the morn!
Oh, hark, my love 1 on ev'ry ſpray,
Each feather'd warbler tunes his lay.
'Tis beauty fires the raviſh'd throng,
And love inſpires the melting ſong :
Then let my raptur'd notes ariſe,
For beauty darts from Nanny's eyes;
And love my riſing boſom warms,
And fills my ſoul with ſweet alarms.
Oh, come, my love thy Colin's lay
With rapture calls; Oh, come away !
Come, while the Muſe this wreath ſhall twine
Around that modeſt brow of thine !
Oh,


( 190 )
Oh, hither haſtel and with thee bring
That beauty biooming like the ſpring ;
Thoſe graces that divinely ſhine,
And charm this raviſh’d breaſt of mine.
T; Lawland lads think they are fine :
But, Oh, they’re vain, and idle gaudy;
How much unlike that graceful mien,
And manly looks of my Highland laddie
Oh, my bonny Highland laddie,
My handſome, ſmiling, Highland laddie
May Heav'ns ſtill guard, and love reward,
The 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 belted plaidy.
Oh, my bonny, &c.
The braveſt beau in Burrow's town,
In a’ his airs, with art made reedy,
Compair’d to him, he's but a clown:
He's finer far in's Tartan plaidie.
Oh, my bonny, &c.
O'er Benty hill, with him I'll run,
And leave my Lawland kin, and daddy :
Fra' winter’s cauld, and ſummer’s ſun,
He'll ſcreen me with his Highland plaidy.
Oh, my bonny, &c.
A painted room, and filken bed,
May pleaſe a Lawland Laird and Lady;
But I can kiſs, and be as plad,
Behind a buſh, in's Highland plaidy.
Oh, my bonny, &c.


( 191 )
Few compliments betwen us paſs ;
I ca' him my dear Highl. nd laddie ;
And he ca's me his Lawland laſ,
Sine rows me in beneath his plaidy.
Oh, my bonny, &c.
Nae greater joy I’ll e'er pretend,
Than that his love prove true and ſtead v,
Like mine to him, which ne’er ſhall end,
While Heav'n preſerves my Highland laddie.
Oh, my bonny, &c.
HFN I was a young one, what girl was like
me,
So wanton, ſo airy, and briſk as a bee
I tattled, I rambled, I laugh’d ; and where'er
A fiddle was heard, to be ſure, I was there.
To all that came near I had ſomething to ſay ;
'Twas this, ſir, and that, fir ; but ſcarce ever, Nay;
And Sundays, dreſt out in my ſilks and my lace,
I warrant I ſtood by the beſt in the place.
At twenty, I got me a huſband—poor man
Well reſt him—we all are as good as we can
Yet, he was ſo peeviſh, he’d quarrel for ſtraws;
And jealous—though truly I gave him ſome cauſe.
He ſnubb'd me, and huff’d me—but let me alone;
Egad I’ve a tongue—and I paid him his own.
Ye wives take the hint; and when ſpouſe is untow’rd,
Stand firm to our charter—and have the laſt word.
But now I'm quite alter’d,—the more to my woe,
I’m not what I was forty ſummers ago
This Time’s a ſore foe, there’s no ſhunning his dart;
However, I keep up a pretty good heart.
Grown


( 192 ) -
Grown old, yet I hate to be ſitting mum-chance;
I ſtill love a tune, though unable to dance;
And, books of devotion laid by on the ſhelf,
I teach that to others, I once did myſelf.
Th; May-day of life is for pleaſure,
For finging, and dancing, and ſhow ;
Then, why will you waſte ſuch a treaſure,
In ſighing, and crying Heigh-hol
Let's copy the bird in the meadows;
By hers tune your pipe, when 'tis low ;
Fly round, and coquet it as ſhe does,
And never fit crying Heigh-hol
Though, when in the arms of a lover
It ſometimes may happen, I know,
That, ere all our toying is over,
We cannot help crying Heigh-hol
In age, every one a new part takes;
I find, to my ſorrow, 'tis ſo ;
When old, you may cry till your heart aches,
But no one will mind you, Heigh-hol
O THE days when I was young,
When I laugh’d in Fortune's ſpite,
Talk'd of love the whole day long,
And with neétar crown'd the night!
Then it was, old father Care,
Little reck’d 1 of thy frown;
Half thy malice youth could bear,
And the reſt a bumper drown.
O the days, &c.
Truth,


( 193 )
'1'ruth, they ſay, lies in a well ;
Why, I vow I ne'er could ſee ;
Let the water-drinkers tell :
There it always lay for me 1
For, when ſparkling wine went round,
Never ſaw I Falſehood’s maſk;
But, ſtill honeſt Truth I found
In the bottom of each flaſk.
O the days, &c.
Truth, at length my vigour's flown,
I have years to bring decay:
Few the locks that now I own ;
And the few I have are grey !
Yet, old Jerome, thou mayſt boaſt,
While thy ſpirits do not tire,
Still, beneath thy age's froſt,
Glows a ſpark of youthful fire.
O the days, &c.
MO, amas I love a laſs,
As a cedar, tall and ſlender;
Sweet cowſlips grace her nom'tive caſe,
And ſhe's of the feminine gender.
Horum, corum, ſunt divorum,
Harum ſcarum, divo,
Tag-rag, merry derry, perry-wig, and hat-band,
Hic hoc horum genitivo.
Can I decline a nymph divine,
Whoſe voice as a flute is dulcis,
Her oculus bright, her manus white,
And ſoft, when I tacto, her pulſe is.
Cho. Horum corum, &c.
S O how


( 195 )
Lord d-me! ſays, I, you may do your worſt,
For I’ve not ſcarcely quench'd my thirſt.
All this i ſaid, and nothing worſe:
Then I ſung Fal-de ral Tit, &c.
It’s when I’ve croſs'd the raging main,
And be come back to Old England again,
Of grog I’ll drink galore;
With a pretty girl for to fit by my fide,
And for her coſtly robes I’ll provide;
So that ſhe ſhall be ſatisfied :
Then I'll fing Fal-de-ral Tit, &c.
Y E Scamps, ye Pads, ye Divers, and all upon the
la
2
At Todified, gay ſheep-walk, like lambs ye.
ſport and play ;
Rattling up your darbies, come hither at my call ;
I am Jigger-Dubber here, and you're welcome to
Mill-Doll.
With a row-de-row-de-row, with a row-de-row,
row-de-row, - -
Row-de-row-de-row, with a row-de-row-de-row.
At your inſurance office the flats you’ve taken in ;
The game you’ve play’d, my Kiddy, you're always
jure to win ;
Firſt you touch the ſhiners, the number up—you
break :
With your inſuring policy, I’d not inſure your
neck
Row-de-row, &c.
S 2. The


( 196 )
The French, with trotters nimble, could fly from
Engliſh blows ;
And they've got nimble daddles, as Monſieur plainly
ſhews;
Be thus the foes of Britain bang'd Ay, thump away,
Monſieur :
The hemp you're beating now will make a ſoli-
talſ C.
Row-de-dow, &c.
My peepers who’ve we here now why this is ſure
Black Moll ;
My ma'am, you’re of the fair ſex, ſo welcome to
Mill-Doll.
The cull with you who’d venture into a ſnoozing
ken,
Like Blackamoor Othello, ſhould put out the light,
and then-
Row-de-dow, &c.
I think, my flaſhy Coachman, that you'll take better
. . . care ;
Nor for a little bub, come the ſlang upon your
fare ;
Your jazy pays the garniſh, unleſs the fees you tip :
Though you're a flaſhy coachman, here the gagger
holds the whip.
Row-de-dow, &e.
MASTER I have, and I am his man,
Galloping dreary dun;
And he’ll get a wife as ſoon as he can ;
With a haily-gaily, gambo-raily, giggling, niggling,
galloping, galloway, draggletail dreary-dun.
I ſaddled


(. 197 )
I ſaddled his ſteed ſo fine and ſo gay,
Galloping dreary dun;
I mounted my mule, and we both rode away : :
- With our haily, &c.
We canter'd along until it grew dark,
Galloping dreary dun;
The nightingale ſung inſtead of the lark:
With her haily, &c.
We met with a friar, and aſk’d him our way,
Galloping dreary dun ;
By the Lord, ſays the friar, you’ve both gone.
aſtray !
With your haily, &c.
Qur journey, I fear, will do us no good,
Galloping dreary dun;
We wander alone, like the babes in the wood :
With our haily, &c.,
I heard a ſhot fir’d, and I’ll take a peep,
Galloping dreary dun;
But now I think on it, I’d better go ſleep:
With my haily, &c.
LD Homer l but with him, what have we to .
do ’
What are Grecians or Trojans to me or to you ?
Such heatheniſh heroes no more I’ll invoke:
Choice Spirits, aſſiſt me : attend, Hearts of Oak.
Derry-down, down, down, derry-down.
Sweet Peace, beloved handmaid of Science and
Art,
Unanimity, take your petitioner's part;.
S.
3. Accept


( 198 )
Accept of my ſong: 'tis the beſt I can do—
But firſt, may it pleaſe you, my ſervice to you !
Derry-down, &c.
Perhaps, my addreſs you may premature think,
Becauſe I have mention’d no toaſt as I drink ;
'There are many fine toaſts; but the beſt of 'em all,
Is the toaſt of the times; that is—Liberty-Hall !
Derry-down, &c.
That fine Britiſh building, by Alfred was fram'd :
Its grand corner-ſtone Magna-Charta is nam’d ;
3ndependency came at Integrity's call,
And form'd the front pillars of Liberty. Hall.
Derry-down, &c.
This manor our forefathers bought with their blood;
And their ſons, and their ſons ſons, have prov'd the
deeds good ;
By that title we live, with that title we’ll fall,
For life is not life out of Liberty-Hall.
Derry-down, &c.
In mantle of honour, each ſtar-ſpangled fold,
Playing bright in the ſun-ſhine, the burniſh of
gold ;
Truth beams on her breaſt; ſee, at Loyalty’s call,
The genius of England in Liberty-Hall !
Derry-down, &c.
Ye ſweet-ſmelling courtlings of ribband and lace,
The ſpaniels of Power, and Bounty’s diſgrace,
So ſubtle, ſo ſervile, ſo paſſive ye fall;
'Twas paſſive obedience loſt Liberty-Hall !
Derry-down, &c.
But


( 199 )
But when Revolution had ſettled the crown,
And Natural Reaſon knock'd Tyranny down,
No frowns, cloth'd with terror, appear'd to #palſ;
The doors were thrown open of Liberty-Lall I
Derry-down, &c.
See England triumphant, her ſhips ſweep the ſea;
Her ſtandard is Juſtice; her watch-word, Be free
Our King is our countryman—Engliſhmen all !
God bleſs him, and bleſs us, in Liberty-Hall !
- Derry-down, &c.
Oh / Were is des All P-Monſieur wants to know.
'Tis neither at Marli, Verſailles, Fontainbleau :
'Tis a palace of no mortal architect’s at :
For Liberty-Hall is an Engliſhman's heart 1
Derry-down, &c.
LOW, blow, thou winter's wind;
Thou art not ſo unkind,
As men's ingratitude.
Thy tooth is not ſo keen,
Becauſe thou art not ſeen,
Although thy breath be rude.
Freeze, freeze, thou bitter ſky,
Thou doſt not bite ſo nigh
As benefits forgot.
Though thou the waters warp,
Thy ſting is not ſo ſharp
As friend remember'd not 1
THOU


( 200 )
HOU ſoft-flowing Avon, by thy filver ſtream,
Of things more than mortal thy Shakſpeare
would dream.
The fairies by moon-light dance round his green
bed ;
For hallow'd the turf is which pillow’d his head!
The love-ſtricken maiden, the fighing young ſwain,
Here rove without danger, and figh without pain ;
The ſweet bud of beauty no blights here ſhall dread,
For hallow'd the turf is that pillow'd his head :
Here youth ſhall be fam'd for their love and their
truth :
Here ſmiling old-age feels the ſpirit of youth ;.
For rapture of fancy here poets ſhall tread,
For hallow'd the turf is that pillow'd his head
Flow on, filver Avon, in ſong ever flow !
Be the ſwans on thy boſom ſtill whiter than ſnow !
Ever full be thy ſtream: Jºke his fame may it ſpread,
And the turf ever hallow'd that pillow'd his head :
WHº: happy in my native land, ,
I boaſt my country’s charter,
I'll never baſely lend my hand
Her liberties to barter.
The noble mind is not at all
By poverty degraded:
'Tis guilt alone can make us fall;
And well I am perſuaded,
Each free-born Briton’s ſong ſhould be, ,
Or give me death or liberty
Or give, &c.
Though.


( 201 )
Though ſmall the pow'r which Fortune grants,
And few the gifts ſhe ſends us,
The lordly hireling often wants
That freedom which defends us.
By law ſecur'd from lawleſs ſtrife,
Our houſe is our ca/fellum :
Thus bleſs'd with all that’s dear in life,
For lucre ſhall we ſell 'em *
No 1 every Briton’s ſong ſhall be, &c.
O Anacreon in Heav'n, where he ſat in full
lee,
A ſ: Sons of Harmony ſent a petition,
That he their inſpirer and patron would be ;
When this anſwer arriv'd from the jolly old Gre-
c1am :-
“ Voice, fiddle, and flute
* No longer be mute:
“I’ll lend you my name, and inſpire you to-
boot;
“And, befides, I’ll inſtruct you, like me to en-
tWine
“ The myrtle of Venus with Bacchus's vine !”
The news through Olympus immediately flew ;
When Old Thunder pretended to give himſelf
airs—
“If theſe mortals are ſuffer'd their ſcheme to pur-
ſue,
“ The devil a goddeſs will ſtay above ſtairs.
“ Hark! already they cry,
“ In tranſports of joy.
“Away to the Sons of Anacrecm we’ll fly;
“And there, with good fellows, we'll learn to en-
twin e
* The myrtle of Venus with Bacchus's vine.
“ The


( 202 )
“ The yellow-hair'd god, and i.is nine fuſiy maids,
“ From Helicon’s banks will incontinent flee;
“ Idalia will boaſt but of tenantleſs ſhades,
“ And the bi-forked hill a mere deſert will be
“My thunder, no fear cn't,
** Shall ſoon do its errand ;
“ And, dam’me ! I'll ſwinge the ring-leaders,
I warrant ;
“I’ll trim the young dogs, for thus daring to
"twine
“ The myrtle of Venus with Bacchus's vine.”
Apollo roſe up, and ſaid, “Prythee, ne'er quarrel,
“ Good King of the Gods, with my vot’ries be-
low :
* Your thunder is uſeleſs”—then, ſhewing his laurel,
Cry’d “Sic evitabile fulmen, you know !
** Then over each head
“My laurels I’ll ſpread:
* So, my ſons from your crackers no miſchief
ſhall dread;
“Whilſt ſnug in their club-room they jovially
'twine
“ The myrtle of Venus with Bacchus's vine.”
Next Momus got up, with his riflhle phiz,
And ſwore with Apollo he’d cheerfully join–
“The tide of full harmony ſtill ſhall be his,
“But the ſong, and the catch, and the laugh ſhall
be mine.
“ Then, Jove, be not jealous
‘‘ Of theſe honeſt fellows.”—
Cry’d Jove, “We relent, ſince the truth you
now teil us ;
“And ſwear by O d Styx, that they long ſhall en-
tWine
“ The myrtle of Venus with Bacchus’s vine.”
Ye


( 203 )
Ye Sons of Anacreon, then, join hand-in band;
Preſerve unaniinity, friendſhip, and lºº.
'Tis yours to ſupport what’s ſo happily . . .” ;
You’ve the ſinétion of Gods, and the ſat of jove!
While thus we agree,
Our toaſt let it be,
May our club flouriſh hºppy, united, and free
And long may the Sons of An creon entwine
The myrtle of Venus with Bacchus's vine.
Wº daiſies pied, and iolets blue,
And lady ſmocks all fiver white,
And cuckoo buds of yellow hue
Do paint the meadows with delight,
The cuckoo, then, on ev'ry tree.
Mocks married men, for hus fings he
Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo !
O word of fear,
Unpleaſing to a married ear !
When ſhepherds pipe on oaten ſtraws,
And merry larks are plough men’s clocks,
And turtles tread, and rooks, and dºws,
And maidens bleach their ſummer ſmocks ;
The cuckoo, then, &c.
HERE the bee ſucks, there lurk I,
In a cowſlip’s bell I lie, -
There I couch, when owls do cry;
On the bat's back do I fly,
After ſun ſet, merrily.
Merrity, merrily ſhall I live now,
Under the bloſſom that hangs on the bough I
TO


( 205 )
To furze-blown heath, or paſture mead,
Do thou my happy footſteps lead ;
Then ſhew me to the pleaſing ſtream
Of which, at night, ſo oft I dream.
At noon, the mazy wood I’ll tread,
With autumn leaves and dry moſs ſpread,
And cooling fruits for thee prepare;
For ſure, I think, thou wilt be there.
Till birds begin their ev’ning ſong,
With thee, the time ſeems never long :
O let us ſpeak our love that’s paſt,
And count how long it has to laſt!
I'll ſay eternally, and thou
Shalt only look as kind as now.
I aſk no more than that affords,
What is not in the force of words.
E fair married dames, who ſo often deplore,
That a lover, once bleſt, is a lover no more,
Attend to my counſel, nor bluſh to be taught
That prudence muſt cheriſh what beauty has caught.
Uſe the man that you wed like your fav'rite guitar:
Though muſic in both, they are both apt to jar ;
How tuneful and ſoft from a delicate touch,
Not handled too roughly, nor play’d on too much
The linnet and ſparrow will feed from your hand,
Grow fond by your kindneſs, and come at command :
Exert, with your huſband, the ſame happy ſkill;
For hearts, like your birds, may be tam'd at your
will.
T Be


( 206 )
Be gay, and good-humour’d, complying, and kind;
Turn the chief of your care from your face to your
mind : -
'Tis there that the wife may her conqueſt improve,
And Hymen will rivet the fetters of Love.
E belles, and ye flirts, and ye pert little
things,
Who trip in this frolickſome round,
Prithee, tell me from whence this indecency ſprings,
The ſexes at once to confound.
What means the cock’d-hat, and the maſculine air,
With each motion deſign'd to perplex *
Bright eyes were intended to languiſh, not ſtare,
And ſoftneſs the teſt of your ſex,
Dear girls!
And ſoftneſs the teſt of your ſex.
The girl who on beauty depends for ſupport,
May call ev'ry art to her aid;
The boſom diſplay’d, and the petticoat ſhort,
Are ſamples ſhe gives of her trade.
But you, on whom Fortune indulgently ſmiles,
And whom pride has preſerv'd from the ſnare,
Should ſlily attack us with coyneſs and wiles, º
Not with open and inſolent airs, |
Brave girls!
Not with open, &c.
The Venus whoſe ſtatue delights all mankind,
Shrinks modeſtly back from the view,
And kindly ſhould ſeem by the artiſt deſign'd
To ſerve as a model for you.
Then learn, with her beauties, to copy her air,
Nor venture too much to reveal ;
Our


( 207 )
Our fancies will paint what you cover with care,
And double each charm you conceal,
Sweet girls :
And double, &c.
The bluſhes of morn, and the mildneſs of May,
Are charms which no art can procure;
Oh! be but yourſelves, and our homage we’ll pay,
And your empire is ſolid and ſure.
But if, Amazon-like, you attack your gallants,
And put us in fear of our lives,
You may do very well for ſiſters and aunts,
But, believe me, you’ll never be wives,
Poor girls!
But, believe me, &c.
**
A H ! tell me, ye ſwains, have you ſeen my Paſ-
tora!
O ſay, have you met the ſweet nymph in your
way
Tranſcendant as Venus, and blithe as Aurora,
From Neptune's bed riſing, to hail the new day.
Folomº I wander, and long time have ſought
er,
The faireſt, the rareſt, for ever my theme:
A Goddeſs in form, though a Cottager's Daughter,
That dwells on the borders of Aln's winding
ſtream.
Though lordlings ſo gay, and young 'ſquires have
º,
*
ſought her,
To link her fair hand in the conjugal chain;
Devoid of ambition, the Cottager's Daughter
Convinc'd them their flatt'ry and offers were
Waln.
T 2 When


(* 208 )
When firſt I beheld her, I fondly befought her,
My heart did her homage, and love was my
theme ;
She vow'd to be mine, the ſweet Cottager’s Daughter,
That dwells on the borders of Aln's winding
ſtream.
Then, why thus alone does ſhe leave me to lan-
guiſh
Paſtora to ſplendor could ne'er yield her hand;
Ah, no ſhe returns, to remove my fond anguiſh:
O'er her heart, Love and Truth retain the com-
mand.
The wealth of Golconda could never have bought
her,
For love, truth, and conſtancy, ſtill is her theme;
Then give me, kind Hymen, the Cottager's Daugh-
* ter,
That dwells on the borders of Aln's winding
ſtream.
Scroſs the field, the other morn,
I tripp'd ſo blithe and gay,
The 'ſquire, with his dog and gun,
By chance came by that way.
Whither ſo faſt, ſweet maid the cry’d,
And caught me round the waiſt;
Pray ſtop awhile—Dear Sir, ſaid I,
I can't, for I’m in haſte.
You muſt not go as yet, cried he,
For I have much to ſay;
Come, ſit you down, and let us chat
Upon this new-mown hay.—
I’ve lov'd you long, and oft have wiſh'd
Thoſe ruby lips to taſte;
I’ll have a kiſs — Well, then, ſaid I,
Be quick, for I’m in haſte.
Juſt


( 210 )
To Poll and Sue,
Sincere and true,
The grog goes round,
With pleaſure crown'd.
In war or peace, alike you’ll find,
That honour fills the ſailor's mind.
TH: roſe with ſweet fragrance delights,
And ſweet is the eglantine breeze ;
But in Colin all ſweetneſs unites,
For Colin for ever could pleaſe;
Yet now, in each wood and ſad grove,
I mourn that my joys are no more ;
The ſhepherd is falſe, yet I love;
He's fickle, yet ſtill I adore.
How ſoft was each note, when he ſung!
His accents how tender and ſweet !
And honey ſure dropp'd from his tongue,
When my praiſes the ſwain would repeat.
But now in each wood, &c.
When he hears my ſad knell o'er the lawn,
Perhaps he may ſhed a fond tear,
Perhaps he may figh all forlorn
For Phillis that lov’d him ſo dear.
Yet now in each wood, &c.
HEN I liv'd with my Grannam on yon little
green,
As good an old woman as ever was ſeen,
She oft read me lečtures of prudence and care,
And bade me, of all things, of men to beware;
Said


( 212 )
They tell me I figh for too beauteous a fair,
And fill my ſad boſom with doubts and deſpair;
Then Hope, kindly ſmiling, averts their decree,
For my heart is devoted, dear Mary, to thee.
When the ſhrill pipe and tabor proclaim the light
dance,
With tranſports I ſee my dear Mary advance;
Then ſuch grace ſhe diſplays while ſhe trips 'mid the
throng,
That ‘. ſhepherd with rapture to her tunes his
Ong ;
But by . ſhe's belov’d with ſuch truth as by me,
For my heart is devoted, dear Mary, to thee.
Y mither ſhe makes ſic a din,
Becauſe young Patie woos me;
Yet on the lad I canna blin,
For well I ken he loos me;
Na fault in him I canna find,
He ſpeaks ſa kind and fairly;
'Tis he alone can pleaſe my mind,
For troth I loo him dearly.
Sa ſweetly on the pipe he plays,
And fings ſa ſaft a ditty,
While round my ewes are ſeen to graze,
To ſcorn him were a pity.
To him I vow I’ll be ſincere,
And ever ſpeak him fairly;
For in my heart I muſt declare,
In truth Iloo him dearly.
My mither, and my daddy too,
May ſcold indeed, and teaze me ;
Yet I’ve a right to chooſe my Joe,
The only one to pleaſe me:


( 213 )
To wed wi' him I am inclin'd,
To-morrow morning early ; .
nd then baith aw my kin and kind
Will ſee I loo him dearly.
TELL me, ye gentle nymphs and ſwains,
Paſs'd my dear Damon o’er your plains f
O cheer with hope my lonely way:
I ſeek my love that’s gone aſtray.
Leads he his flock along the mead,
Or does he ſeek the cooler ſhade :
O teach a hapleſs maid the way
To find her ſhepherd gone aſtray.
Obſerve, ye fair, the truant ſwain : .
A manly ſoftneſs crowns his mien ;
-Adonis was not half ſo fair;
And when he ſings, ’tis heav'n to hear.
Leads he his flock, &c.
Ye nymphs, the ſweets of freedom prize,
And ſhun the witchcraft of his eyes;
Fly from his charms, nor ſtay too long
To hear his ſoft enchanting ſong.
Leads he his flock, &c.
Jº when the blooming fragrant spring
Proclaim'd the near approach of May,
When in the grove the blackbirds ſing
Their cheerful notes on ev’ry ſpray;
Young Sandy ſought the rural green,
The ruſtic dance, the tuneful reed ;
And Jenny’s charms firſt caught his een,
Upon the verdant banks of Tweed.
She


( 215 )
Now ſcarce had Sandy utter'd this,
Ere Meg appear'd, whoſe beauty *
Pourtray’d the ſcenes of future bliſs,
And brought him to his duty.
Oh, take my heart, dear Meg, ſaid he,
Indeed you may depend on’t ;
Then led her to the kirk with glee,
And there they made an end on’t.
WE. Nancy but a rural maid,
And I her only ſwain,
We'd tend our flocks on flow'ry mead,
And on the verdant plain.
In Nancy ev’ry joy combine,
With grace and blooming youth;
In her with lucid brightneſs ſhine
Love, conſtancy, and truth.
When Phoebus bright ſinks in the weſt,
And flocks are pent in fold,
Beneath a fav’rite tree we’ll reſt,
In joys not to be told.
In Nancy ev'ry, &c.
Let others fancy courtly joys,
I’d live in rural peace;
While wedded love, that never cloys,
Should crown our days in peace.
In Nancy ev'ry, &c.
Lº: what a fuſs my mother made,
When Colin came this way,
Becauſe he caught me in his arms,
And kiſs'd me t'other day ! Sh
e


( 217 )
In vain I would the flame conceal,
And hide thoſe cares my heart affail;
My talk, and look, and fighs prevail, º
I love the flow’r of Hedſor Dale.
What pity, that a nymph ſo fair,
With winning ſhape and face,
Should be devoted to ſome clown,
Or ruſtic’s rude embrace
That form demands a better fate:
Sweet hope, perhaps I can prevail;
I'll try, before it is too late,
To cull the flow'r of Hedſor Dale.
Whº Spring, diſpenſing ſweets around,
In gayeſt liv'ry deck'd the ground;
Juſt when the fragrant breath of morn
Had ſhook the dew-drops from the thorn;
To yonder mead my flock I led,
And gayly caroll'd as they fed.
Of all the ſwains who trip the green,
Or pipe in yonder vale,
None look ſo meat, or pipe ſo ſweet,
As Willy of the Dale.
My heart came flutt’ring to my tongue,
As thus my Willy's praiſe I ſung :
But never ſure was ſimple maid
By her own folly thus betray'd;
For, turning round, I ſaw the ſwain
Stand ſlily liſt’ning to the ſtrain :
My cheek he tapp'd, my hand he preſs'd,
And told ſo ſweet a tale ;
Devoid of art, I gave my heart
To Willy of the Dale.
U Next


( 218 )
TNext morn he ſearch'd the fields and bow’rs,
To cull for me the ſweeteſt flow’rs;
Then cry’d, Theſe flow’rs, my charming fair,
The emblems of thy beauties are:
Let Hymen join us then, dear maid,
Before thoſe tranſient beauties fade.
In ſuch a gentle voice he woo'd,
How could he but prevail!
I vow'd through life to be the wife
Of Willy of the Dale.
L*. philoſophers prate about reaſon and rules,
And preach muſty maxims deſign'd but for
fools ;
From a briſk ſparkling bowl brighter ſentiments
flow ;
And I find myſelf wiſer, the deeper I go.
We can teach them to live, and by pračtice explain
What in theory only they ever could gain;
JDraw the cloud from their eyes that o’erſhadows the
ſoul,
And enlighten their heads with a ſup from my
bowl.
May the pedant be loſt in his phantom purſuit,
Whilſt I revel in wine, and with bumpers recruit:
Since the wiſeſt can never perfeótion attain,
Why ſhould life proffer ſweets and enjoyments in
vain *
Let not man then his time in ſuch foppery waſte,
Or refuſe mingled ſweets with the bitters to taſte;
But thus let him waft to Elyſium his ſoul,
In an ocean of liquor, his veſſel the bowl.
Relax'd


( 219 )
Relax'd from the cares of the world let me live,
'Gainſt the rude ſtream of life that I never may
- ſttive ;
With a friend to partake, and a girl to adore;
What mortal ſo happy what man could wiſh more ?
Dull mechanical mortals may look and repine,
Their hearts can ne'er glow with ſuch feelings as
mine ; -
But ſuch feelings, ſuch joys, receive birth in the
ſoul,
When thus mellow'd, thus rear'd, and refin’d in my
bowl.
ICKLE bliſs, fantaſtic treaſure,
Love, how ſoon thy joys are paſt !
Since we ſoon muſt loſe the pleaſure,
Oh, 'twere better ne'er to taſte.
Fickle bliſs, &c.
Cruel thoughts, that pain, yet pleaſe me,
Ah, no more my reſt deſtroy ;
Shew me ſtill, if you would eaſe me,
Love's deceit, but not its joy.
Fickle bliſs, &c.
Gods ! what kind, yet cruel powers
Force my will to rack my mind!
Ah, too long we wait for flowers,
Soon, too ſoon to fade deſign'd.
Fickle bliſs, &c.
H ARK the din of diſtant war,
How noble is the clangor :
Pale Death aſcends his ebon car,
Clad in terrific anger.
U 2 A doubt.


( 220 )
A doubtful fate the ſoldier tries,
Who joins the gallant quarrel;
Perhaps on the cold ground he lies,
No wife, no friend, to cloſe his eyes;
Though nobly mourn’d,
Perhaps return'd,
He's crown'd with vict'ry's laurel.
How many who, diſdaining fear,
Ruſh on the deſp'rate duty,
Shall claim the tribute of the tear
That dims the eye of beauty
A doubtful fate, &c.
What noble fate can Fortune give tº
Renown ſhall tell our ſtory,
If we ſhould fall ; but, if we live,
We live our country’s glory.
'Tis true, a doubtful fate he tries, &c.
OVELY Woman, pride of Nature,
Good, and ſweet, and kind, and fair,
Than Man, a higher ſtyle of creature,
-Perfe&t as celeſtials are.
See Myra come, like ſtately Juno,
Ever fair, and ever young,
Completely like, as I and you know,
For Myra, like Juno, has a tongue.
Young Caelia’s charms, that beam ſo ſweetly,
To paint, ah what can words avail :
She's Venus' ſelf, and ſo completely,
That Caelia is, like Venus—frail.
To woo the charming Gloriana,
Audacity would be afraid ;
She's chaſte and icy as Diana,
And, like Diana, an old maid.
Thus


( 221 )
Thus women boaſt a near relation,
'Tis plain, to the celeſtial race;
Thus we of their divine creation
A family reſemblance trace.
If, then, ſome faults of this complexion,
Like ſpots upon that ſun, their fame,
Ruſt this ſame model of perfection,
The ſtars, not women, are to blame.
Lº bucks and let bloods to praiſe London
agree :
Oh! the joys of the country, my jewel, for me;
Where ſweet is the flow'r that the May-buſh adorns,
And how charming to gather it, but for the thorns !
Where we walk o'er the mountains, with health our
cheeks glowing,
As warm as a toaſt, honey, when it en’t ſnowing;
Where Nature, to ſmile when ſhe joyful inclines,
And the ſun charms us all the year round, when it
ſhines,
Oh, the mountains, and valleys, and buſhes,
‘The pigs, and the ſcreech-owls, and thruſhes 1 :
Let bucks and let bloods to praiſe London agree:
Oh! the joys of thº country, dear jewel, for me.
*
There twelve hours on a firetch we in angling de-
light,
As radº. as Jobs, though we ne'er get a bite;
There we pop at the wild-ducks, and frighten the
CrOWS,
While ſo lovely the icicles hang to our clothes:
There wid aunts, and wid couſins, and grandmothers
talking,
We are caught in the rain, as we're all out a
walking ;
U 3 While


( 222 )
While the muſlins and gauzes cling round each fair
ſhe,
That they look all like Venuses ſprung from the ſea.
Oh the mountains, &c.
Then how ſweet in the dog-days to take the freſh
air,
Where, to ſave you expence, the duſt powders your
alr .
Thus pleaſures, like ſnow-balls, increaſe as they
roll,
And tire you to death, not forgetting the bowl:
Where in mirth and good-fellowſhip always delight-
1ng,
We agree, that is, when we’re not ſquabbling and
fighting;
Den wid toaſts and pint-bumpers we bodder de head,
Juſt to ſee who moſt gracefully ſtaggers to bed.
Oh! the mountains, &c.
BE one of they Sailors who thinks 'tis no lie,
That for every wherefore of life there's a why;
That, be Fortune’s ſtrange weather a calm or a
ſquall,
Our births, good er bad, are chaik'd out for us all;
That the ſtays and the braces of life will be found
To be ſome of 'em rotten, and ſome of 'em ſound;
That the good we ſhould cheriſh, the bad never
ſeek,
For Death will too ſoon bring each anchor a-peak.
When, aſtride on the yard, the top-lifts they let go,
And I com’d, like a ſhot, plump among them be-
low :
Why, I cotthºd at a halliard, and jump’d upon deck,
And ſo broke my fall, to ſave breaking my neck as
J


( 225 )
Hark! Echo, in melodious tones,
Hollas, and whiſtles, ſings, and groans;
While many a broken ſconce and face
Proclaim the pleaſures of the chace.
DIEU, adieu, my only life,
My honour calls me from thee;
Remember thou’rt a ſoldier’s wife,
Thoſe tears but ill become thee.
What though by duty I am call'd,
Where thund'ring cannons rattle,
Where Valour's ſelf might ſtand appall’d—
When, on the wings of thy dear love,
To Heav'n above
Thy fervent oriſons are flown,
The tender pray’r
Thou putt'ſt up there,
Shall call a guardian Angel down,
To watch me in the battle.
My ſafety thy fair truth ſhall be,
A ſword and buckler ſerving;
My life ſhall be more dear to me,
Becauſe of thy preſerving:
Let peril come, let horror threat,
Let thund'ring cannons rattle ;
I fearleſs ſeek the conflićt’s heat,
Aſſur’d when, on the wings of love,
To Heav'n above, &c.
Enough, with that benignant ſmile
Some kindred God inſpir'd thee;
Who ſaw thy boſom void of guile,
Who wonder'd, and admir'd thee:
I go


( 226 )
I go aſſur'd ; my life, adieu !
Though thund'ring cannons fattle,
Though murd’ring carnage ſtalks in view,
When, on the wings of thy true love,
To Heaven above, &c.
HE wind was huſh'd, the ſtorm was over,
1 Unfurl’d was every flowing ſail;
From toil releas'd, when Dick of Dover
Went with his meſſmates to regale.
All danger’s o'er, cried he, my neat hearts,
Drown care, then, in the ſmiling can ;
Come, bear a hand, let’s toaſt our ſweethearts,
And firſt I’ll give my Buxom Nan.
She's none of they that’s always gigging,
And ſtem and ſtern made up of art;
One knows a veſſel by her rigging,
Such ever ſlight a conſtant heart:
With ſtraw-hat, and pink ſtreamers flowing,
How off to meet me has ſhe ran ;
While for dear life would I be rowing,
To meet with ſmiles my buxom Nan i
Jack Jollyboat went to the Indies.
To ſee him ſtare when he came back
The girls were ſo all off the hinges,
His Poll was quite unknown to jack:
Tant-maſted all, to ſee who's talleſt,
Breaſt-works, top-ga’nt-ſails, and a fan;
Meſſmate, cried I, more ſail than ballaſt;
Ah! ſtill give me my buxom Nan.
None on life’s ſea can ſail more quicker,
To ſhew her love, or ſerve a friend ;
But hold, I'm preaching o'er my liquor—
This one word then, and there's an end :
Of


( 227 )
“Of all the wenches what ſomdever,
I ſay, then find me out who can,
One half ſo true, ſo kind, ſo clever,
Sweet, trim, and neat, as buxom Nan.
Wº don’t you know me by my ſcars 2
I'm Soldier Dick, come from the wars;
Where many a head without a hat
Crowds honour’s bed—but what of that *
Beat drums, play fifes, ’tis glory calls.
What arguſies who ſtands or falls
Lord what ſhould one be ſorry for 2
Life’s but the fortune of the war !
Then rich, or poor, or well, or ſick,
Still laugh and fing ſhall Soldier Dick.
I us’d to look two ways at once :
A bullet hit me on the ſconce, -
And dowſh'd my eye; d'ye think I’d wince 2
Why, Lord I’ve never ſquinted ſince.
Beat drums, &c.
Some diſtant keep from war's alarms,
For fear of wooden legs and arms;
While others die ſafe in their beds,
Who all their lives had wooden heads.
Beat drums, &c.
Thus gout, or fever, ſword, or ſhot,
Or ſomething, ſends us all to pot;
That we’re to die, then, do not grieve,
But let's be merry while we live.
Beat drums, &c.
WOULD


( 228 )
Wºº you hear a ſad ſtory of woe,
That tears from a ſtone might provoke-
*Tis concerning a tar, you muſt know,
As honeſt as e”er biſcuit broke :
His name was Ben Block—of all men,
The moſt true, the moſt kind, the moſt brave;
But harſh treated by fortune—for Ben,
In his prime, found a watery grave.
His place no one ever knew more;
His heart was all kindneſs and love;
Though on duty an eagle he'd ſoar,
His hature had moſt of the dove.
He lov’d a fair maiden, nam’d Kate ;
His father, to intereſt a ſlave,
Sent him far from his love, where hard fate
Plung’d him deep in a watery grave.
A curſe on all ſlanderous tongues 1
A falſe friend his mild nature abus’d ;
And ſweet Kate of the vileſt of wrongs,
To poiſon Ben's pleaſure, accus’d ;
That ſhe never had truly been kind;
That falſe were the tokens ſhe gave;
That ſhe ſcorn’d him, and wiſh’d he might find,
In the ocean, a watery grave.
Too ſure, from this cankerous elf,
The venom accompliſh'd its end;
Ben, all truth and honour himſelf,
Suſpected no fraud in his friend:
On the yard, while ſuſpended in air,
A looſe to his ſorrows he gave ;
“Take thy wiſh,” he j “falſe, cruel fair;”
And plung'd in a watery grava.
COMF,


( 229 )
Cº.; painter, with thy happieſt ſlight,
Pourtray me ev'ry grace;
In that bleſt region of delight,
My charming Sylvia's face:
And hear me, painter—to enhance
The value .# thine art, º
Steal from her eyes that very glance i
That ſtole away my heart.
Her forehead paint—in ſway and rule
Where fits, with pleaſure grac'd,
A form, like Venus, beautiful,
And, like Diana, chaſte:
Then paint her cheeks; come, paint and gaze,
Guard well thy heart the while ;
And then her mouth, where Cupid plays
In an eternal ſmile.
Next draw—preſumptuous painter, hold—
Ah! thinkſt to thee 'twas given
To paint her boſom –wouldſt, ſo bold,
Preſume to copy Heaven?
Nay, leave the taſk, for ’tis above,
Far, far above thy art;
Her portrait's drawn—the painter, Love;
The tablet, my fond heart.
N the world’s crooked path where I’ve been,
There to ſhare of life’s gloom my poor part,
The ſunſhine that ſoften’d the ſcene
Was a ſmile from the girl of my heart.
Not a ſwain, when the lark quits her neſt,
But to labour with glee will depart,
If at eve he expećts to be bleſt
With a ſmile from the girl of his heart.
X Come


( 230 )
Come then croſſes and cares as they may,
Let my mind ſtill this maxim impart,
That the comfort of man’s fleeting day
is a ſmile from the girl of his heart.
HE little birds, as well as you,
I’ve mark’d with anxious care,
How free their pleaſures they purſue,
How void of every care.
But birds of various kinds you'll meet,
Some conſtant to their loves;
Are chatt’ring ſparrows half ſo ſweet
As tender, cooing doves *
Birds have their pride, like human kind:
Some on their note preſume,
Some on their form ; and ſome you'll find
Fond of a gaudy plume.
Some love a hundred, ſome you’ll meet
Still conſtant to their loves;
Are chatt’ring ſparrows half ſo ſweet
As tender, cooing doves
Yºº and void of art or gui'e,
From ill intentions free,
If love I’ve cheriſh'd all this while,
It came in ſpite of me.
When you've to me, and I’ve to you
Tried who could kindeſt prove,
If that was love—what then to do,
To fly from this ſame love
-
When


( 231 )
When abſent from you, I have mourn’d,
And thought each hour a ſcore ;
When, on a ſudden, you return’d,
I’ve thrill'd with joy all o’er.
They ſay ’twas love—I thought 'twas you
Had made my heart thus move ;
Alas! what can a poor girl do,
To fly from this ſame love :
To every thing that you can aſk,
What ſhould I ſay but Yes :
It is becauſe I like the taſk,
I freely grant each kiſs.
You’re all to me--I'm all to all—
This truth our deaths would prove,
Were we to part—what then to do,
To fly from this ſame love
RC'ſ #F.R. ſ. 1diers, why caſt down
Never, boys, be melancholy.
You ſay our lives are not our own;
But, therefore, ſhould we not be jolly *
This poor tenement, at beſt,
Depends on fickle chance : mean while
Drink, laugh, and ſing; and, for the reſt,
We'll boldly brave each rude campaign :
Secure, if we return again,
Our pretty landlady ſhall ſmile.
-
Fortune his life and yours commands;
And this moment, ſhould it pleaſe her
To require it at your hands,
You can but die, and ſo did Caeſar.
Our ſpan, though long, were little worth,
Did we not time with joy beguile:
Laugh then, the while you ſtay on earth,
And boldly brave, &c.
X 2 Life’s


( 233 )
The ruby lip, the brilliant eye,
The roſy cheek, the graceful form,
In turn for commendation vie,
And juſtly the fir’d lover charm.
But, tranſient theſe—the charm for life,
Which reaſon ne'er ſhall diſapprove,
Which, truly, ſhall inſure a wife, -
Faithful and kind, is filial love.
IF 'tis love to wiſh you near,
To tremble when the wind I hear,
Becauſe at ſea you floating rove;
If of you to dream at night,
To languiſh when you’re out of fight;
If this beloving—then I love.
If, when you’re gone, to count each hour,
To aſk of every tender power
That you may kind and faithful prove ;
If, void of falſehood and deceit,
I feel a pleaſure now we meet,
If this be loving—then I love.
To wiſh your fortune to partake,
Determin’d never to §.
Though low in poverty we ſtrove ;
If, ſo that me your wife you’ll call, n
I offer you my little all;
If this be loving—then I love.
ASSION is a torrent rude,
Which rapid bears down ev'ry height,
A turbulent, unruly flood,
Which with the ocean would unite.
X 3 Reaſon’s


( 234 )
Reaſon's a fountain, calm, ſerene,
Which near gay fields, and laughing bow’rs,
While it refle&ts th’ enchanting ſcene,
Is borne among a bed of flow’rs.
Whº to my wounds a balm adviſes,
But little knows what I endure;
The patient's pain to torture riſes,
When med'cine's try’d, and fails to cure.
What can the wiſeſt council teach me,
But ſad remembrance of my grief?
Alas ! your kindneſs cannot reach me :
It gives but words—I aſk relief.
OSEGAYS I cry, and, though little you pay,
They’re ſuch as you cannot get every day.
Who'll buy who'll buy —’tis noſegays I cry,
Who'll buy who'll buy —'tis noſegays 1 cry.
Each mincing, ambling, liſping blade,
Who ſmiles, and talks of bliſſes
He never felt, is here pourtray'd
In form of a Narciſſus.
Noſegays I cry, &c.
Stateſmen, hike Indians, who adore
The ſun, by courting power,
Cannot be ſhewn their likeneſs more
Than in th’ humble ſun-flower.
Noſegays I cry, &c.
Poets I’ve here in ſprigs of bays,
Devils in the buſh are friars;
Nettles


( 237 )
G% patter to lubbers and ſwabs, d'ye ſee,
'Bout danger, and fear, and the like;
A tight water-boat, and good ſea-room give me,
And t'ent to a little I’ll ſtrike. -
Though the tempeſt top-gallant-maſts ſmack ſmooth
ſhould ſmite,
And ſhiver each ſplinter of wood,
Clear the wreck, ſtow the yards, and bowſe every
thing tight,
And under reef'd foreſail we’ll ſcud.
Avaſt, nor don't think me a milk-ſop ſo ſoft,
To be taken for trifles aback ;
For they ſays there’s a Providence fits up aloft,
To keep watch for the life of Poor Jack.
Why, I heard the good chaplain palaver one day,
About ſouls, heaven, mercy, and ſuch ;
And, my timbers, what lingo he’d coil and be-
lay !
Why ’twas juſt all as one as High Dutch.
But he ſaid how a ſparrow can't founder, d'ye ſee,
Without orders that comes down below,
And many fine things that prov’d clearly to me
That Providence takes us in tow ;
For ſays he, do you mind me, let ſtorms e'er ſo oft
Take the top-ſails of ſailors aback,
There’s a ſweet little cherub that ſits up aloft,
To keep watch for the life of Poor Jack.
I ſaid to our Poll, (for, d'ye ſee, ſhe would cry)
When laſt we weigh’d anchor for ſea,
What arguñes ſniv'ling, and piping your eye *
Why, what a damn’d fool you muſt bel
Can’t


( 239 )
That time, bound ſtrait to Portugal,
Right fore and aft we bore;
But, when we'd made Cape Ortugal,
A gale blew off the ſhore :
She lay, ſo it did ſhock her,
A log upon the main ;
Till, ſav'd from Davy's locker,
We put to ſea again.
Next in a frigate ſailing,
Upon a ſqually night,
Thunder and lightning hailing
The horrors of the fight,
My precious limb was lopp'd off, ... ...,
I, when they’d eas'd my pain,
Thank'd God I was not popp'd off,
And went to ſea again.
Yet ſtill I am enabled
To bring up in life's rear.
Although I’m quite diſabled,
And lie in Greenwich tier.
The King, God bleſs his royalty,
Who ſav'd me from the main,
I’ll praiſe with love and loyalty,
But ne'er to ſea again.
OW much I love thee, girl, wouldſt know?
Better than roſin loves the bow,
Than treble ſhrill the growling baſs,
Or ſpruce guitars a tawdry caſe.
No more, then, let us ſolo play:
To Hymen’s templejig away;
There


( 240 )
There, when we get
In a duet,
Of pleaſure will we take our ſwing;
Joy's fiddles ſhall play,
Love’s bells ſhall ring ;
And, while we celebrate the day,
We'll friſk away,
And laugh and play,
And dance and ſing,
And friſk away like anything.
I love thee more, I really think,
Than dancers jigs, or fiddlers drink;
Than dancing-maſters love a kit,
Orjolly ſailors fal d’ral tit.
No more, then, &c.
I love thee, Griddy, oh, much more
Than fingers love a loud encore,
Than curates crowdies love to ſcratch,
Or roaring drunkards love a catch.
No more, then, &c.
I WAS, d'ye ſee, a Waterman,
As tight and ſpruce as any,
*Twixt Richmond town,
And Horſley-down,
I earn’d an honeſt penny:
None could of Fortune's favours brag,
More than could lucky I;
Mycot was ſnug, well fill’d my cag,
My grunter in the ſtye.
With wherry tight,
And boſom light,
I cheer


( 243 )
Sº is the dew-drop on the thorn,
That, like a priſm, refle&ts the morn;
Sweet is the cheering ſolar ray,
That compaſſes the ample day.
Sweet is the balmy ev'ning's cloſe,
That ſhuts the foliage of the roſe;
Theſe to creation joys impart,
Like thoſe which warm the grateful heart.
The little ſongſters on the ſpray,
Spontaneous chant their grateful lay,
Or, to the pebbly riv'let driven,
They ſip, and lift their heads to Heaven;
Or for the worm, or inſe&, fly,
To feed their craving progeny;
Feelings, a leſſon that impart
To ſtimulate the grateful heart.
*.
Mark wegetation, wond’rous fight !
See how the germ breaks into light!
The fruitful ſhow’r the tree receives,
And freſher green adorns its leaves.
Man cultivates the grateful ſoil,
And flow’rs, and fruit, reward his toil.
Plants, birds, all nature, thus impart
Joys, ſuch as warm the grateful heart.
Dºº peace, my ſoul's defire,
The deareſt bliſs Fate could beſtow,
At length to thee I may aſpire;
Misfortune's ſtorms no longer blow.
Eſcap'd their ire, now ſafe on ſhore,
I liſten to the tempeſt’s roar:
And while the billows idly foam,
They but endear my long-loſt home.
Y 2 - HOW


( 245 )
Though Fortune’s ſmile our groves forſake,
Mirth may be left behind;
For wealth can neither give nor take
This treaſure of the mind
On Freedom’s happy land, &c.
Come, Cheerfulneſs, with blitheſome gait,
Trip by the peaſant's fide;
While Care, in cold and ſullen ſtate,.
Sits on the brow of Pride.
On Freedom’s happy land, &c.
WEET inmate, Senſibility
How pure thy tranſports flow !
When even grief, that ſprings from thee,
Is luxury in woe
Without thee—where's the figh of love,
Or bluſh, by grace refin’d —
Where Friendſhip's ſacred tear, to prove
The triumph of the mind
Sweet inmate, &c.
Wii. firſt I ſaw the village maiden,
Like Cymon, motionleſs I ſtood ;
*Twas Iphiginia's ſelf appearing,
So lovely, beautiful, and good :
Her cheeks out-bluſh'd the rip'ning roſe,
Her ſmiles would baniſh mortals' woes—
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 l
Y 3 I told


( 246 )
I told my love, with many fears,
Which ſhe return'd with ſpeaking tears :
Then figh’d the village maiden :
She figh'd, becauſe ſhe had no riches,
To make her lady-like, and gay :
Though 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 I
ETURNING from the fair, one eve,
Acroſs yon verdant plain,
Young Harry ſaid he'd ſee me home—
A tight, a comely ſwain :
He begg'd I would a fairing take,
And would not be refus’d ;
Then aſk’d a kiſs—I bluſh'd, and cry’d,
I’d rather be excus’d.
You're coy, ſaid he, my pretty maid;
I mean no harm, I ſwear !
Long time I have in ſecret figh’d
For you, my charming fair:
But, if my tenderneſs offend,
And if my love’s refus’d,
I’ll leave you—What, alone cried I;
I’d rather be excus’d.
He preſs'd my hand, and on we walk’d ;
He warmly urg’d his ſuit:
But ſtill, to all he ſaid, I was
Moſt obſtinately mute.
At


( 247 )
:
At length, got home, he angry cry’d,
My fondneſs is abus’d ;
Then die a maid—Indeed, ſaid I,
I'd rather be excus’d.
T gay fixteen, my lovers came,
A With flatt’ring tongues, and hearts in flame,
As thick as ſhow’rs in June ;
But, of a little beauty vain,
I laugh'd, and told each dying ſwain,
lndeed, 'twas much too ſoon.
Year after year in ſcorn went by:
Reječing ev'ry am’rous ſigh,
I kept the ſame old tune;
Go, ſhepherd, with diſdain I cry’d,
'Tis time enough to be a bride;
Indeed, 'tis much too ſoon.
At twenty-five,—full time to wed,
My lovers nearly all were nearly fled;
I alter'd then my tune;
Shepherd, ſaid I, I’ve chang'd my mind ;
I’ve thought the matter o'er, and find .
I cannot wed too ſoon.
W W 7HILE Strephon, thus you teaze me
To ſay what won my heart;.
It cannot, ſure, be treaſon,
If I the truth impart.
It was your generous nature,
Bold, ſoft, ſincere, and gay;
It ſhone in every feature,
And ſtole my heart away.
*Twas


( 248 )
*Twas not your ſmile, though charming ;
'Twas not your eyes, though bright;
"Twas not your bloom, though warming,
Nor beauty’s dazzling light.
No—it was your generous nature, &c.
'Twas not your dreſs, though ſhining,
Nor ſhape, that won my heart;
"Twas not your tongue combining,
For that might pleaſe by art.
No—it was your generous nature, &c.
Tº: ſtood poor Jonas, at the window,
All in tears—crying—fighing—Oh!
Says I, who’s that below *
What do you want, good fiſherman
Dear Mrs. Nannette, indeed it is no ſin,
Open the window, love, and let poor Jonas in.
No, maſter Jonas,-no
No, maſter Jonas, -no
No, fiſherman.
Well, quoth Jonas, then I vow,
Marching off in a huff, with a pouting Oh!
Then 'tis time to make my bow
The ſooner the better, good fiſherman.
Yet, Mrs. Nannette, one word, ere you leave me;
Won’t you ſtop —well, to-morrow I hope you’ll re-
ceive me !
No, maſter Jonas—no—
No, maſter Jonas-no-
No, fiſherman.
`.
WHITHER


( 249 )
º
HITHER, my love, ah whither art thou
one P
Let not thy abſence cloud this happy dawn.
Say,+by thy heart can falſehood e'er be known f
Ah no, no ; I judge it by my own.
The heart he gave, with ſo much care,
Which treaſur'd in my breaſt I wear,
Still for his maſter beats alone;
I’m ſure the ſelfiſh thing's his own.
M’ heart from my boſom would fly,
And wander, oh, wander afar ;
Refle&tion bedevs my ſad eye,
For Henry is gone to the war.
Oh, ye winds, to my Henry bear
One drop—let it fall on his breaſt:
The tear, as a pear!, he will wear,
And I, in remembrance, be bleſt.
In vain ſmiles the glitt'ring ſcene,
In vain blooms the roſeate flow'r ;
The ſun-ſhine in April's not ſeen :
I’ve only to do with the ſhow’r.
Oh, ye winds, &c.
Ye winds, that have borne him away,
Reſtore the dear youth to my arms;
Reſtore me to ſun-ſhine, and day:
'Tis night, 'till my Henry returns.
Oh, ye winds, &c.
A” now we’re met,
A jolly ſet,
A fig for ſack, or ſherry;
Our


* ( 250 )
Our ale we’ll drink,
And our cans we’ll clink,
And we'll be wond’rous merry.
Merry, my hearts—merry, my boys'
We'll ſing with a hey down derry;
The Baron himſelf knows no ſuch joys,
We are ſo wond’rous merry.
Wiſ.; through the azure blue, and bright,
Serenely floats the Lamp of Night;
The waves forgetting how to roar,
The citron groves wave down no more;
Each breeze, ſuſpended, ſeems to ſay,
Now, Leline, for thy Roundelay.
My Delia's lips are clos'd in reſt;
Ah! was her pillow but my breaſt !
Go, dreams, one gentle word impart,
In whiſpers place me near her heart;
While at her window I will lay,
And ſoothe her with my Roundelay.
But ſee a paler, ſofter ſhade 1
The glimm'ring ſtars retiring fade t
Sleep on, lov’d Fair, nor ever feel
The cares which forms like thine reveal.
Adieu ! the morn is on his way,
And ſilences my Roundelay.
Th; god who form'd our wretched race,
In pity clos'd the book of fate,
Forbad with impious ſearch to trace.
The ills that all alike await.
Ah!'


( 251 )
Ah! wherefore burſt the friendly ſhade
Which ſhuts the future from our fight;
And tear the veil, by mercy ſpread
To ſhield us from a painful light
Full ſoon ſhall Time, ſo ſeeming ſlow,
With noiſeleſs fleps his courſe fulfill,
And call to birth each deſtin’d woe,
Each embryo grief, and ripen'd ill.
AIR Liberty whom Heaven gave
But where peculiarly it loves;
And put off all it meant for ſlave
With orange-bow'rs, and citron groves 1
The children of the frozen North,
Where Nature half her gifts retains,
Are doom'd to tame the churliſh earth,
For taſteleſs fruits, and tardy grains.
Yet, while their weary taſk they ply,
By thee their fainting ſouls are cheer'd 1
No ſtern, unfeeling lord is nigh;
No rods are ſeen, no chains are heard 1
Still, as they guide the delving plough,
Or bind pale Autumn's ſcanty ſtore,
To thee, their manly lives they vow,
To thee, their grateful ſtrains they pour !
OULD I trace back the time—a far diſtant date,
Since my forefathers toil’d in this field;
And the farm I now hold on your Honour's eſtate,
is the ſame that my grandfather till’d. H
C2


( 252 )
He, dying, bequeath'd to his ſon a good name,
Which unſully’d deſcended to me;
For my child I’ve preſerv'd it unblemiſh’d with
ſhame,
And it ſtill from a ſpot ſhall be free.
Y the oziers ſo dank,
As we ſat on the bank,
And look’d at the ſwell of the billow ;
This baſket he wove,
As a token of love :
Alas ! 'twas the branch of the willow !
Now, ſad all the day,
Through the meadows I ſtray,
And reſt flies at night from my pillow !
The garland I wore,
From my ringlets I tore:
Alas! muſt 1 wear the green willow?
OU aſk me, my friend, what of life's the beſt
end ?
And bid me the queſtion revolve:
But the point, you muſt own, is ſo hard to be
known,
*Twill take up ſome time to reſolve.
When the briſk glaſs goes round, and our ſpirits
abound,
Say, what with the bottle can vie
Ev'ry care is at reſt, and our wiſh is poſſeſt;
For that all our wants will ſupply.
But the ſportſman won’t yield the delights of the
field,
When, hallooing, the vallies reſound:
As


( 255 )
IN vain the grave and wiſe,
The thoughtful and the ſage,
Would teach us to deſpiſe
The joys that ſuit our age.
Youth's the ſeaſon to be gay, , ,
Then ſmile each beau and belle;
To joy we’ll give the day:
Ah!—Wive la bagatelle /
The laughing hours invite
To ſport, while young and gay :
With love and ſoft delight,
Our minutes paſs away.
Old-age, and Care, they ſay,
O'ertake each beau and belle :
Who'd meet ſuch foes half-way
Ah!—Wive la bagatelle /
H9. long ſhall hapleſs Colin mourn
The cold regard of Delia's eye *
The heart whoſe 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, though I lov’d thee more than life,
Not to diſpleaſe a cruel maid,
My tongue forebore 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.
2, 2 Few


( 256 )
Few are the vales which 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 aët may make my boſom bleed,
But ſurely cannot bleſs her own.
ONE bird of eve, whoſe liquid throat
Delights my filent way,
Who cheereſt with a farewell note
The beam of parting day !
The wretch who wanders near the thorn,
Amidſt the gath'ring bloom,
Purſues with fighs a path forlorn,
To weep at Cynthia's tomb.
Come, minſtrel of the twilight hour,
And mourn with me the maid:
Thy tend’reſt ſong of ſorrow pour,
To ſoothe the gentleſt ſhade.
So, when thy voice in death ſhall ceaſe,
To leave that lonely tree,
May redbreaſts pour the ſong of peace,
Of ſweeteſt peace, to thcel
APPY, harmleſs, rural pair,
Void of jealouſy or care ;
Emblems of the bleſs'd above,
Sharing pure ſeraphic love!
By


( 259 )
Loud crow'd the cock, the ſhadow fled;
No more of Sandy could ſhe ſee;
But ſoft the paſſing ſpirit ſaid,
* Sweet Mary, weep no more for me.”
HEN 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 humble gleaner
Take the ſcatter'd ears that fall !
Nature, all her children viewing,
Kindly bounteous, cares for all.
TILL the lark finds repoſe
In the full waving corn ;
And the bee on the roſe,
Though ſurrounded with thorn.
Never robb’d of their eaſe, -
They are thoughtleſs and free;
But no more gentle peace
Shall e'er harbour with me. -
Still the lark finds repoſe, &c.
Still in ſearch of delight,
Ev'ry pleaſure they prove,
Ne'er


( 26o )
Ne'er tormented by pride,
Or the ſlights of fond love.
Still the lark finds repoſe, &c.
OOSE ev’ry ſail to the breeze,
The courſe of my veſſel improve;
I’ve done with the toils of the ſeas;
Ye ſailors, I’m bound to my love.
Since Emma is true as ſhe’s fair,
My grief I fling all to the wind;
*Tis a pleaſing return for my care,
My miſtreſs is conſtant and kind.
My ſails are all fill'd to my dear;
What tropic-bird ſwifter can move 2
Who, cruel, ſhall hold his career,
That returns to the neſt of his love
Hoiſt ev'ry ſail to the breeze;
Come, ſhipmates, and join the ſong;
Let's drink, while our ſhºp cuts the ſeas,
To the gale that may drive her along.
WEFT, ſweet Robinette, all the ſhepherds de-
clare,
They never yet ſaw ſo enchanting a fair;
The ſwains all admire her : no mortal as yet
Hase'er ſeen a girl like my ſweet Robinette.
Her eyes, they would melt you: her cheeks, they diſ.
cloſe
The beautiful tint of the pale bluſhing roſe.
The nymphs, full of envy, do nothing but fret,
To ſee all the ſwains figh for ſweet Robinette.
All


( 261
º
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 labour 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 a bet,
You ne'er ſaw a girl like my ſweet Robinette.
OW Spring her ſweets diſcloſes,
And flow'rets deck the grove;
l’ll make, with ſweeteſt roſes,
A garland for my love.
The flow’rs that ſcent the air,
Are not ſa blooming ſeen,
Are not ſa ſweet and fair
As Sandy of the Green.
Nalad can blink ſa blithe and gay,
Na lad that e'er was ſeen,
Sa ſweetly on the pipe can play,
As Sandy of the Green.
As o'er the bourn, a Maying,
I lately bent my way,
I met young Sandy ſtraying
Wilads and laſſes gay;
I felt delight and pleaſure
To view his ſhape and mien ;
Sure, then, my only treaſure
Is Sandy of the Green.
Na lad can blink, &c.
MySandy vows he will be mine,
The kirk ſhall make us one ;
All


( 264 )
*Tis the brain of the viðim that tempers the dart;
And fools jeſt at that for which ſages have died.
Each change and exceſs hath through life been my
doom,
And well can I ſpeak of its joys and its ſtrife:
The bottle affords us a glimpſe through the gloom,
But love's the true ſunſhine that gladdens our life.
Come, then, roſy Venus, and ſpread o'er my fight
The magic illuſions that raviſh the ſoul;
Awake in my breaſt the ſoft dream of delight,
And drop from thy myrtle one leaf in my bowl.
Then deep will I drink of the neétar divine,
Nor e'er, jolly god, from thy banquet remove;
But each tube of my heart ever thirſt for the wine
That's mellow'd by friendſhip, and ſweeten’d by
love.
•
O'BR 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 the, &c.
We


( 265 )
we ſat ourſelves down to a cooling repaſt,
Freſh fruits—and ſhe cull'd me the beſt :
Whilſt, thrown from my guard by ſome glances ſhe
caſt,
Love flily ſtole into my breaſt.
Love ſlily, &c.
I told my ſoft wiſhes—ſhe ſweetly reply'd,
(Yé virgins, her voice was divine)
I have rich ones rejećted, and great ones desy’d ;
Yet, take me, fond ſhepherd—I’m thine.
Yet, take me, &c.
Her air was ſo modeſt, her aſpect ſo meek,
so ſimple, though 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.
And lock'd, &c.
Now jocund, together we tend a few ſheep;
... And if, on the banks by a ſtream,
Reclin'd on her boſom, I fink into ſleep,
Her image ſtill ſoftens my dream.
Her image, &c.
Together, we range o'er the ſlow-riſing hills,
Delighted with paſtoral views, -
Or reſt on the rock whence the ſtreamlet diſtills,
And mark out new themes for my muſe.
And mark out, &c.
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.
The ſhepherds, &c.
A a NOW’s


( 267 )
And, when they learn that you have bleſ:
Another with your heart,
They’ll bid aſpiring paſſion reſt,
And ačt 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 browhers in the young.
WHEN my money was gone, that I gain'd in
the wars,
And the world it did frown at my fate,
What matter'd my zeal, or my honoured ſcars,
When Indifference ſtood at each gate
That face that would ſmile when my purſe wa well
lin'd,
Shews a different aſpect to me;
And, when I could nought but ingratitude find,
I hied me again to the ſea.
I thought 'twas unjuſt for to pine at my lot,
Or to bear with cold looks on the ſhore;
I pack'd up my trifling remnants I’d got;
And a trifle, alas ! was my ſtore."
A handkerchief held all the treaſure I had,
Which over my ſhoulder I threw ;-
Away then I trudg’d, with a heart rather ſad,
To join with ſome jolly ſhip's crew.
The ſea was leſs troubled by far than my mind;
And, when the wide main i ſurvey’d,
could not help thinking the world was unkind,
And Fortune a ſlippery jade.
A a 2 I ſwear,


( 268 )
I ſwear, if once more I can take her in tow,
I'll let the ungrateful world ſee
That the turbulent winds, and the billows, could
ſhow
More kindneſs than they did to me.
F life is a bubble, and breaks with a blaſt,
You muſt toſs off your wine, if you’d wiſh it to
!aft ;
For this bubble may well be deſtroy'd with a puff,
If it is not kept floating in liquor enough.
If life is a flow'r, as philoſophers ſay,
'Tis a very good hint, underſtood the right way;
For, if life is a flow'r, any blockhead can tell,
If you'd * it look freſh, you muſt moiſten it
well.
This life is no more than a journey, 'tis ſaid,
Where the roads, for moſt part, are confoundedly
bad :
Then, let wine be our ſpur, and each trav’ler will
own
That, whatever the roads, we jog merrily on.
This world to a theatre liken'd has been,
Where each man around has a part in the ſcene:
*Tis our part to get drunk; and ’tis matter of fačt,
That the more you all drink, boys, the better you'll
aćt.
HEN 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
ls |
As |
De;
Re
0:
Po


( 270 )
One ſweet ſmile can give him the wealth of a na-
tion,
From Norah, dear Norah, the theme of his ſong.
OME, fing round my fav'rite tree,
Ye ſongſters that viſit the grove ;
'Twas the haunt of my ſhepherd and me,
And the bark is the record of love.
Reclin'd on the turf by my fide,
He tenderly pleaded his cauſe;
I only with bluſhes replied,
And the nightingale fill'd up the pauſe.
Tºº prudence may preſs me
- And duty diſtreſs me,
Againſt inclination, ah what can they do
No longer a rover,
His follies are over :—
My heart, my fond heart, ſays my Henry is true.
The bee, thus as changing,
From ſweet to ſweet ranging,
A roſe ſhould he'light on, ne'er wiſhes to ſtray,
With raptures poſſeſſing,
In one, ev’ry bleſſing,
Till, torn from her boſom, he flies far away.
Th; ſtag, through the foreſt, when rous’d by the
horn,
Sore frighted, high bounding, flies wretched, for-
Jorn ;
Quick


( 271 )
Quick panting, heart burſting, the hounds now in
view,
Speed doubles 1 ſpeed doubles they eager purſue.
But, eſcaping the hunters, again through the groves,
Forgetting paſt evils, with freedom he roves:
Not ſo in his ſoul, who from tyrant Love flies—
The ſhaft overtakes him; deſpairing, he dies.
E"; bright Roſina met my eyes,
How peaceful paſs'd the joyous day !
In rural ſports I gain’d the prize,
Each virgin liſten’d to my lay.
But now no more I touch the lyre,
No more the ruſtic ſports can pleaſe;
I live the ſlave to fond deſire,
Loſt to myſelf, to mirth, and eaſe.
The tree that, in a happier hour,
Its boughs extended o'er the plain; -
When blaſted by the lightning's pow'r,
Nor charms the eye, nor ſhades the ſwain.
EE, beneath yon bow'r of roſes,
Sweetly ſleeps the heav'nly maid:
'Tis my gentle love repoſes;
Softly tread the ſacred ſhade.
Mark the loves that play around her,
Mark my Ella's graceful mien;
See the wood-nymphs all ſurround her,
Hailing Ella Beauty's Queen!
Flatt’ring


( 272 ) .
Flutt'rºng Cupids round deſcending,
Soft expand their filken wings;
From the zephyr's breath defending
Ev'ry ſweet that round her ſprings.
Sportive Fancy, hear my prayer—
Gently, from thy airy throne,
Whiſper to the ſleeping fair,
Edwin lives for her alone.
Wº are the boaſted joys of love
By danger won, in fear poſſeſt,
There ſcarce is leiſure in the breaſt,
Its wiſh'd-for ſtate to prove.
How ſhort the hours of bliſs we know !
By toil forerun, by terror preſt
The heart was never truly bleſt
That did not tremble too !
N O. more I’ll court the town-bred fair, ,
Who ſhines in artificial beauty;.
For, native charms without compare
Claim all my love, reſpect, and duty.
Oh, my bonny bonny Bet, ſweet bloſſom 1
Were I a king, ſo proud to wear thee,
From off the verdant couch I’d bear thee, .
To grace thy faithful lover’s boſom.
Yet, aſk me where thoſe beauties lie,
I cannot ſay in ſmile or dimple,
In blooming cheek, or radiant eye;
'Tis happy nature, wild and ſimple.
- Oh, my bonny, &c.
Let


- - June, 1797.
NEW PUBLICATIONS
PRINT e D FOR
T. N. LONGMAN, No. 39, Paternoſter-Row.
I. AMILY SECRETS, Literary and Domeſtic. By Mr.
PRATT. In five large Volumes, 12mo. Priče 11.5s.
Boards. -
“Mr. Pratt has introduced to a numerous ſet of readers a novel that has the
merit of being at once tender, pathetic, and full of love; and, which may be
a more uncommon circumſtance, of love mixed with the greateſt diºcretion.”
Monthly Review, May, 1797.
* In the volumes before us, there are ſeveral beautiful and affecting ſtrokes'
of nature.” Analytical Review, April, 1797.
“ This produćtion is in the manner of the Old School; that is, the author
has made it his chief objećt tº diſplay Nature as ſhe is, and to exhibit ſuch
characters as cannot but be found among thoſe claſies whom he has delineated.
Accordingly, the great merit of the book conſiſts in the ſeveral ſcenes pro-
ducing their appropriate effečts, and the whole tending to impreſs on the mind
new motives to love, and to promote humanity, virtue and religion.”
Gentleman's Magazine for May.
: 2. GLEANINGS THROUGH WALES, HOLLAND,
and WESTPHALIA ; with Views of Peace and War at
Home and Abroad. To which is added, HUMANITY; or,
The Rights of Nature: A Poem. Reviſed and correóted.
By Mr. PRATT. In three Volumes, 8vo, Price One Guinea
in Boards. Third Edition. -
“We have found ſo many lively and pleaſant exhibitions of manners, ſo
many amuſing and intereſting anecdotes, and ſo many obſervations and
reflections, gay and grave, ſportive and ſentimental, (all expreſſed in a gay
and familiar ſtyle,) better ſuited to the purpoſe than ſentences laboured with
artificial exactneſs, that we cannot but recommend it to our readers as a
highly amuſing and intereſting performance.” Analytical Review, jan. 1796-
3. AN OLD FRIEND WITH A NEW FACE; a Novel.
By Mrs. PARSONS. In three Volumes. Price los. 6d. Boards.
. 4. A GOSSIP's STORY and LEGENDARY TALE. By
Mrs. WEST, Author of Advantages of Education, &c. In
two Volumes, 12mo. Price 7s. in Boards. -
- “We can recommend this ſtory as uniting to a great degree of intereſt the
er qualities of good ſenſe, and an accurate knowledge of mankind. The
grammatical errors and vulgariſms which diſgrace many even of our moſt cele-
brated novels, have here no place; and ſeveral of the ſhorter poetical pieces
interſperſed through the work, have very confiderable merit. Amuſement is
combined with utility, and fiótion is inliſted in the cauſe of virtue and
Pračtical philoſophy.” . Montbly Review, january, 1797.
- 4. 5. LOV.


NEW PUBLICATIONS PRINTED FOR T. N. LoNGMAN.
5. LOVE's PILGRIMAGE, a Story founded on Facts;
compiled from the Journal of a deceaſed Friend.
In three Volumes, 12me. Price 9s. boards.
“A moſt intereſling and well-told Story. The language poliſhed and eaſy;
the morality pure and clear. We could expatiate on its merits; we could
ſelect many ſtriking parts; but we truſt a ſtrong commendation will be as uſe-
ful as a prolix one.” - Britiſh Critic, Auguſt, 1796.
6. CAROLINE DE MONTMORENCI, a Tale. In one
Volume, 12mo. Price 3 s. ſewed.
“A pathetic Tale, told in elegant language.—As a whole it is far ſuperior
to moſt publications of the kind.” - Britiſh Critic, May, 1795.
7. A JOURNEY OVER LAND to INDIA, partly by a
Route never gone before by any European, By DONALD
CAMPBELL, of Barbreck, Éſq; who formerly commanded a
Regiment of Cavalry in the Service of his Highneſs the
Nabob of the Carnatic. In a Series of Letters to his Son,
Comprehending his Shipwreck and Impriſonment by Hyder
Alli, and his ſubſequent Negociations and Tranſačtions in
the Eaſt. Handſomely printed on fine wove paper, 4to. Price
One Guinea in Boards. -
“A Work like this has, in one reſpe&t, an advantage over thoſe Books of
Voyages and Travels which are written on the ſpur of the occaſion; for it
abounds with matured reflečtions, and contains the travels of the writer's mind,
together with his bodily peregrinations. We cannot take leave without ext
preſſing our admiration of the ſpirit and perſeverance diſplayed by Mr. Camp-
Bell, in ſurmounting the difficulties and dreadful hardſhips, which he his
deſcribed with ſo much feeling and ability.” Monthly Review, Cº. 1795,
8. A RESIDENCE in FRANCE, during the Years 1792,
3, 4, and 5; deſcribed in a Series of Letters from an Engliſh
Lady; with general and incidental Remarks on the French
Charaćter and Manners, Two Volumes, 8vo. The Second
Edition. Price 14s. Boards. -
“It is only juſtice to ſay, that the ſtyle is as poliſhed as the matter is
intereſting and important; nor have we any doubt that the book will remain
a permanent monument of the taſte and talents of the writer.” -
Britiſh Critic, April, 1797.
9. A LETTER to the Honourable THOMAS ERSKINF :
containing ſome STRICTURES on his “VIEW of the
“CAUSES and CONSEQUENCES of the preſent WAR
“...with FRANCE.” By JOHN GIFFORD, Eſq. The
Ninth Edition. Price 3s. -
“Seeing alſo, as every reader muſt here ſee, fačts oppoſed to declamation, and
fºr,
~~~~, - - 3. S publl AQIl Contains a c e - Qil
anſwer to Mr. Erſkine.” " s. Publication, ritiſh dº.
9. A


.*
tº
**
New publications PRINTED for t. N. long MAN.
10. A DEFENCE of the FRENCH EMIGRANTs. Ad.
dreſſed to the People of France. By TROPHIME GERALD
DE LALLY-TOLENDAL. Tranſlated from the French,
by JQHN GIFFORD, Eſq. In one Volume, 8vo. Price 7s.
Boards.
11. SECRET HISTORY of the FRENCH REVOLU-
TION, from the Convocations of the Not Ables in 1787,
to the FIRST of Nov EMBER, 1796. Containing a vaſt Num-
ber of Particulars but little known; together with Extracts
of the moſt remarkable Publications on the Revolution, which
have appeared in France, Germany, and England. Tranſ-
lated from the French of FRANcis PAges. In 2 vols. 8vo.
Price 14s. in boards. -
12. An HISTORY, or ANECDOTES of the REVOLU-
TION in RUSSIA, in the Years 1762. Tranſlated from the
French of M. DE RULHIERE. With an elegant Head of
the late EMPR ess. Price 4s. ſewed. -
This work was written by the author ſhortly after the tranſačtions which he
relates, of which he was an eye witneſs. Great efforts were made by CAT HA-
R1 NE at the Court of FRAN cR, to ſuppreſs the publication. Bribes and me-
naces were made uſe of, but ſhe could ſucceed no further than to obtain a pro-
miſe that it ſhould not appear in her life time —The EMP RE'ss being now
dead, it is juſt publiſhed in France, by the Heir of M. DE Rulh 1 E.R.E.
“The grounds of M. Dr Ruth IF RE's information ſeem indiſputable, and
his readers appear to have every reaſon to be ſatisfied with his diſcernment, in
unfolding the motives and circumſtances that concurred in bringing about this
ſtriking event. He is no ſervile copier, but has drawn his charaćters, and de-
feribed his ſcenes, with the hand of a maſter.—Such is the account now, for
the firſt time delivered to the public, of the circumſtances attending the me-
lancholy end of PE TER Ill. the abſolute monarch of a vaſt empire; and
who, with all his infirmities, performed, during his ſhort reign of only fix
months, ſo many ačts of humanity and mercy, and ſhewed ſuch diſpoſitions to
promote the happineſs of mankind, that his defects in point of prudence
demand from the ſympath zing heart a tear upon his aſhes.
“We ſhall only add, that we have ſeldom met with more intereſting
original anecdotes, than thoſe that are contained in the little work which
we have now reviewed.” App. to Montbly Review, Vol. 22.
13. CLARA DUPLESSIS, and CLAIRANT: The
History of a FAMILY of FR EN ch EMI GRANTs. Tranſlated
from the German. In 3 vols. 12mo.
“This pathetic novel, or relation of fačts, has been deſervedly ſucceſsful
in its native country, and at Paris.--
“ The charaćters are drawn with a truth of nature which is truly ad-
mirable
“We ſhould with pleaſure tranſlate ſome affecting fragments, but a work
of this ſtamp is not formed to be long a ſtranger to our literature.”
- App. tº Monthly Review, Vol. 22.
* ~ * - - BOO"


* Books PRINTED FOR T. N. LoNG MAN:
legant Epiſtles, royal 8vo.
Epitome, Proſe, ſquare 12mo. - ,
Ditto, Verſe, ditto
Ditto, Epiſtles, ditto -
Eſſay on Rhetorick, from Dr. Blair, Izmo.
£ntick’s Spelling Dićtionary, ſquare 12mo.
Ditto, mall 12mo, fine paper
Family Lečtures, by Dr. Knox, 2 vols. royal 8vo.
Ferguſon’s Aſtronomy, 8vo. *-
Lećtures on Mechanics and the Globes, 8vo.
Fielding's Works, 1o vols. 8vo.
Tom Jones, 3 vols. 12mo.
Joſeph Andrews, 2 vols. 12mo, -
Goldſmith's Hiſtory of England, 3 vols, 8vo.
Ditto Abridged, 12mo. -
Gay's Fables, 8vo. with plates
12mo, wood cuts " *-*.
Gregory's Chriſtian Church, 2 vols. 8vo. —
Glaſs's Art of Cookery, 8vo.
Guardian, 2 vols. 8vo.
Ditto, 2 vols. 12mo.
Grandiſon (Sir Charles) 7 vols. 12mo. — I
.
i
-
Healde's Tranſlation of the New London Diſpenſatory,
by Dr. Latham, 8vo. o
Hervey's Meditations, 12mo. O
Hoyle's Games (improved by Jones) 12mo. O
Haller's (Baron) Letters to his Daughter, crown 8vo. o
Hiſtory of England, in Letters, 2 vols. Izmo. O
Hamilton on Female Complaints, 8vo. - o
's Regimental Surgeon, 2 vols. 8vo. O .
Hoppus's Meaſurer, 12mo, o
Hawney's Meaſurer, 12mo. o
Hiſtory of England, in Queſtion and Anſwer, 12mo, o
Ditto, with cuts — O
Hiſtory of Rome, in Queſtion and Anſwer, 12mo, o
1Ditto, with cuts O
Hume's Hiſtory of England, with Smollett's Con-
- tinuation, 13 vols, 8vo. 4.
Ditto, 21 vols. 18ms. 2
Johnſon's Works, 12 vols. 8vo. fine wove paper 4
Dićtionary, 2 vols. 4to. 3
Ditto, I vol. 8vo. O
– Engliſh Poets, 75 vols. foolſcap 8vo. I 3
-— Lives of the Poets, 4 vols. 8vo. I
Imlay's Emigrants, 3 vols. 12mo, *-es O
i
I
t
I
I
:
4.
i
K
•
|