The Charmer; being a select collection of English, Scots' and American songs, including the modern: : with a selection of favourite toasts and sentiments.

2009-10

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[figure]

Around its base, I'll deck a sod,

And rifle from each bower,

The woodbine [...]mine, my [...]rose,

With every fragrant flower

Here when Phoebus quits y ^e plain

And at his first return [...]

He'll find m [...] [...]a [...]ing with my [...]ears,

The shrubs round Anna's Urn.

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THE CHARMER, BEING A SELECT COLLECTION OF ENGLISH, SCOTS' AND AMERICAN SONGS, INCLUDING THE MODERN: WITH A SELECTION OF FAVOURITE TOASTS AND SENTIMENTS.

PHILADELPHIA: PRINTED FOR W. SPOTSWOOD, FRONT-STREET; T. SIDDDON, AND RICE & CO. MARKET-STREET. MDCCXC.

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A Table of FIRST LINES To the CHARMER.

AS you mean to set sail for the land of delight, Page 7
And did you not hear of a jolly young waterman, Page 10
All dripping wet, in wintry night, Page 16
Adieu, ye jovial youths, who join, Page 31
At Totterdown-hill there dwelt an old pair, Page 48
A courting I went to my love, Page 53
As bringing home the other day, ibid.
Adieu! ye verdant lawns and bow'rs, Page 73
As passing by a shady grove, Page 74
Adieu, ye groves, adieu ye plains, Page 75
All on the pleasant banks of Tweed, Page 82
As my cow I was milking just now in the vale, Page 87
As Jockey sat down by Jenny one day, Page 100
Arise my rosy nymph of May, Page 104
At the sound of the horn, Page 114
Away to the field, see the morning looks gay, Page 122
All you who would wish to succeed with a lass, Page 130
BLow high, blow low, let tempests tear, Page 1
Busy, curious, thirsty fly, Page 30
Banish sorrow, grief and folly, ibid.
By a murmuring stream a fair shepherdess lay, Page 47
Beneath a green grove, a lovely young swain, Page 73
Believe my sighs, my tears, my dear, Page 90
Blow on ye winds, descend soft rain, Page 106
Blithe Colin, a pretty young swain, Page 107
Bright Phoebus has mounted the chariot, &c. Page 115
By moon light on the green, Page 126
Behind yon hill where Stinchar flows, Page 129
COme bustle, bustle, drink about, Page 6
Come, come my jolly lads, ibid.
Cease rude Boreas, blust'ring railer, Page 8
Come loose every sail to the breeze, Page 16
Come, now, all ye social pow'rs, Page 29
Come live with me, and be my love, Page 57
Contentment hail thou princely gem, Page 92
Charming village-maid, Page 105
Come cease all your pother, about this or that, Page 131
DIstress me with those tears no more, Page 2
Do you hear brother sportsman, the sound of the horn, Page 37
Dear heart! what a terrible life am I led! Page 135
ENCOMPASS'D in an angel's frame, Page 50
FROM the brook and the willow forsaking the plains, Page 71
Friendship to ev'ry gen'rous mind, Page 76
[Page iv]From the man that I love, though my heart, &c. Page 85
From morning till night, and wherever I go, Page 87
Fair Kitty's charms, young Johnny took, Page 99
Fair Kitty beautiful and young, Page 111
GALLANTS attend, and hear a friend, Page 80
Guardian angel now protect me, Page 49
Give round the word dismount, dismount, Page 118
HAIL godlike Washington, Page 17
How stands the glass around, Page 25
Hark! hark! sweet lass▪ the trumpet sounds, Page 27
Here's to the maid of bashful fifteen, Page 35
He that will not merry merry be, Page 36
How blest has may time been, Page 52
How happy a state does the miller possess, Page 54
How imperfect is expression, Page 68
Hyla's the sweetest maid on earth, Page 80
Hark, hark, from the woodlands, &c. Page 115
Hark away! 'tis the merry-ton'd horn, Page 119
Hark! hark! the joy-inspiring horn, ibid.
Hark, hark ye, how echoes the horn in the vale, Page 122
Hark, hark, to the sound of the sweet winding horn, Page 123
Hark! forward, away, my brave boys to the chase, Page 125
IN a mould'ring cave, where the wretched retreat, Page 24
In Jacky Bull, when bound for France, Page 32
Jolly mortals fill your glasses, Page 35
I envy not the proud their wealth, Page 58
In infancy our days were blest, ibid.
I envy not the mighty great, Page 60
I once was a maiden as fresh as a rose, Page 65
I've kiss'd and I've prattled, with fifty fair maids, Page 69
I sigh and lament me in vain, Page 74
I Delia's beauties would disclose, Page 78
I sing the beauties that adorn, Page 80
I'll sing of my love all night and all day, Page 86
If love's a sweet passion how can it torment? Page 97
I sought the fair throughout the valley, Page 103
It was upon a Lammas night, Page 128
LET the tempest of war, Page 24
Let grave divines preach up dull rules, Page 33
Last Valentine's day when bright Phoebus shone clear, Page 38
Let the gay ones and great, Page 43
Leave neighbours your work, for to sport and to play, Page 46
Lovely nymph now cease to languish, Page 77
Lord! sir! you seem mighty uneasy, Page 83
Lord, what care I for mam and dad, Page 88
Let others Damon's praise rehearse, Page 101
Like my dear swain, no youth you'd see, Page 111
[Page v]MY bonny sailor's won my mind, Page 2
My dearest life, wert thou my wife, Page 27
My temples with clusters of grape I'll entwine, Page 38
My days have been so wond'rous free, Page 56
My Jockey is the blithest lad, Page 83
My shepherd is gone far away o'er the plain, Page 84
Maidens let your lovers languish, Page 85
Ma chere Amie, my charming fair, Page 110
My love the pride of hill and plain, Page 112
NO topsail shivers in the wind, Page 11
No glory I covet no riches I want, Page 61
No shepherdess of all the plain, Page 79
Near a thick grove, whose deep, &c. Page 96
Now's the time for mirth and glee, Page 135
OF all the things that the gay celebrate, Page 41
Once more I'll tune the vocal shell, Page 45
O the days when I was young Page 67
O'er desart plains and rushy [...]e [...]t [...], Page 72
O! Nancy will thou gang wi [...] me, Page 118
RETURN enraptur'd hours, Page 69
SWEET Poll of Plymouth was my dear, Page 4
See the conquering hero comes, Page 26
Shepherds I have lost my love, Page 44
Somehow my spindle I mislaid, Page 50
Sure a lass in her bloom, at the age of nineteen, Page 64
Since ev'ry charm on earth combin'd, Page 66
Since love is the plan, Page 77
Say, little foolish, fluttering thing, Page 83
Stray not to those distant scenes, Page 101
'TWAS at the break of day we spy'd, Page 2
The wandering sailor ploughs the main, Page 6
The topsail shivers in the wind, Page 10
The sailor ploughs the stormy main, Page 12
Twelve months are past, since on this strand, Page 13
The sailor boldly ploughs the deep, ibid.
The wand'ring tar return'd from far, Page 15
The pride of all nature was sweet Willy O, Page 23
The wealthy fool with gold in store, Page 29
The women all tell me I am false to my lass, Page 34
The sun from the east tips the mountains with gold, Page 39
The echoing horn calls the sportsmen abroad, Page 40
The dusky night rides down the sky, ibid.
The smiling morn, the breathing spring, Page 43
The spring was advancing, and birds were beginning, Page 59
'Twas on the morn of sweet May day, Page 61
The moon had climb'd the highest hill, Page 63
The fields were green, the hills were gay, Page 8 [...]
Though prudence may press me, Page 88
[Page vi]The silver moon's enamour'd beam, Page 89
That Jenny's my friend, my delight and my pride, Page 90
'Twas near a thickset's calm retreat, Page 91
'Twas at the cool and fragrant hour, Page 93
The balmy zephyrs breath'd their store, Page 94
The nymphs and swains in circles gay, ibid.
The rose had been wash'd, just wash'd in a show'r, Page 95
The flow'r of females, beauty's queen, Page 99
The morn was fair, the month was May, Page 102
The kiss that he gave me, when he left me behind, Page 103
Time, like the winged courser, flies, Page 108
The sun was sinking, in the West, ibid.
The whistling ploughman hails the blushing dawn, Page 116
The blush of Aurora now tinges the morn, Page 117
The huntsman's abroad e'er the lark wakes the morn, Page 120
To horse ye jolly sportsmen, Page 121
This bleak and frosty morning, Page 124
The slag thro' the forest, when rous'd by the horn, Page 125
There are grinders enough, sir, of ev'ry degree, Page 136
WHEN up the shrouds the sailors go, Page 14
What a charming thing's a battle, Page 26
Well met, jolly fellows, well met, Page 36
What pleasures can compare, Page 42
What beauties does Flora disclose, Page 51
When Damon languish'd at my feet, Page 55
When innocence and beauty meet, Page 56
Would you be a happy lover, Page 64
When war's alarms entic'd my Willy from me, Page 66
When Delia on the plain appears, Page 70
Why Colin, must your Laura mourn, Page 71
Why heaves my fond bosom, ah! what can it mean, Page 72
Were I as poor as wretch can be, Page 81
Was I a shepherd's maid, to keep, Page 84
When Werter first fair Charlotte said, Page 93
When youth mature, to manhood grew, Page 98
Where rural cots appear to sight, Page 109
When the blush of Aurora first tinges the plain, Page 114
When join'd in the chase, sly Reynard in view, Page 123
What a lover is he that has nothing to give, Page 130
When kind friends expect a song, Page 132
When I awake with painful brow, ibid.
YE sportsmen draw near, and ye sportswomen too, Page 37
Ye fair married dames, who so often deplore, Page 47
Ye happy nymphs, whose harmless hearts, Page 91
Young Willy woo'd me long in vain, Page 104
Young Lubin was a shepherd boy, Page 107
Ye sluggards, who murder your life time in sleep, Page 126
Young Sandy is not rich, but has won my fond heart, Page 127
Ye bucks and ye bloods, who love tipling and smoaking, Page 134

[Page vii]


TOASTS AND SENTIMENTS.ABILITY to serve a friend, and honor to conceal it.
May we learn to be frugal before we are obliged to be so.
May we always forget when we forgive an injury.
The cause of liberty throughout the world.
May the honest heart never feel distress.
Pleasures that please on reflection.
May reason be the pilot when passion blows the gale.
The woman we love, and the friend we dare trust.
May we never feel want, nor ever want feeling.
The enjoyment of a quiet conscience.
Good trade, and well paid.
Great men honest, and honest men great.
May the evening's diversion bear the morning's reflection.
May the friends we love be sincere, and the country we live in be free.
More friends, and less need of them.
Success to the soil, the fleece and the flail.
May every day be happier than the last.
Riches to the generous, and power to the merciful.
May we draw upon content for the deficiencies of fortune.
May we be happy when alone, and cheerful when in company.
May we never desire what we cannot obtain.
May virtue be our armour, when wickedness is our assailant.
Merit to win a heart and sense to keep it.
All Fortune's daughters but the eldest.
May the trade of this country increase, and be supported by unity, peace, and concord.
May the blossoms of liberty never be blighted.
Riches without pride, or poverty without meanness.
Perpetual disappointment to the enemies of the United States of America.
Content in an easy chair, fortune in our pockets, and a fig for the follies of fashion.
Love to one, friendship to a few, and good-will to all.
May we never seek applause from party principles, but always deserve it from public spirit.
Perpetual disappointment to the enemies of our country.
May our conscience be sound, tho' our fortune be rotten.
May power be influenced only by justice.
May he who wants friendship also want friends.
May authority be amiable, without debasing its dignity.
May we be slaves to nothing but our duty, and friends to nothing but merit.
May our distinguishing mark be merit rather than money.
May we never destroy any person's credit to establish our own.
The man who dares be honest in the worst of times.
May those who inherit the title of gentlemen by birth, deserve it by their good behaviour.
May our benevolence be bounded only by our fortune.
May fortune be always attendant on virtue.

[Page viii]May religion never be a cloak for guilt.
May our hearts have for tenants, Truth, Candour, and Benevolence.
Pleasures here and happiness hereafter.
May we never taste the bitter apples of affliction.
May we be rich in friends rather than money.
May the woman we love be honest, and the land we live in free.
May genius and merit never want a friend.
May we always have a friend, and know his value.
May the single be married and the married happy.
Good-luck till we are tired of it.
Sense to win a heart, and merit to keep it.
May Providence unite the hearts that love.
May we always be blest in what we like best.
Constancy in love, and sincerity in friendship.

MASONIC Toasts—London, 1785.

1. MAY universal masonry be the only universal monarchy —and reign triumphant in the hearts of the worthy.

2. May the tongue of every mason be the key of his heart: may it ever hang in just equilibrium—and never be suffered to lie, to injure a brother.

3. May every mason's heart have the ardency of charcoal, and the freedom of chalk—but not the coldness or hardness of marble, when the distresses of a brother claim assistance.

4. The square in conduct, the level in condition, the plumbline in rectitude, and the compass in prudence, to all masons.

5. The splendour of the east, the repose of the south, and the solidity of the west, to every regular lodge of free and accepted masons.

6. May the fragrance of good report, like a sprig of cassia, bloom over the head of every departed brother.

7. Our sisters, May they have as much reason to admire our wisdom, as the queen of Sheba had that of our grand master Solomon.

8. May we be entered apprentices to beauty, and fellow crafts in love, but still masters of our pamons.

9. May wisdom contrive our happiness; strength support our virtuous resolutions; and beauty adorn our beds.

10. May the rays of celestial light pierce through the veil of ignorance, and perseverance remove the key-stone that covers truth.

11. May the royal arch cover every honest mason's heart; and the glory of the first temple overshadow all, who act up to the true principles of masonry.

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THE CHARMER.

BLOW high, blow low▪ let tempests tear
The mainmast 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 seas,
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 the surge roaring from below,
Shall my signal be to think on thee,
Shall my signal be
To think on thee,
And this shall be my song,
Blow high, &c.

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 sigh, I'll heave a sigh
And think on thee;
And as the ship rolls thro' the sea,
The burden of my song shall be,
Blow high, &c.

[Page 2]

DISTRESS me with those tears no more,
One kiss my love and then adieu;
The last boat destin'd for the shore,
Waits dearest girl-alone for you:
Soon, soon before the light wind borne,
Shall I be sever'd from your sight;
You left the lonely hours to mourn,
And weep thro' many a stormy night.

When far along the restless deep,
In trim array the ship shall steer,
Your form
 [...] remembrance 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 cheerful 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 for our country's wrong,
Returning home my heart shall shew
No fiction grac'd my artless song.

MY bonny sailor's won my mind,
My heart is now with him at sea
I hope the summer's western breeze
Will bring him safely back to me:
I wish to hear what glorious toils,
What dangers he has und
 [...]rgone;
What forts he's storm'd, how great the spoils,
From leaguing foes my sailor's won.

[Page 3]
A thousand terrors chill'd my breast,
When fancy brought the foe in view,
And day and night I've had no rest,
Lest ev'ry gale a tempest blew:
Bring, gentle gales, my sailor home;
His ship at anchor may I see,
Three years are sure enough to roam,
Too long for one that loves like me.

His face by sultry climes is wan,
His eyes by watching shines less bright;
But still I'll own my charming man,
And run to meet him when in sight:
His honest heart is what I prize,
No weather can make that look old:
Tho' alter'd were his face and eyes,
I love my jolly sailor bold.

Tune—"The top-sails shiver in the wind."

'TWAS at the break of day we spy'd
The signal to unmoor,
Which sleepless Caroline descry'd,
Sweet maid! from New-York shore;
The fresh'ning gale at length arose,
Her heart began to swell,
Nor could cold fear the thought oppose,
Of bidding me farewell!

In open boat the maid of worth,
Soon reach'd our vessel's side,
Soon too she found her William's birth,
But sought me not to chide:
'Go,' she exclaim'd, 'For Fame's a cause
'A female should approve,
'For who that's true to Honour's laws
'Is ever false to Love!

'My heart is loyal, scorns to fear,
'Nor will it even fail,
'Tho' war's unequal wild career,
'Should William's life assail;

[Page 4]'Tho' Death 'gainst thee exert his sway,
'Oh, trust me, but the dart
'That woundeth thee, will find its way
'To Caroline's true heart.

'Should Conquest in fair form array'd,
'Th
 [...] loyal efforts crown,
'In New York will be found a maid,
'That lives for thee alone."
May girls with hearts so firm and true,
To love and glory's cause,
Meet the reward they have in view,
The meed of free applause.

SWEET Poll of Plymouth was my dear;
When forc'd from her to go,
Down her cheeks rain'd many a tear,
My heart was fraught with wo:
Our anchor weigh'd for sea we stood,
The land we left behind:
Her tears then swell'd the briny flood,
My sighs increas'd the wind.

We plow'd the deep, and now between
Us lay the ocean wide:
For five long years I had not seen
My sweet, my bonny bride:
That time I sail'd the world around,
All for my true love's sake;
But press'd as we were homeward bound,
I thought my heart would break.

The press-gang bold I ask'd in vain
To let me once on shore;
I long'd to see my Poll again,
But saw my Poll no more.
And have they torn my love away!
And is he gone! she cried,
My Polly, sweetest flower of May!
She languish'd, droop'd, and died.

[Page 5]

COME bustle, bustle, drink about,
And let us merry be,

 [...]ur can is full we'll pump it out,
And then all hands to sea.
And a sailing we will go.

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.

The jockey's called to horse, to horse,
And swiftly rides the race;
But swifter far we shape our course,
When we are giving chace.

When horns and shouts the forest rend,
His pack the huntsman cheers;
As loud we hollow when we send,
A broad side to Monsieurs.

The what's their names, at uproar squall,
With music fine and soft:
But better sounds our boatswain's call,
All hands, all hands aloft!

With gold and silver streamers fine
The ladies' rigging shew!
But English ships more grander shine,
When prizes home we tow.

What's got at sea we spend on shore,
With sweethearts, or our wives:
And then, my boys, hoist sail for more!
Thus pass the sailors' lives.
And a sailing we will go.

COME, come my jolly lads,
The wind's abaft;

[Page 6]Brisk gales out sails shall crowd:—
Come, bustle, bustle, bustle, boys,
Haul up the boat;
The boatswain pipes aloud:
The ship's unmoor'd,
All hands on board;
The rising gale
Fills ev'ry sail;
The ship's well mann'd and stor'd;
Then fling the flowing bowl—
Fond hopes arise—
The girls we prize
Shall bless each jovial soul:
The can, boys, bring—
We'll drink and sing,
While foaming billows roll.

Tho' 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 shew
The haughty foe,
Britannia rules the main.
Then sling the flowing bowl, &c.

The WANDERING SAILOR.

THE wand'ring sailor ploughs the main,
A competence in life to gain,
Undaunted braves the stormy seas,
To find▪ at last, content and case:
In hopes, when toil and danger's o'er,
To anchor on his native shore.

[Page 7]
When winds blow hard, and mountains roll,
And thunders shake from pole to pole,
Tho' dreadful waves surrounding foam,
Still flatt'ring fancy wafts him home,
In hopes when toil and danger's o'er,
To anchor on his native shore.

When round the bowl, the jovial crew
The early scenes of youth renew,
Tho' each his favourite fair will boast,
This is the universal toast—
May we, when toil and danger's o'er,
Cast anchor on our native shore!

AS you mean to set sail for the land of delight,
And in wedlock's soft hammocas to swin
 [...] ev'ry night,
If you hope that your voyage successful should prove,
Fill your sails with affection, your calm with love.

Fill your sails, &c.

Let your hearts like the main-mast▪ be ever upright,
And the union you boast, like our tackle be tight;
Of the shoals of Indiff'rence be sure to keep clear,
And the quicksands of Jealousy never com
 [...] near,

And the quicesands, &c.

If husbands e'er hope to live peaceable lives,
They must reckon themselves▪ give the helm to their wives;
For the evener we go, boys the better we sail,
And on ship-board the helm is still rul'd by the tail.

And on ship-board, &c.

Then list to your pilot, my boy, and be wise;
If my precepts you scorn, and my maxims despise,
A brace of proud antler your brows may adorn,
And a hundred to one but you will double Ca
 [...]e-Horn.

And a hundred, &c.

[Page 8]

The STORM.

CEASE, rude Boreas, blust'ring railer!
List ye, landsmen, all to me!
Messmates, hear a brother sailer
Sing the dangers of the sea;
From bounding billows first in motion,
When the distant whirlwinds rise,
To the tempest troubled ocean,
Where the leas contend with skies!

Hark! the boatswain hoarsely bawling,
By topsail sheets, and haulyards stand!
Down top-gallants quick be hauling
Down your stay-sails, hand, boys, hand!
Now it freshens, set the braces,
The topsail-sheets now l
 [...] go!
Luff, boys, luff, don't make wry faces,
Up your topsails nimbly clew.

Now all you on down beds sporting,
Fondly lock'd in beauty's arms;
Fresh enjoyments, wanton courting,
Safe from all but Love's alarms:
Round us roars the 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-sheet go, don't mind, boys,
Though the weather should be worse.
Fore and aft the sprit-sail yard get,
Reef the mizen, see all clear,
Hands up, each preventure brace set,
M
 [...]n the fore-yard, cheer, lads, cheer!

Now the dreadful thunder's roaring,
Peal on peal contending cla
 [...]h,
On our heads fierce rain fal's pouring,
In our eyes blue lightnings flash.

[Page]One wide water all around us,
All above us one black sky,
Different deaths at once surround us,
Hark! what means the dreadful cry?

The foremast's gone, cries every 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,
Four feet water in the hold.

While o'er the ships 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.

O'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, and rig a jury foremast,
She rights, she rights, boys, we're off shore,

Now once more on joys we're thinking,
Since kind Heav'n has sav'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 our lips a brimmer join,
Where's the tempest now, who feels it?
None—the danger's drown'd in wine.

[Page 10]

THE topsail shivers in the wind,
The ship she casts to sea;
But yet my soul, my heart▪ my mind,
Are, Mary, moor'd by thee:
For tho' thy sailor's bound afar,
Still love shall be his leading star.

Should lansdmen flatter, when we've sail'd,
O doubt their artful tales;
No gallant sailor ever fail'd,
If Cupid fill'd his fails:
Thou art the compass of my soul,
Which steers my heart from pole to pole.

Syrens in ev'ry port we meet
More fell than rocks and 
 [...]ves;
But sailors of the British fleet
Are lovers and not slaves.
No foes our courage shall subdue,
Altho' we've left our hearts with you.

These are our cares; but if you're kind,
We'll scorn the dashing main.
The rocks, the billows, and the wind,
The pow'rs of France and Spain.
Now Britain's glory rests with you,
Our sails are full—sweet girls adieu!

AND did you not hear of a jolly young waterman,
Who at Black friars bridge us'd for to ply?
He feather'd his oars with such skill and dexterity,
Winning each heart, and delighting each eye;
He look'd so neat, and he row'd so Readily;
The maidens all flock'd to his boat so readily;
And he ey'd the young rogues with so charming an air,
That this waterman ne'er was in want of a fair.

[Page 11]
What fights of fine folks he oft row'd in his wherry;
'Twas clean'd out so neat, and painted withall;
He was always first oars, when the fine city ladies
In a party to Rancl
 [...]gh went, or Vauxhall:
And oftentimes would they be giggling and leering,
But 'twas all one to Tom, their 
 [...]ibing or jeering;
For loving, or liking, he little did care,
For thi
 [...] waterman ne'er was in want of a fair.

And yet but to see how strangely things happen—
As he row'd alone thinking of nothing at all,
He was ply'd by a damsel, so lovely and charming,
That she smil
 [...]d, and so straitway in love he did fall:
And would this young damsel but banish his sorrow,
He'd wed her to-night, before it was morrow;
Then how should this waterman ever know care,
When he's married, and never in want of a fair

NO topsails shiver in the wind,
Our ship's moor'd safe in port;
In Mary's arms my heart reelm'd,
No more of waves the sport:
And now to her return'd from far,
Alone she prov'd my leading star.

Tho' landsmen flatter'd, when I sail'd,
And artful tales renew'd;
Yet still my Mary never fail'd
To keep m
 [...] love in view.
From tr
 [...]ing gales and blood wars,
She still has prov'd m
 [...] leading star.

Tho' syrens stro
 [...]e to win my heart,
From port to port the fame;
Yet still my thoughts took Mary's part,
And dwelt upon her name.
No sound have charms but her dear voice,
Her constant sailor's lovely choice.

[Page 12]
But now return'd, and Mary's kind,
To care I'll bid adieu;
And thou my dear shall steer my mind,
All joy when bless'd with you.
Dear idol of thy sailor's heart,
Let wedlock join us ne'er to part.

Tune—"The top-sails shiver in the wind."

THE Sailor ploughs the stormy main,
Alarm'd by no weak fear;
His anxious heart but hopes to gain,
The port where lives his dear:
As points the needle to the pole,
So just and true's the 
 [...]ilor's soul.

The Gordian knot's not half so strong,
As that we sea-men tie;
For absence short, or absence long,
Affects not constancy:
A gallant sailor scorns deceit,
And love and courage ever meet.

Let fops whine out a suble tale,
With lies and envy fraught;
Oh! think when blows the stubborn gale
On you we fix our thought:
Each jolly tar when far away,
Will by each gale, a sigh convey.

The poles however distant wide,
How wide the planets roll,
The tar who fears not wind or tide,
Will thus declare his soul:
The poles shall join, the planets meet,
Ere we betray—or, love deceit.

Columbia's shores our spirits warm,
Our dangers past we scorn;
'Tis only lovers know the charm,
When we to home return:
We rapid fly to fond embrace,
And tears of joy bedeck each face.

[Page 13]
TWELVE months are past, since on this strand,
In sad distress we parted,
And as the boat forsook the land,
The oar my hand deserted:
My eyes on yours were fondly bent,
And seemed their tears to borrow,
And sure from you a look was sent,
That well repaid my sorrow.

To bear me quickly from the shore,
The crew our grief surveying,
With lengthen'd stroke, still kept the oar,
In well tim'd measure playing:
'Till distance and approaching night,
Your lovely image shaded;
Yet ever in ideal sight,
Your beauty rose unfaded.

Oft when the midnight watch I've kept,
While seas were round us swelling,
I've fear'd alone, the gale had swept,
Too rudely o'er your dwelling.
But now my love, no more your breast,
Shall beat with sad emotion;
I'll try to make each moment blest,
Nor tempt again the ocean.

THE sailor boldly ploughs the deep,
And roams from shore to shore,
And when the landsmen's fast asleep,
Hears stormy billows roar:
Yet in the midst of dangers round,
His thoughts to love are constant found.

[Page 14]
When I remark'd the stars at night,
Within my mind it came,
My Mar
 [...] at the moment might,
Perhaps have done the same:
Then home my thoughts would fly once more,
And fancy former bliss restore.

When wounded in the battle's rage,
And all was war and strife,
She only did my thoughts engage,
And make me wish for life:
For if I'm kill'd, I oft did cry,
I know my constant girl will die.

WHEN up the shrouds the sailors go,
And venture on the yard,
The landsmen who no better know,
Believe their lot is hard.

Bold Jack, he smiles, each danger meets,
Weighs anchor, heaves the log,
Trims all the sails, belays the sheets,
And drinks his can of grog.

When winds 'gainst waves and quick-sands roll,
You'll ne'er hear him repine;
Tho' he's on Greenland's icy shore,
Or burning on the line.

Bold Jack, &c.

If to engage he gets the word,
To quarters he'll repair;
Now sinking in the briny flood;
Or quiv'ring in the air.

Bold Jack, &c.

When sailing orders do arrive,
Bold Jack he takes his leave;
He says, my dear, my sweetest Poll,
What causes you to grieve.

Bold Jack, &c.

[Page 15]
Thy Jack will daily take his can
Of grog and drink to thee,
In hopes that thou wilt ne'er forget,
Thy sailor who's at sea.

Bold Jack, &c.

But shouldst thou false or fickle prove,
To Jack who loves you dear,
No more upon his native shore,
With joy can he appear.

Bold Jack, &c.

But restless as the briny main,
Must heartless heave the log:
Slow, trim the sails, and strive to drown
His grief with cans of grog.

Bold Jack, &c.

CHARMING SUE.

THE wand'ring tar, return'd from far,
To view his native land,
With gold in store, from Asia's shore,
Soon sought his Susan's hand.
My love, said he, come live with me,
No more the busy crew
My time employs; for all my joys
Are center'd now in SUE.

Thy constant swain has plough'd the main,
Thro' perils great has run;
From dreadful wars behold his scars,
And ne'er thy sailor shun.
From danger free, no more the sea
Shall part our hearts so true:
For now thy love his truth shall prove,
And live with charming SUE.

Now Hymen's bands shall splice our hands,
And knot our hearts in one;
No more the gale shall bend my sail,
For thee my reck'nings run.

[Page 16]Come then, my dear, no storms we'll fear,
Thy compass has prov'd true;
And while I live, my heart I'll give,
To constant charming SUE.

WILLIAM and MARY.

ALL dripping wet, in wintry night,
Young William fears no ill:
He braves the fury of the fight,
And serves his country still.
But when the thoughts of Mary dear,
Oppress his tender mind,
In silence drops the pitying tear,
For her he left behind.

Without my fair, life soon would cloy,
And grow an airy dream;
Her charms my leisure hours employ,
She's constantly my theme.
Come wanton Cupids bear me home,
My pangs of wo remove;
And ne'er will I range or roam,
From Mary whom I love.

The clashing din of war is o'er,
Now peace and joy abound;
On Columbia's shore he's safe once more,
His head with laurels crown'd.
Sweet melting airs from Mary flow,
I'm free from all alarms;
Let thunders roll or tempests blow,
I'll clasp thee in my arms.

HOMEWARD BOUND.

COME loose every 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.

[...]

[Page 21]

As in a maze, he stood to gaze,

The truth can't be denied, far,

He spy'd a score—of kegs or more,

Come floating down the tide, sir.

A sailor too, in jerkin blue,
The strange appearance viewing,
First damn'd his eyes, in great surprise,
Then said—some mischief's brewing.

These KEGS now held the rebels bold,
Pack'd up like pickled herring:
And they're come down t'attack the town,
In this new way of ferrying.

The soldier flew, the sailor too,
And, scar'd almost to death, sir,
Wore out their shoes, to spread the news,
And ran till out of breath, sir.

Now up and down, throughout the town,
Most frantic scenes were acted;
And some ran here, and some ran there
Like men almost distracted.

Some fire cry'd, which some deny'd
But said the earth had quaked:
And girls and boys, with hideous noise,
Ran through the town half naked.

*Sir William he, snug as a flea,
Lay all this time a snoring,
Nor dreamt of harm, as he lay warm,
In bed with Mrs. L—g.

Now in a fright, he starts upright,
Awak'd by such a clatter:
He rubs both eyes, and boldly cries,
For God's sake what's the matter?

At his bed-side, he then espy'd
Sir Erskine 


† at command, sir,
Upon one foot, he had one boot,
And t'other in his hand, sir.

[Page 22]

Arise! Arise! Sir Erskine cries:

The rebels—more's the pity—

Without a boat, are all on float,

And rang'd before the city.

The motly crew, in vessels new,
With Satan for their guide, sir.
Pack'd up in bags, or wooden KEGS,
Come driving down the tide, sir.

Therefore prepare for bloody war;
These KEGS must all be routed:
Or surely we despis'd shall be;
And British courage doubted.

The royal band now ready stand,
All rang'd in dread array, sir,
With stomach stout, to see it out,
And make a bloody day, sir.

The cannons roar, from shore to shore:
The small arms make a rattle:
Since wars began, I'm sure no man
E'er saw so strange a battle.

The rebel


* vales, the rebel dales,
With rebel trees surrounded,
The distant woods, the hills, and floods,
With rebel echoes sounded.

The fish below, swam to and fro,
Attack'd from ev'ry quarter:
Why sure, thought they, the devil's to pay
'Mongst folks above the water.

The KEGS, 'tis said, tho' strongly made,
Of rebel staves and hoops, sir,
Could not oppose their pow'rful foes,
The conqu'ring British troops, sir.

From morn to night, these men of might
Display'd amazing courage;
And when the sun was fairly down,
Retir'd to sup their porridge.

[Page 23]

An hundred men, with each a pen,

Or more, upon my word, sir,

It is most true, would be too flow

Their valour to record, sir.

Such feats did they perform that day
Upon these wicked KEGS, sir,
That years to come, if they get home,
They'll make their boast and brags, sir.

THE pride of all nature was sweet Willy O,
The pride of all nature was sweet Willy O!
The first of all swains,
He gladden'd the plains,
None ever was like to the sweet Willy O.

He sung it so rarely did sweet Willy O,
He sung it, &c.
He melted each maid,
So skilful he play'd,
No shepherd e'er pip'd like the sweet Willy O.

All nature obey'd him the sweet Willy O,
All nature, &c.
Wherever he came,
Whatever had name,
Whenever he sung, follow'd sweet Willy O.

He would be a soldier the sweet Willy O,
He would, &c.
When arm'd in the field
With sword and with shield,
The laurel was won by the sweet Willy O.

He charm'd them while living the sweet Willy O,
He charm'd, &c.
And when Willy dy'd,
'Twas nature that sigh'd,
To part with her all in sweet Willy O.

[Page 24]

LET the tempest of war
Be heard from afar,
With trumpets' and cannons' alarms:
Let the brave, if they will,
By their valour and skill,
Seek honour and conquest in arms.

To live safe, and retire,
Is what I desire,
Of my flocks and my Chloe possest;
For in them I obtain
True peace without pain,
And the lasting enjoyment of rest.

In some cottage or cell,
Like a shepherd to dwell,
From all interruption at ease;
In a peaceable life,
To be blest with a wife,
Who will study her husband to please.

The DEATH of GENERAL WOLF.

IN a mould'ring cave, where the wretched retreat,
Britannia sat wasted with care;
She wept for her WOLF, then exclaim'd against fate;
And gave herself up to despair.
The walls of her cell were insculptur'd around
With the exploits of her favourite son;
And even the dust as it lay on the ground,
Was engrav'd with the deeds he had done.

The sire of the gods, from his chrystiline throne,
Beheld his disconsolate dame;
And mov'd with her fate, he sent Mercury down,
And these were the tidings that came.

[Page 25]Britannia forbear, not a figh, nor a tear,
For thy Wolfe so deservedly lov'd;
Your griefs shall be chang'd into triumphs of joy,
For thy Wolfe is not dead, but remov'd.

The sons of the earth, the proud giants of old,
Have broke from their darksome abodes,
And such is the news as in heav'n it is told,
They are marching to war with the gods;
A council was held in the chamber of Jove,
Where they came to this final decree,
That Wolfe should be call'd to the armies above,
And the charge was intrusted to me.

To the plains of Quebec with these orders I flew;
He beg'd for a moment's delay,
He cry'd, Oh! forbear, let me victory hear,
And then thy commands I'll obey:
With a dark'ning film I encompass'd his eyes,
And convey'd him away in an arm;
Left the fondness he bore for his own native shore
Should persuade him again to return.

HOW stands the glass around?
For shame, 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 bus'ness 'tis to die?
What sighing, fie!

[Page 26]Drown 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;
'Tis but in vain
For soldiers to complain;
Should next campaign
Send us to Him who made us, boys,
We're free from pain!
But if we remain,
A bottle and kind landlady
Cure all again.

SEE the conquering hero comes,
Sound the trumpets, beat the drums:
Sports prepare, the laurel bring,
Songs of triumph to him sing.

See the godlike youth advance,
Breathe the flutes, and lead the dance;
Myrtles wreathe and roses twine,
To deck the hero's brow divine.

WHAT a charming thing's a battle!
Trumpets founding, crums a beating;
Crack, crick, crack, the cannons rattle,
Ev'ry heart with joy elating.
With what pleasure we are spying,
From the front and from the rear,
Round us in the smoky air,
Heads, and limbs, and bullets flying!
Then the groans of soldier
 [...] dying,
Just like sparrows, as it were.

[Page 27]At each pop,
Hundreds drop;
While the muskets prittle prattle:
Killed and wounded,
Lie confounded,
What a charming thing's a battle!

But the pleasant joke of all,
Is when to close attack we fall;
Like mad bulls each other butting,
Shooting, stabbing, maiming, cutting;
Horse and foot,
All go to't,
Kill's the word, both men and cattle;
Then to plunder,
Blood and thunder,
What a charming thing's a battle.

HARK! hark! sweet lass, the trumpet sounds,
'Tis honour calls to war;
Now love I leave, perhaps for wounds—
And beauty for a scar.

But, ah! suppress those rising sighs;
Ah! check that falling tear:
Lest soft distress, from lovely eyes,
Create a new-born fear.

My life to same devoted was,
Before my fair I knew,
And, if I now desert her cause,
Shall I be worthy you?

It is not fame alone invites,
Though same this bosom warms:
My country's violated rights
Impel my soul to arms.

MY dearest life, wert thou my wife,
How happy should I be!
And all my care in peace and war,
Should be to pleasure thee.

[Page 28]

When up and down from town to town,

We jolly soldiers rove;

Then you, my queen, in chaise-marine.

Shall move like queen of love.

Your love I'd prize beyond the skies,
Beyond the spoils of war;
Would'st thou agree to follow me,
In humble baggage car.
For happiness, tho' in distress,
In soldiers wives is seen:
And pride in coach has more reproach
Than love in chaise-marine.

Oh! do not hold your love in gold,
Nor set your heart on gain;
Behold the great, with all their state,
Their lives are care and pain.
In house or tent, I pay no rent,
Nor care nor trouble see:
But ev'ry day I get my pay,
And spend it merrily.

Love not the knaves, great fortune's slaves,
Who lead ignoble lives:
Nor deign to smile on men so vile,
Who fight none but their wives.
For liberty and you we fight,
And ev'ry ill defy:
Should but the fair reward our care,
With love and constancy.

If sighs, nor groans, nor tender moans,
Can win your harden'd heart;
Let love in arms, with all his charms,
Then like a soldier's part,
With fife and drum the soldiers come,
And all the pomp of war;
Then don't think mean of chaise-marine,
'Tis love's triumphant car.

[Page 29]

COME, now, all ye social pow'rs,
Shed your influ'nce o'er us;
Crown with joy our present hours,
Enliven those before us:

Bring the flask, the music bring,
Joy shall quickly find us;
Sport, and dance, and laugh, and sing,
And cast dull care behind us.

Love, thy godhead I adore,
Source of gen'rous passion;
Nor will we ever bow before
Those idols, wealth or fashion.
Bring the flask, &c.

Why the plague should we be sad,
Whilst on earth we moulder;
Rich, or poor, or grave, or mad,
We ev'ry day grow older.
Bring the flask, &c.

Friendship! O thy smile's divine,
Bright in ev'ry feature;
What but friendship, love, and wine,
Can make us happy creatures.
Bring the flask, &c.

Since the time will steal away,
Spite of all our sorrow,
Let's blithe and gay to-day,
And never mind to-morrow.
Bring the flask, &c.

THE wealthy fool, with gold in store,
Will still desire to grow richer,
Give me but health, I ask no more,
My charming girl, my friend and pitcher.

[Page 30]

My friend so rare, my girl so fair,

With such, what mortal can be richer;

Give me but these, a fig for care,

With my sweet girl, my friend and pitcher.

From morning sun I'd never grieve
To toil a hedger or a ditcher,
If that, when I came home at eve,
I might enjoy my friend and pitcher,
My friend so rare, &c.

Tho' fortune ever shuns my door,
I know not what can thus bewitch her;
With all my heart can I be poor,
With my sweet girl, my friend and pitcher.
My friend so rare, &c.

BUSY, curious, thirsty fly,
Drink with me, and drink as I:
Freely welcome to my cup,
Couldst thou sip and sip it up.
Make the most of life, you may,
Life is short, and wears away.

Both alike are mine and thine,
Hastening quick to their decline:
Thine's a summer, mine no more,
Though repeated to threescore;
Threescore summers, when they're gone,
Will appear as short as one.

BANISH sorrow grief and folly,
T
 [...]oughts unbend the wrinkling brow;
Hence dull cares and melancholy,
Wine and mirth unite us now.
Bacchus opens all his treasure,
Comus brings us wit and song;
Follow, follow, follow, follow, follow pleasure,
And let's join the jovial song.

[Page 31]
Life is short, it's but a season;
Time is ever on the wing;
Let's th' present moment seize on.
Who knows what the rest may bring?
All my time I now will measure,
All cares I now despise,
Follow, follow, follow, follow pleasure,
To be happy's to be wise.

Wherefore should we thus perplex us,
Why should we not merry be;
Since there's nothing here to 
 [...] us;
Drinking sets our hearts all free.
Let's have drinking without measure,
Let's have mirth, what time we have;
Follow, follow, follow, follow pleasure,
There's no drinking in the grave.

ADIEU, ye jovial youths, who join
To plunge old Care in floods of wine;
And as your dazzled eye-balls roll,
Discern him struggling in the bowl.

Not yet is hope so wholly flown,
Not yet is thought so tedious grown,
But limpid stream and shady tree
Retain, as yet, some sweets for me.

And see, through yonder silent grove,
See yonder does my Daphne rove:
With pride her foot-steps I pursue,
And bid your frantic joys adieu.

The sole confusion I admire,
Is that my Daphne's eyes inspire:
I scorn the madness you approve,
And value reason next to love.

[Page 32]
IN Jacky Bull, when bound for France,
The gosling you discover;
But taught to ride, to fence and dance,
A finish'd goose comes over,
With his tierce and carte—sa! sa!
And his cotillion so smart—ha! ha!
He charms each female heart—oh, la!
As Jacky returns from Dover.

For cocks and dogs, see 'squire at home,
The prince of country tonies;
Return'd from Paris, Spa, or Rome,
Our 'squire's a nice Adonis.
With his tierce and carte—sa! sa!
And his cotillion so smart—ha! ha!
He charms the female heart—oh, la!
The pink of macaronies.

MY temples with clusters of grape I'll entwine,
And barter all joy for a goblet of wine;
In search of a Venus no longer I'll run,
But stop and forget her at Bacchus's tun.

Yet why thus resolve to relinquish the fair?
'Tis a folly with spirits like mine to despair;
For what mighty charms can be sound in a glass,
If not fill'd to the health of some favourite lass?

'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)
Crows 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 extasy, hobbling along,
Beats nine with his crutch to the tune of her song.

[Page 33]

Then bring me a goblet from Bacchus's hoard,

The largest and deepest that stands on the board;

I'll fill up a brimmer, and drink to the fair;

'Tis the toast of a lover, and pledge me who dare.

LET grave divines preach up dull rules,
And moral wit define,
The precepts taught in Roman schools
We friars here divine.

CHORUS.
Here's a health to Father Paul!
For flowing bowls
Inspire the souls
Of jolly friars all.

When in the convent we are met
We laugh, we joke, and sing;
All worldly cares we there forget,
For Father Paul's our king.
Chorus, 
Here's a health, &c.

No absolution we will give,
Ye blue ey'd nuns so fair;
No benediction here receive,
But banish all your care.
Chorus, 
Here's a health, &c.

With beads and cross, not held divine,
We pray with fervent zeal,
To rosy Bacchus, god of wine,
Who does each joy reveal.
Chorus, 
Here's a health, &c.

May ev'ry friar please his nun!
Each nun her friar please!
And each alike enjoy the fun,
With freedom and with ease.
Chorus, 
Here's 
 [...] 
 [...]lth, &c.

Then fill your bumpers, sons of mirth,
Let friars be the toast;
Long may they all exist on earth,
And nuns their order boast!
Chorus, 
Here's a health, &c.

[Page 34]

THE women all tell me I am false to my lass,

That I quit my poor Chloe, and stick to my glass!

But to you men of reason, my reason I'll own,

And if you don't like 'em, why let them alone.

Altho' I have left her, the truth I'll declare,
I believe she was good, and I am sure she was fair;
But such goodness and charms in a bumper I see,
That makes it as good and as charming as she.

My Chloe had dimples and smiles I must own;
But tho' 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,
But lilies and roses are conquer'd by time;
But wine, from its age such a benefit flows,
That I like it the better the older it grows.

They tell me in time that my love will be cloy'd.
And that beauty is insipid when once 'tis enjoy'd;
But in wine, I both time and enjoyment defy,
For the longer I drink the more thirsty am I.

Perhaps like their sex ever false to their word,
She had left me to get an estate or a lord:
But my bottle regardless of titles or pelf,
Will stand by me when I can't stand by myself.

She too might have poison'd the joys of my life
With nurses and children, and squalling and strife:
But my wine neither nurses nor babes can me bring,
For a big-belly'd bottle's a mighty fine thing.

Then let my dear Chloe no longer complain:
She's rid of her lover, and I of my pain;
For in wine, mighty wine, many comforts I spy;
Should you doubt what I say, take a bumper and try.

[Page 35]
HERE's to the maid of bashful fifteen,
Likewise to the widow of fifty;
Here's to the bold and extravagant quean,
And here's to the housewife that's thrifty,
Let the toast pass,
Drink to the lass,
I warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass.

Here's to the maiden whose dimples we prize,
And likewise to her that has none sir:
Here's to the maid with a pair of blue eyes,
And here's to her that's but one, sir.
Let the toast pass, &c.

Here's to the maid with a bosom of snow,
And to her that's as brown as a berry;
And here's to the wise with a face full of woe,
And here's to the girl that is merry.
Let the toast pass, &c.

Let her be clumsy, or let her be slim,
Young or ancient I care not a feather;
So fill the pint bumper quite up to the brim,
And e'en let us toast them together.
Let the toast pass, &c.

JOLLY mortals fill your glasses,
Noble deeds are done by wine;
Scorn the n
 [...]mph and all her graces,
Who'd for love or beauty pine?

Look within the bowl that's flowing,
And a thousand charms you'll find,
More than Phillis has, tho' going
In the moment to be kind.

Alexander hated thinking,
Drank about at council board:
He subdu
 [...]d the world by drinking
More than by his conqu'ring sword.

[Page 36]

WELL met, jolly fellows, well met;
By this bowl you're all welcome, I swear;
See where on the table 'tis set,
And design'd for the grave of our care.
From this social convention,
'Twill drive all contention,
Save only who longest can drink;
Then fill up your glasses,
And drink to your lasses,
The head-ach take him that shall shrink.

Do but look at this glass! here boys, hand it around:
Why it sparkles like Phillis's eyes;
But 'tis better by far, boys; for when her eyes wound,
This balm to the wound will supply;
Then a fig for this thinking,
Fill, fill, and be drinking,
Let us drown all cares and our sorrows:
Come, the toast, boys, the toast!
There's no time to be lost,
For our cares will return with to-morrow.

HE that will not merry merry be
With a gen'rous bowl and toast,
May he in bridewel be shut up,
And fast bound unto a post.

Let him be merry, merry there,
And we'll be merry, here:
For who can know where we shall go
To be merry another year?
Let him be merry, &c.

He that will not merry, merry be,
And take his glass in course,
May he be oblig'd to drink small beer;
With ne'er a penny in his purse.
Let him be merry, &c.

[Page 37]
He that will not merry, merry be,
With a company of jolly boys,
May he be plagu'd with a scolding wife,
To confound him with her noise.
Let him be merry, &c.

He that will not merry, merry be,
With his mistress his b
 [...]d,
Let him be bury'd in the church-yard,
And me put in his stead.
Let him be merry, &c.

DO you hear brother sportsmen, the sound of the horn,
And yet the sweet pleasure decline!
For shame, rouse your senses, and, ere it is morn,
With me the sweet melody join.

Through the wood and the valley the traitor we'll rally,
Nor quit him till panting he lies;
While bounds in full cry, thro' hedges 
 [...]ll fly,
And chace the swift hare till he dies.

Then saddle your steeds, to the meadows and fields,
Both willing and joyous repair;
No pastime in life greater happiness yields,
Than chacing the fox and the hare.

For 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.

YE sportsmen draw near, and ye sportswomen too,
Who delight in the joys of the field;
Mankind, tho' they blame, are all eager as you,
And to 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,
Mark forward! huzza, tallyho!

[Page 38]
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 fell speed;
The patriot is thrown in pursuit of his game,
The poet, too, often lays low,
Who, mounted on Pegasus, flies after fame,
With hark forward, huzza, tallyho!

While fearless o'er hills and o'er woodlands we sweep,
Tho' prudes on our pastime may frown,
How oft do they deceney's bounds over-leap,
And the fences of virtue break down.
Thus, public or private, for pension, for place,
For amusements, for passion, for shew,
All ranks and degrees are engaged in the chace,
With hark forward, huzza, tallyho!

LAST Valentine's day when bright Phoebus shone clear
I had not been a hunting for more than a year:
I mounted Black Sloven, o'er the 
 [...] made him bound,
For I heard the hounds challenge, and horns sweetly sound,
Tallyho, tallyho, tallyho, tallyho, tallyho, tallyho, tallyho!

Hallo into cover, old Anthony cries,
No sooner he spoke, but the fox, sir, he 'spies;
This being the signal, he then crack'd his whip:
Tallyho was the word, and away we did leap.
Tallyho, &c.

Then up rides Dick Dawson, who car'd not a pin;
He sprang at the drain, but his horse tumbled in;
And as he crept out, why he spy'd old Ren,
With his tongue hanging out stealing home to his den.
Tallyho, &c.

Our hounds and our horses were always as good
As ever broke covert, or dash'd thro' the wood;
Old Reynard runs hard, but must certainly die,
Have at you, old Tony, Dick Dawson did cry.
Tallyho, &c.

[Page 39]
The hounds they had run twenty miles now or more,
Old Anthony fretted, he curs'd too and swore,
But Raynard being spent soon must give up the ghost,
Which will heighten our joys when we come to each toast
Tallyho, &c.

The day's sport being over the horns we will sound,
To the jolly fox-hunters let echo resound,
So fill up your glasses, and chearfully drink,
To the honest true sportsman who never will shrink,
Tallyho, &c.

THE sun from the east tips the mountians with gold,
And the meads all bespangled with dew-drops behold:
The larks early mattin proclaims the new day,
And the horn's cheerful summons rebukes our delay:
With the sports of the field there's no pleasure can vi
 [...]
While jocund we follow the hounds in full cry.

Let the drudge of the town make riches his sport,
And the slaves 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.
With the sports of the field, &c.

Mankind are all hunters in various degrees;—c.
The priest hunts a living, the lawyer a foe;
The doctor a patient, the courrier a place—
Tho' often, like us, they're flung out with disgrace,
With the sports of the field, &c.

The cit hunts a plumb, the soldier hunts fame;
The poet a dinner, the patriot a name;
And the artful coquette, tho' she seems to refuse,
Yet, in spite of her airs, she her lover pursues.
With the sports of the field, &c.

Let the bold and the busy hunt glory and wealth—
All the blessing we ask is the blessing of health:
With hounds and with horns, thro' the woodlands we roam,
And when tir'd abroad, find contentment at home.
With the sports of the field, &c.

[Page 40]

THE echoing horn calls the sportsmen abroad,

T [...] 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?
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.

Triumphant, returning at night with the spoil,
Like Bacchanals, shouting and gay,
How sweet with the 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 o'er with flow'rs.

THE dusky night rides down the sky,
And ushers in the morn.
The hounds all join in jovial cry,
The huntsman winds his horn.
And a hunting we will go, &c

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 we will go, &c.

Sly Reynard now like light'ning flies,
And sweeps across the vale;
But when the hounds too near he spies,
He drops his bushy tail.
Then a hunting, &c.

[Page 41]
Fond echo seems to like the sport,
And join the jovial cry;
The woods and hi
 [...]ls the s
 [...]und retort,
And music fills the sky,
When a hunting, &c.

At last his strength to faintness wor
 [...],
Poor Reynard cease flight;
Then hungry homeward we return
To feast away the night.
And a drinking, &c.

Ye jovial hunters in the mon
 [...],
Prepare then for the chace:
Rise at the sounding of the horn,
And health with sport embrace,
When a hunting, &c.

The JOYS of SLEIGHING.

OF all the fine things that the gay celebrate,
And the many odd fancies that come from each pate,
Sure its matter of wonder that none e
 [...]e resound
The circle of joys that in sleighing abound.

There are some who in phaeton glory to 
 [...],
Whilst others in chariots expand the whole soul,
To bestride prancing horses full many may please;
But the pleasures of sleighing are greater than these.

Musidora, miss Mira, and all the gay throng,
In exchange for a sleighing will give you a song;
They will leave a dear ball, concerto or play,
And vow that no music's as sweet as a sleigh.

Then strike a bold stroke gain their hearts while you can,
The greater gallant, the more favourite man.
'Tis not whining nor pining that carries the day:
So away with such nonsense, and out with the sleigh!

[Page 42]

AIR. What pleasures can, &c.

WHAT pleasure can compare,
To a sleighing with the fair,
In the ev'ning, the ev'ning, in cold and frosty weathe
 [...]?
When rapidly we go,
As we 
girgle o'er the snow,
And tantarra, huzza! and tantarra, huzza! and tantarra sings ev'ry brave fellow.

When to 
Watertown we get,
And the turkey's on the spit,
And we dance, boys, we dance, boys, and drive away all sorrow,
'Tis then your milk and tea
Gives place to "strong sangree,"
And we banish, huzza! and we banish, huzza! and we banish the cares of to-morrow.

When the turkey's roasted brown,
To supper we sit down,
And "keep it up," and "keep it up," sings ev'ry jovial fellow,
With the wine glass in his hand,
He never makes a stand,
But 
guzzles, huzza! but 
guzzles, huzza! and 
guzzles it away until he's mellow.

Now for 
Boston we prepare,
And the night is cold and clear,
And we're 
stowing close, we're 
slowing close, because 'tis cl
 [...]illy weather —
O then what 
sun we feel,
When the sl
 [...]igh it takes a heel.
And we're 
huddl'd, huzza! and we're 
huddl'd, huzza! and we're 
hudl
 [...]d brave boys altogether.

[Page 43]
'Tis then the ladies cry,

O lud!—O dear!— O my!
And we 
scrabble, boys—we 
scrable, boys, all from the snowy weather:
Then in the sleigh again,
Do we 
scamper o'er the plain,
And tantarra, huzza! and tantarra, huzza! and tantarra sings ev'ry brave fellow.

LET the gay ones and great
Make the most of their fate,
From pleasure to pleasure they run.
Well, who cares a jot?
I envy them not,
While I have my dog and my gun.

For exercise, air,
To the fields I repair,
With spirits unclouded and light:
The blisses I find,
No stings leave behind,
But health and diversion unite.

THE smiling morn▪ the breathing spring,
Invite the tuneful birds to sing;
And while they warble from each spray,
Love melts the universal lay:
Let us, Amanda, timely wife,
Like them improve the hour that flies,
And in soft raptures waste the day,
Among the birks of Invermay.

For soon the winter of the year,
And age, life's winter will appear;
As this thy lively bloom will fade,
As that will strip the verdant shade;
Our taste of pleasure then is o'er,
The feather'd songsters please no more;
And when they droop, and we decay,
Adieu the birks of Invermay.

[Page 44]
The lav'rocks now and lintwhites sing,
The rocks around with echoes ring,
The mavis and the blackbird vie
In tuneful strains to glad the day
The woods now wear their summer-suits,
To mirth all nature now invites;
Let us be blithesome then and gay,
Among the birks of Invermay.

Behold the hills and vales around,
With lowing herds and flocks abound;
The wanton kids and frisking lambs,
Gambol and dance about their dams:
The busy bees with humming noise,
And all the reptile kind rejoice;
Let us, like them, then sing and play
About the birks of Invermay.

Hark how the waters, as they fall,
Loudly my love to gladness call;
The wanton waves sport in the beams,
And fishes play throughout the streams
The circling sun does now advance,
And all the planets round him dance;
Let us as jovial be as they,
Among the birks of Invermay.

SHEPHERDS I have lost my love,
Have you seen my Anna?
Pride of every shady grove,
Upon the banks of Banna.
I for her my home forsook,
Near yon misty mountain,
Left my flock, my pipe, my crook,
Green wood 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 mourning.

[Page 45]Whither is my charmer flown?
Shepherds tell me whither!
Ah! woes me, perhaps she's gone
For ever and for ever.

ONCE more I'll tune the vocal shell,
To hills and dales my passion tell,
A flame which time can never quell,
That burns for thee, my Peggy:
Yet guittar bards the lyre shall hit,
Or say what subject is more 
 [...]
Than to record the sparkling w
 [...]t,
And bloom of lovely Peggy.

The sun fist rising in the morn,
That paints the dew-bespangled 
 [...]orn,
Does not so much the day adorn,
As does my lovely Peggy:
And when in Thetis' lap to rest,
He streaks with gold the ruddy west,
She's not so beauteous as undrest,
Appears my lovely Peggy.

When Zephyr on the vi'let blows,
Or breathes upon the damask rose,
He does not half the sweets disclose
As does my lovely Peggy.
I stole a kiss the other day,
And trust me, 
 [...]ought but truth I say,
The fragrance of the blooming M
 [...]y,
Is not so sweet as Peggy

Were she array'd in rustic weed,
With her the bleeting flocks I'd feed,
And pipe upon the oaten reed,
To please my lovely Peggy.
With her a cottage would delight,
All's happy when she's in my sight;
But when she's gone it's endless night—
All's dark without my Peggy!

[Page 46]
While bees from flower to flower shall rove,
And linnets warble through the grove,
Or stately swans the rivers 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 lovely Peggy!"

LEAVE, neighbours, your work, for to sport and to play:
Let the tabor strike up, and the village be gay:
No day thro' the year shall more cheerful be seen,
For Ralph of the Mill marries Sue of the Green.

CHORUS.
I love Sue, and Sue loves me,
And while the wind blows,
And while the mill goes,
Who'll be so happy, so happy as we!

Let lords and fine folks, who for wealth take a bride,
Be marry'd to-day, and to-morrow be cloy'd:
My body is stout, and my heart is as sound,
And my love, like my courage, will never give ground.
CHORUS—I love Sue, &c.

Let ladies of fashion the best jointures wed,
And prudently take the best bidders to bed:
Such signing and sealing's no part of our bliss,
We settle our hearts, and we seal with a kiss.
CHORUS—I love Sue, &c.

Tho' Ralph is not courtly, nor none of your beans,
Nor bounces, nor flatters, nor wears your fine cloaths,
In nothing he'll follow the folks of high life,
Nor e'er turn his back on his friend or his wife.
CHORUS—I love Sue, &c.

[Page 47]
While thus I am able to work at my mill,
While thus thou art kind, and thy tongue but lies still,
Our joys shall continue, and ever be new,
And none be so happy as Ralph and his Sue.
CHORUS—I love Sue, &c.

YE 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.

The bloom of your cheek, and the glance of your eye,
Your roses and lilies make the men sigh;
But roses, and lilies, and sighs pass away,
And passion will die as your beauties decay.

Use the man that you wed like your fav'rite guittar,
Tho' 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 sparrow and linnet will feed from your hand,
Grow tame by your kindness, and come at command;
Exert with your husbands the same happy skill,
For hearts, like your birds, may be tam'd to your will.

Be gay and good humoured, complying and kind,
Turn the chief of your care from your face to your mind;
'Tis thus that a wife may her conquest improve,
And Hymen shall rivet the setters of LOVE.

BY a murmuring stream a fair shepherdess lay,
Be so kind, O ye nymphs I oft-times heard her say,
Tell 
Strephon, I die, if he passes this way,

That love was the cause of my mourning.

Fals
 [...] shepherds, that tell me of beauty and charms,
You deceive me, for 
Strephon's cold heart never warms;
Yet bring me this 
Strephon, let me die in his arms?

Oh! Strephon, 
the cause of my mourning.

[Page 48]

But first, said she, let me go down to the shades below,

Ere ye let Strephon know that I have lov'd him so;

Then on my pale cheek no blushes will show,

That love was the cause of my mourning.

Her eyes were scarce closed when 
Strephon came by,
He thought she'd been sleeping, and softly drew nigh,
But finding her breathless, Oh heav'ns! did he cry,

Ah! Chloris, 
the cause of my mourning.

Restore ye my 
Chloris, ye nymphs use your art:
They sighing reply'd, 'twas yourself shot the dart,
That wounded the tender young shepherdess' heart,

And kill'd the poor Chloris 
with mourning.

Ah then is 
Chloris dead,
Wounded by me! he said;
I'll follow thee, chaste maid,
Down to the silent shade:
Then on her cold snowy breast leaning his head,

Expir'd the poor Strephon 
with mourning.

AT 
Totterdown-hill there dwelt an old pair,
And it may be they dwell there still,
Much riches indeed didn't fall to their share,
They kept a small farm and a mill:
But fully content with what they did get,
They knew not of guile or of arts;
One daughter they had, and her name it was Bet,
And she was the pride of their hearts.

Nut-brown were her locks, her 
 [...]hape it was straight,
Her eyes were as black as a sloe:
Her teeth were milk-white, full smart was her gait,
And sleek was her skin as a doc:
All thick were the clouds, and the rain it did pour,
No bit of true blue could be spy'd,
A child wet and cold came and knock'd at the door
Its mam it had lost, and it cry'd.

[Page 49]
Young Bet was as mild as the morning of May,
The babe she hugg'd close to her breast;
She chaf'd him all o'er, and smiled as he lay,
She kiss'd him, and lull'd him to rest:
But who do you think she had got for her prize?
Why Love the sly master of arts;
No sooner he wak'd, but he drop'd his disguise,
And shew'd her his wings and his darts.

Quoth he, I am Love; but, oh, be not afraid,
Tho' all I make shake at my will:
So good and kind have you been, my fair maid,
No harm shall you feel from my skill;
My mother ne'er dealt with such fondness by me,
A friend you shall find in me still;
Take my quiver and shoot, be greater than she,
The 
Venus of 
Totter downhill.

GUARDIAN angel now protect me,
Send me to the swain I love;
Cupid, with thy bow direct me,
Help me, all ye powers above.
Bear him my sighs, ye gentle breezes,
Tell him, I love and I despair;
Tell him, for him I grieve,
Say 'tis for him I live;
O may the shepherd be sincere!

Thro' the shadowy groves I'll wander,
Silent as the bird of night:
Neer the brink of yonder fountain,
First Leander bless'd my sight.
Witness, ye groves and falls of water,
Echoes, repeats the vows he swore:
Can he forget me,
Will 
 [...] neglect me,
Shall I never see him more!

[Page 50]
Does he love and yet forsake me,
To admire a nymph more fair?
If 'tis so, I'll wear the willow,
And esteem the happy pair.
Some lonely cave I'll make my dwelling.
Ne'er more the cares of life pursue:
The lark and philomel,
Only shall hear me tell,
What makes me bid the world adieu.

SOME how my spindle I mislaid,
And lost it underneath the grass,
Damon advancing, bow'd his head,
And said, what seek you, pretty lass?
A little love, but urg'd with care,
Oft leads a heart, and leads it far.

'Twas passing by yon spreading oak,
That I my spindle lost just now:
His knife then kindly Damon took,
And from the tree he cut a bough.
A little love, &c.

Thus did the youth his time employ,
While me he tenderly beheld;
He talk'd of love, I leap'd for joy,
For ah! my heart did fondly yield.
A little love, &c.

ENCOMPASS'D in an angel's frame,
An angel's virtues lay;
Too soon did heav'n assert its claim,
And call'd its own away.
My Anna's worth, my Anna's charms,
Can never more return:
What then shall fill these widow'd arms,
Ah me! my Anna's urn

[Page 51]
Can I forget that bliss refin'd,
Which, blest with her, I knew?
Our hearts in sacred bonds entwin'd,
Were bound by love too true.
That rural train which once were us'd
In festive dance to turn,
So pleas'd, when Anna they amus'd
Now weeping deck her urn.

The soul escaping from its chain,
She clasp'd me to her breast,
To part with thee is all my pain,
She cry'd, then funk to rest.
While mem'ry shall her seat retain,
From beauteous Anna torn,
My heart shall breathe its ceaseless strain
Of sorrow o'er her urn.

There, with the earliest dawn, adore
Laments her murder'd mate;
There Philomela, lost to love,
Tells the pale moon her fate.
With yew and ivy round me spread,
My Anna there I'll mourn;
For all my soul, now she is dead,
Concenters in her urn.

WHAT beauties does Flora disclose.
How sweet are her smiles upon Tweed?
But Mary's still sweeter than those,
Both nature and fancy exceed.
No daisy nor sweet blushing rose,
Nor all the gay flowers of the field,
Nor Tweed gliding gently thro' those,
Such beauty and pleasure can yield.

The warblers are heard in each grove,
The linnet, the lark, and the thrush,
The blackbird, and sweet cooing dove,
With music enchant every bush.

[Page 52]Come let us go forth to the mead,
Let us see how the primroses spring:
We'll lodge in some village on Tweed,
And love while the feather'd folks sing.

How does my love pass the long day?
Does Mary not tend a few sheep?
Do they never carelessly stray,
While happily she lies asleep?
Tweed's murmurs should lull her to rest;
Kind nature indulging my bliss,
To relieve the soft pains of my breast,
I'd steal an ambrosial kiss.

'Tis she does the virgins excel,
No beauty with her can compare;
Love's graces all round her do dwell,
She's fairest where thousands are fair.
Say, charmer, where do thy flocks stray!
Oh! tell me at noon where they feed:
Shall I seek them on sweet winding Tay,
Or the pleasanter banks of the Tweed?

HOW blest has my time been? What joy have I known,
Since wedlock's foft bondage made Jessy my own?
So joyful my heart is, so easy a chain,
That freedom is tasteless, and roving my pain.
That freedom is tasteless, &c.

Thro' walks grown with woodbines, as often we stray,
Around us our boys and girls frolic and play:
How pleasing their sport is! the wanton ones see,
And borrow their looks from my Jessy and me.

To try her sweet temper, oft-times am I seen
In revels all day with the nymphs on the green:
Tho' painful my absence, my doubts she beguiles,
And meets me at night with complaisance and smiles.

[...]

[Page 57]

By virtue ripen'd from the bud,

The flower angelic odours breeds;

The fragrant charms of being good,

Makes gaudy vice to smell like weeds.

Oh, sacred Virtue! tune my voice,
With thy inspiring harmony;
Then I shall sing of rapt'rous joys,
Which fill my soul with love of thee.

To lasting brightness be refin'd,
When this vain shadow flies away;
Th' eternal beauties of the mind
Will last when all things else decay.

COME live with me, and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove,
That vallies groves, or hills and fields,
And all the steepy mountains yields.

And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers, to whose falls,
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses,
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroider'd with leaves of myrtle.

A gown made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold.

A belt of straw, and ivy buds,
With coral clasps, and amber studs:
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.

[Page 58]

The shepherd swains shall dance and sing,

For thy delight each May morning.

If these delights thy mind may move,

Then live with me, and be my love.

I ENVY not the proud their wealth,
Their equipage and state:
Give me but innocence and health,
I ask not to be great.

I in this sweet retirement find,
A joy unknown to kings,
For sceptres to a virtuous mind,
Seem vain and empty things.

Great Cincinnatus at his plough,
With brighter lustre shone,
Than guilty Caesar e'er could shew,
Though seated on a throne.

Tumultuous days, and restless nights,
Ambition ever knows;
A stranger to the calm delights,
Of study and repose.

Then free from envy, eare, and strife,
Keep me ye, powers divine!
And pleas'd, when ye demand my life,
May I that life resign!

IN infancy our days were blest,
With peace and liberty;
Our gardens and our fields were drest,
In sweet simplicity!
No hostile foe had we to dread,
No enemy to fear;
But now, alas! those joys are fled,
And danger doth appear.

[Page 59]
Our seas with Britain's navy swarm,
Our trade and commerce droop;
Our cities robb'd and left forlorn,
Shall we to slavery stoop.
Ah! no, ah! no, you shall be free,
Liberty's goddess said;
Britannia's flag shall strike to thou,
And droop her haughty head.

The BANKS of KENTUCKE. TUNE,—Banks of the Dee.

THE spring was advancing, and birds were beginning
To sing on the boughs of each purling brook;
On the early green herbage at leisure reclining,
I was carelessly viewing the banks of Kentucke.
Hail stranger to song! hail deep-channel'd river,
Thy prominent cliffs shall be famous forever;
Thy high-swelling floods henceforward shall never,
Obscurely roll down thro' the banks of Kentucke

Disgusted with idle, romantic pretensions,
The populous city I lonely forsook;
Delighting in nature with fond apprehensions,
I eagerly came to the banks of Kentucke.
O, never did art so much beauty discover,
To reward the long search of its most raptur'd lover,
As nature's luxuriant fancy spreads over
The gay fertile soil on the banks of Kentucke.

Here genius shall rove with an endless desire,
Improvements to make without learning or book:
While virtue and truth shall forever conspire,
To bless those that dwell on the banks of Kentucke.

[Page 60]Here, far from tyrannical power remov'd,
The spirit of freedom shall hap'ly be prov'd;
The patriot shall by his country be lov'd,
And live without guile on the banks of Kentucke.

Here bigotry never shall raise its soul banner,
The basis of joy thro' all ages it shook;
The young and the aged in more happy manner
Than those shall improve on the banks of Kentuck
In honest industry their time still employing.
With heart-cheering mirth all their meetings enjoyi
With the blessings of friendship, and love never cloyi
All ranks shall unite on the banks of Kentucke.

Rich plenty and health, with visage all glowing,
Invite and allure us with promising look;
Never more to regret other rivers long flowing,
Not such as glide down thro' the banks of Kentuck
 [...]
Pale sickness doth pass thro' the land as a stranger,
No dreadful distemper here frightens the ranger,
As he passes thro' canebrakes and water
 [...] no danger
Expecting to meet on the banks of Kentucke.

I ENVY not the mighty great,
Those powerful rulers of the state,
Who settle nations as they please,
And govern at the expence of ease.

Far happier the shepherd swain,
Who daily drudges on the plain,
And nightly in some humble shed
On rushy pillows lays his head.

No curs'd ambition breaks his rest,
No factious wars divide his breast,
His flock, his pipe, and artless fair,
Are all his hope, and all his care.

[...]

[Page 73]
Unmov'd should eastern kings advance,
Could 
 [...] the pageant see,
Splendor might catch one scornful glance,
Nor steal one glance from thee.
O'er desart plains and rushy meers, &c.

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

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

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

BENEATH a green grove, a lovely young swain
One evening reclined, to discover his pain;
So sad, yet so sweetly he warbled his woe,
The winds ceas'd to breathe, and the fountains to flow:
Rude winds with compassion could hear him complain,
But Cloe less gentle, was deaf to his strain.

How happy, he cry'd, my moments once flew!
When Cloe's bright charms first flush'd in my view:
Those eyes then with pleasure the dawn could survey;
Nor smil'd the fair morning more cheerful than they:
Now scenes of distress alone meet my sight,
I'm tortur'd in pleasure, and languish in light.

Then changes in vain for relief I pursue,
All else but conspire my grief to renew:
From sunshine to zephyrs, and shades we repair,
To sunshine we fly from too piercing an air:
But love's ardent fever burns always the same,
No winter can cool it, no summer inflame.

But see the pale moon all clouded retire,
The breezes grow dull, not Strephon's desire!

[Page 74]I fly from the danger of tempest and wind,
Yet nourish the madness that preys on the mind;
Ah wretch! how can life be worthy thy care?
To lengthen its moments, but lengthens despair!

AS passing by a shady grove,
I heard a linnet sing,
Whose sweetly plaintive voice of love,
Proclaim'd the cheerful spring.
His pretty accents seemed to flow,
As if he knew no pain,
His downy throat he tun'd so sweet,
It echo'd o'er the plain.

Ah! happy warbler, (I reply'd)
Contented thus to be;
'Tis only harmony and love,
Can be compared to thee.
Thus perch'd upon the spray you stand,
The monarch of the shade;
And even sip ambrosial sweets,
That glow from every glade.

Did man possess but half thy bliss,
How joyful might he be!
But man was never form'd for this,
'Tis only joy for thee.
Then farewel, pretty bird, (I said)
Pursue thy plaintive tale,
And let thy tuneful accents spread
All o'er the fragrant vale.

Queen Mary's Lamentation.

I SIGH and lament me in vain,
These walls can but echo my moan;
Alas! it increases my pain.
When I think on the days that are gone.
Through the grate of my prison I see,
The birds as they wanton in air;
My heart how it pants to be free,
My looks they are wild with despair!

[Page 75]
Above, tho' opprest by my fate,
I burn with contempt for my foes;
Tho' fortune has alter'd my state,
She ne'er can subdue me to those.
False woman in ages to come,
Thy malice detested shall be;
And when we are cold in the tomb,
Some hearts still shall sorrow for me.

Ye roofs where cold damps and dismay,
With silence and solitude dwell;
How comfortless passes the day!
How sad tolls the evening bell!
The owls from the battlements cry;
Hollow winds seem to murmur around;
O Mary! prepare thee to die!
My blood it runs cold at the sound!

ADIEU, ye groves, adieu ye plains!
All nature mourning lies;
See gloomy clouds, and thick'ning rains,
Obscure the lab'ring skies:
See from afar the impending storm.
With sullen haste appears;
See winter comes, a dreary form,
To rule the falling years.

No more ye lambs with gamesome bound,
Rejoice the gladden'd light;
No more the ga
 [...] enamel'd ground,
Of sylvan scenes delight:
Thus, Zephalinda, much lov'd maid,
Thy early charms shall fail:
The rose must droop, the lilly fade,
And winter soon prevail.

Again the lark, sweet bird of May,
May rise on active wing:
Again the sportive herds may play,
And hail reviving spring.
But youth, my fair, sees no return;
The pleasing bubble o'er,
In vain its fleeting joys you mourn,
They fall to bloom no more.

[Page 76]
Haste then, dear girl, the time improve,
Which art can ne'er regain,
In blissful scenes of mutual love,
With some distinguish'd swain:
So shall life's spring, like jocund May,
Pass smiling and serene;
Tho' Summer, Autumn glide away,
And Winter close the scene.

FRIENDSHIP to every gen'rous mind
Opens a heavenly treasure:
There may the sons of sorrow find
Sources of real pleasure.
See what employments men pursue,
Then you will own my words are true:
Friendship alone unfolds to view
Sources of real pleasure.

Poor are the joys which fools esteem,
Fading and transitory:
Mirth is as fleeting as a dream,
Or a delusive story:
Luxury leaves a sting behind,
Wounding the body and the mind:
Only in friendship can we find
Pleasure and solid glory.

Beauty with all its gaudy shows,
Is but a painted bubble:
Short is the triumph, wit bestows,
Full of deceit and trouble:
Fame, like a shadow, flees away,
Titles and dignities decay;
Nothing but friendship can display
Joys, that are free from trouble.

Learning (that boasted glittering thing)
Scarcely is worth possessing:
Riches, for ever on the wing,
Cannot be call'd a blessing:
Sensual pleasures swell desire,
Just as the fuel feeds the fire:
Friendship can real bliss inspire,
Bliss that is worth possessing.

[Page 77]
Happy the man, who has a friend
Form'd by the God of Nature;
Well may he feel and recommend.
Friendship for his Creator.
Then as our hands in friendship join,
So let our social powers combine,
Rul'd by a passion most divine,
Friendship with our Creator.

SINCE love is the plan,
I'll love if I can,
But first let me tell you what sort of a man:
In address how complete,
In his dress spruce and neat,
No matter bow tall so he's over five feet.
Then this is my fancy,
Such a man can I see,
I'm his if he's mine,
Until then I am free.

Tho' gentle he be,
His man he shall see,
Yet never be conquer'd by any but me;
In a dance bear a bob,
In a glass hob-a-nob,
Yet drink of his reason his noddle ne'er rob.
Then this is my fancy, &c.

LOVELY nymph now cease to languish,
Yield not thus thy mind to woe;
Look behind the cloud of anguish,
Cheering beams of comfort blow,
Cheering beams of comfort blow.

Let enliv'ning hope elate thee,
Hope that points to fairer skies;
Think the transient ills that wait thee,
Are but blessings in disguise.
Are but, &c.

Be not by distress dejected:
Shrink not from affliction's head;

[Page 78]Falsehood is from truth detected,
By the kind enchantress' wand.
By the kind, &c.

Sage instructress, she shall train thee;
Steady virtue teach thy heart?
Short, but short liv'd, pains await thee;
Endless blessings to impart.
Endless blessings to impart.

I DELIA's beauties would disclose,
More blooming than the blushing rose,
And sweeter than the spring:
She fairest is of all the fair,
To ev'ry grove I'll this declare,
Of beauty's queen I sing.

Aid then my song each smiling Muse,
Your melody you can't refuse
To celebrate her charms:
Inspire to praise in purest rhyme
Her—whose mild beauties are divine,
And all my breast alarms.

Steal silent by ye murm'ring streams,
Let echo swell the tender themes,
The themes her praise rehearse:
Her praise shall employ my breath,
And nought but all-devouring death
Shall end the pleasing verse.

To paint the lustre of her eyes,
An azure stolen from the skies,
Would need a Sapho's tongue:
Her shape, her tuneful voice that thrills,
And all the soul with rapture fills,
These must remain unsung.

Her gentle sympathetic heart,
Fond to assuage affliction's smart,
Can drop the crystal tear;
Like gracious Heav'n she wears a smile
That would the fiercest p
 [...]ins beguile,
And soften rigid care.

Good sense and virtue, hand in hand,
The graces all, a gentle hand,

[Page 79]Upon her steps attend:
From charms so striking to the fight,
So pregnant with sincere delight,
What can the heart defend?

Her modest worth, no wily art,
Engaged my captivated heart
To cherish fond desires:
'Twas beauty taught me to admire,
But virtue's bloom that did inspire
These firm undying fires.

Supremely blest in Delia's love,
From her embrace I'd ne'er remove,
Nor e'er inconstant stray;
But spending life in tranquil ease,
Make it my study how to please,
And blithsome pass each day.

Could we our joys and sorrows share,
Double each bliss, dissolve each care,
'T would sure transporting prove:
Together glide thro' the sea of life,
Avoid ambition, banish strife,
And seek immortal love.

NO shepherdess of all the plain!
Like Cloe tunes her charming song;
I hear transported ev'ry strain,
To Cloe sure the sweetest sounds belong.

Hark! how the warblings of her voice
Tremble throughout the silent grove;
Melodious echoes round rejoice,
Melting my soul to strong impatient love.

Hark!—Philomel has ceased his lays,
To listen to her softer song;
The distant swains, attentive, praise
The thrilling accents of her tuneful tongue.

Enchanting Music! thou hast power
To warm the shepherd's gentle breast,
And, when the toiling day is o'er,
Give joy and rapture to his evening's rest.

[Page 80]

I SING the beauties that adorn

Belinda's lovely face,

Her blushes emulate the morn,

And give enchanting grace.

'Tis virtue paints an op'ning rose
Upon her blooming cheek;
'Tis virtue would the charms disclose
That real worth bespeak.

Her modest beauties all are pure,
And sweetest joys impart:
No tinsil can like these insure
The captivated heart.

Pleasing angelic modesty!
Thy blooms resistless prove;
Chaste Innocence attends on thee,
And constancy and love!

HYLA's the sweetest maid on earth,
No one could charm me so;
The tear proclaims her heav'nly birth,
She weeps for others woe.

No gem, that glads the gaudy fair,
And sparkles to the sight,
Can with that crystal drop compare,
Productive of delight.

Compassion hail! enchanting pow'r,
To soften care thou'
 [...]t giv'n;
Sweet soother of the sadden'd hour,
Blest attribute of Heav'n.

Fond Nature, with a kind intent
To cheer the drooping soul,
This sweet, amongst the dregs, has sent
Of life's distasteful bowl.

Offspring of universal love,
Spark of etherial fire,
Thy melting ardours, hearts improve,
And gen'rous thoughts inspire.

[Page 81]

My passions let thy influence bind

To emulate my fair,

For soft and pleasing pains attend

The sympathetic tear!

THE fields were green, the hills were gay,
And birds were singing on each spray,
When Colin met me in the grove,
And told me tender tales of love:
Was ever swain so blithe as he,
So kind, so faithful, and so free,
In spite of all my friends can say,
Young Colin stole my heart away:

Whene'er he trips the mead along,
He sweetly joins the wood-lark's song;
And when he dances on the green,
There's none so blithe as Colin seen;
If he's but by, I nothing fear,
For I alone am all his care;
Then spite of all my friends can say,
He's stole my tender heart away.

My mother chides when'er I roam,
And seem surpriz'd I quit my home;
But she'd not wonder that I rove,
Did she but feel how much I love;
Full well I know the generous swain
Will never give my bosom pain:
Then spite of all my friends can say,
He's stole my tender heart away.

WERE I as poor as wretch can be,
As great as any monarch he,
Ere on such terms I'd mount his throne,
I'd work my fingers to the bone.

Grant me, ye pow'rs (I ask not wealth)
Grant me but innocence and health;
Ah! what is grandeur link'd to vice?
'Tis only virtue gives it price.

[Page 82]

ALL on the pleasant banks of Tweed,
Young Jockey won my heart;
None tun'd so sweet his oaten reed,
None sung with so much art.
His skilful tale
Did soon prevail,
To make me fondly love him;
But now he flies,
Nor hears my cries,
I would I ne'er had seen him.

When first we met, the bonny swain
Of nought but love could say:
Oh! give, he cried, my heart again,
You've stole my heart away:
Or else incline,
To give me thine,
And I'll together join 'em;
My faithful heart,
Will never part,
Ah! why did I believe him?

Not now my slighted face he knows,
His soon forgotten dear:
To wealthier lass o'erjoy'd he goes,
To breathe his falsehood there:
Mistaken Kate,
The swain's a cheat,
Not for a moment trust him:
For shining gold,
He's bought and sold:
I would I had not seen him.

Then all ye maidens fly the swain,
His wily stories shun;
Else you like me must soon complain,
Like me will be undone;
But peace my breast,
Nor break my rest;
I'll try clean to forget him;
I soon shall see
As good as he;
I wish I ne'er had seen him.

[Page 83]

LORD! Sir! you seem mighty uneasy,
But I the refusal can bear;
I warrant I shall not run crazy,
Nor die in a fit of despair.

If so you suppose, you're mistaken;
For, Sir, for to let you to know,
I'm not such a maiden forsaken,
But I have two strings to my bow.

SAY, little foolish, fluttering thing,
Whither, ah! whither would you wing
Your airy flight?
Stay here, and sing
Your mistress to delight,
No, no, no,
Sweet Robin, you shall not go,
Where you wanton, could you be
Half so happy as with me?

MY Jockey is the blithest lad,
That ever maiden woo'd:
When he appears my heart is glad,
For he is kind and good.
He talks of love, whene'er we meet,
His words with rapture flow;
Then tunes his pipe, and sings so sweet,
I have no pow'r to go.

All other lasses he forsakes,
And flies to me alone;
At ev'ry fair, and all the wakes,
I hear them making moan:
He buys me toys, and sweetmeats too,
And ribbands for my hair;
No swain was ever half so true,
Or half so kind ma fair.

[Page 84]
Where'er I go, I nothing fear,
If Jockey is but by,
For I alone am all his care.
When any danger's nigh.
He vows to wed next Whitsun-day,
And make me blest for life;
Can I refuse, ye maidens, say,
To be young Jockey's wife?

WAS I a shepherd's maid, to keep
On yonder plains a flock of sheep,
Well pleas'd I'd watch the live-long day,
My ewes at feed, my lambs at play.
Or would some bird, that pity brings,
But for a moment lend its wings,
My parents then might rave and scold,
My guardian strive my will to hold:
Their words are harsh, his walls are high,
But spite of all, away I'd fly.

MY shepherd is gone far away o'er the plain,
While in sorrow behind him I'm forced to remain;
Tho' blue-bells and vi'lets the hedges adorn,
Tho' trees are in blossom, and sweet blows the thorn;
No pleasure they give me, in vain they look gay,
There's nothing can please now my Jockey's away!
Forlon I sit singing, and this is my strain,
Haste, haste, to my arms, my dear Jockey, again.
Haste, haste, &c.

When lads and their lasses are on the green met,
They dance and they sing, they laugh and they chat,
Contented and happy, with hearts full of glee,
I can't without envy their merriment see;
Those pleasures offend me, my shepherd's not there,
No pleasure I relish that Jockey don't share:
It makes me to sigh, I from tears scarce refrain,
I wish my dear Jockey return'd back again.

But hope shall sustain me, nor will I despair,
He promis'd he would in a fortnight be here:

[Page 85]On fond expectation my wishes I'll feast,
For love my dear Jockey to Jenny will haste:
Then farewel each care, adieu each vain sigh!
Who'll then be so blest, or so happy as I?
I'll sing on the meadows, and alter my strain,
When Jockey returns to my arms back again.

FROM the man that I love, though my heart I disguise,
I will freely describe the wretch I despise;
And if he has sense but to balance a straw,
He will sure take the hint from the picture I draw.
And if he has sense, &c.

A wit without sense, without fury a been,
Like a parrot he chatters, and struts like a crow:
A peacock in pride, in grimace a baboon;
In courage a hind, in conceit a gascoon▪
A peacock, &c.

As a vulture rapacious, in falsehood a fox;
Inconstant as waves, and unfeeling as rock;
As a tyger ferocious, perverse as a hog;
In mischief an ape, and in fawning a dog.
As a tyger, &c.

In a word, to sum up all his talents together,
His heart is of lead, and his brain is of feather:
Yet if he has sense but to balance a straw,
He will sure take a hint from the picture I draw.
Yet if he has sense, &c.

MAIDENS, let your lovers languish,
If you'd have them constant prove;
Doubts and fears, and sighs and anguish,
Are the chains that fasten love.

Jockey woo'd, and I consented,
Soon as e'er I heard his tale,
He with conquest quite contented,
Boasting, rov'd around the vale.
Maidens, let your lovers, &c.

[Page 86]
Now he doa
 [...]s on scornful Molly,
Who rejects him with disdain;
Love's a strange bewitching folly,
Never pleas'd without some pain.
Maidens, let your lovers, &c.

I'LL sing of my lover 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 his bagpipe my shepherd can play:
And a bonny young lad is my Jockey,
And a bonny, &c.

He says that he loves me, I'm witty and fair,
And praises my eyes, and my lips, and my hair;
Rose, vi'let nor lilly with me can compare:
If this be to flatter, 'tis pretty I swear:
And a bonny, &c.

He kneel'd at my feet, and with many a sigh
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 answered, not I:
And a bonny, &c.

Around the tall May-pole he dances so neat,
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 kisses so sweet:
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 best,
My heart is just ready to burst from my breast▪
And a bonny, &c.

But see how the meadows are moistened with dew,
Come, come, my dear shepherd, I wait but for you:
We live for each other, but constant and true,
And taste the soft raptures no monarch e'er knew
And a bonny, &c.

[Page 87]

AS my cow I was milking just now in the vale,
Young Alexis advanced and told a fond tale;
Such a tale, gentle maidens, believe what I say,
I with pleasure could wait for to hear it all day!
I with pleasure could wait,
I with pleasure could wait,
I with pleasure could wait for to hear it all day!

Hail Florella, he cry'd, now I'm happy I vow,
For to see you, believe me, I came from the plough.
Wilt thou have m
 [...] Florella, my dearest now say?
I with frowns soon reply'd I'll not hear you to-day.

Pray, Alexis, I said—for to try him I strove,
Never come near me more, for I'm sure you don't love;
Not deter'd by rough speeches, nor all I could say,
Still he answered, with smiles, make me happy to-day.

Now, with blushes I tell, I no longer said no,
But Alexis and I unto church soon did go;
Ye lasses, then hear me, oh hear me I pray,
Never wait for to-morrow, catch hold on to-day.

FROM morning till night, and wherever I go,
Young Colin pursues me, tho' still I say no;
Ye matrons experienc'd inform me, I pray,
In a point that's so critical, what shall I say?
Ye matrons experienc'd inform me, I pray,
In points that's so critical, what shall I say?

Soft sonnets he makes on my beauty and wit,
Such praises a bosom that's tender must hit;
He vows that he'll love me for ever and aye;
In points that's so critical, what can I say?

He brought me a garland, the sweetest ere seen,
And saluting me, call'd me his heart's little queen:
In my breast, like a bird, I found something play,
Instruct a young virgin then what she must say.

But vain my petition, you heed not my call,
But leave me ungrateful to stand or to fall;

[Page 88]No more I'll solicit, no longer I'll pray,
Let prudence inform me in what I shall say.

When next he approaches, with care in his eye,
If he asks me to wed, I vow I'll comply,
At church he may take me for ever and 
 [...],
And I warrant you then I shall know what to say.

LORD, what care I for mam and dad?
Why let 'em scold and bellow,
For while I live I'll love my lad,
He's such a charming fellow.

The last fair day on Gander green,
The youth he danc'd so well O,
So spruce a lad was never seen,
As my sweet charming fellow.

The fair was over, night was come,
The lad was somewhat mellow;
Says he my dear, I'll see you home—
I thank'd the charming fellow.

We trudg'd along, the moon shone bright,
Says he, if you'll not tell O,
I'll kiss you here, by this good light—
Lord what a charming fellow.

You rogue, says I, you have stopped my breath,
Ye bells ring out my knell O,
Again I'd die so sweet a death,
With such a charming fellow.

THO' 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.

[Page 89]The bee thus as changing,
From sweet to sweet ranging,
A rose should he light on, ne'er wishes to stray;
With rapture possessing,
In one ev'ry blessing,
Till torn from her bosom ne'er flies far away.

THE silver moon's enamour'd beam
Steals softly through the night,
To wanton with the winding stream,
And kiss reflected light:
To courts begone, heart-soothing sleep,
Where you've so seldom been,
While I May's wakeful vigil keep
With Kate of Aberdeen.

The nymphs and swains expectant wait,
In primrose chaplets gay,
Till morn unbars her golden gate,
And gives the promis'd May:
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 you 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 blithesome o'er the dewy mead,
Where elves desportive play,
The festal dance young shepherds lead,
Or sing their lov'd-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."

[Page 90]

THAT Jenny's my friend, my delight and my pride,
I always have boasted, and seek not to hide:
I dwell on her praises wherever I go;
They say I'm in love, but I answer, no, no;
They say, &c.

At ev'ning oft-times, with what pleasure I see
A note from her hand, "I'll be with you at tea!"
My heart how it bounds when I hear her below!
But say not 'tis love, for I answer no, no;
But say, &c.

She sings me a song, and I echo its strain;
Again I cry Jenny, sweet Jenny again:
I kiss her sweet lips, as if there I could grow;
But say not 'tis love, for I answer, no, no;
But say, &c.

She tells me her faults as she sits on my knee
I chide her, and swear she's an angel to me:
My shoulder she taps, and still bids me think so▪
Who knows but she loves, tho' she answers, no, no;
Who knows, &c.

From beauty and wit, and good humour, how!
Should prudence advise, and compel me to fly:
Thy bounty, O fortune, make haste to bestow,
And let me deserve her, or still I'll say, no;
And let me, &c.

BELIEVE my sighs, my tears, my dear,
Believe the heart you have won:
Believe my vows to you sincere,
Or, Peggy, I'm undone.
You say I'm false, and apt to change
At ev'ry face that's new:
Of all the girls I ever saw,
I ne'er lov'd one but you.

My heart was like a flake of ice.
Till warm'd by your bright eyes,

[Page 91]And then it kindled in a thrice,
A flame that never dies.
Then take and try me, you shall find
That I've a heart that's true:
Of all the girls I ever saw,
I ne'er lov'd one like you.

YE happy nymphs, whose harmless hearts
No fatal sorrows prove,
Who never knew men's faithless arts.
Or felt the pangs of love.

If dear contentment is a prize,
Believe not what they say,
Heed not their words, heed not their sighs,
Invented to betray.

Alas! how certain is our grief,
How sure the woes we meet,
When our fond sex are all belief,
An
 [...] 
 [...]an is all deceit.

MARIA. A favourite Ballad, taken from STERNE, composed by Mr. MOULDS.

'TWAS near a thickset's calm retreat,
Under a poplar tree,
Maria chose her wretched seat,
To mourn her sorrows free:
Her lovely form was sweet to view,
As dawn at opening day,
But ah, she mourned, her love not true,
And wept her cares away.

The brook flow'd gently at her feet,
In murmurs smooth along:
Her pipe, which once she tun'd most sweet,
Had now forgot its song:

[Page 92]No more to charm the vale she tries,
For grief has filled her breast;
Those joys which once she us'd to prize,
But love has robb'd her rest.

Poor hapless maid, who can behold,
Thy sorrows so severe,
And hear thy love-lorn story told,
Without a falling tear:
Maria, luckless maid, adieu,
Thy sorrows soon must cease,
For Heaven will take a maid so true
To everlasting peace.

CONTENTMENT, hail, thou princely gem,
Thou jewel brighter far
Than e'er enrich'd a diadem,
Or grac'd a monarch's star;
With thee I'd court no gilded woe,
No splendid, gay distress,
No empty pageantry and show,
No smiling wretchedness.

Go view the peaceful shepherd's cot,
How happy is his fate!
Content and poverty his lot,
He envies not the great:
Delightful scene, where wisdom grows,
In ev'ry woody vale;
Or where the murm'ring riv'let flows,
Enchanting mansion, hail!

'Tis there true happiness is seen,
There tumult passions rest;
There, while I range the the sylvan scene,
My ravish'd soul is blest.
Indulgent parent of mankind,
From whom all blessings flow,
Grant me content and peace of mind,
'Tis all I ask below.

[Page 93]

THE SORROWS OF CHARLOTTE ON THE DEATH OF WERTER.

WHEN Werter first fair Charlotte saw,
What strange emotions seiz'd his breast,
And rob'd him too for e'er of rest,
By force of love's despotic law:
Then oft he'd seek the willow grove,
And as he'd thro' the coverts rove,
Oh how he'd sigh, he'd sigh for guilty love!

Then back return with eager pace,
And Charlotte, Charlotte, mournful cry,
The while he would so sadly sigh,
That tears would trickle down his face:
And when she saw him thus in woe.
She'd sweetly whisper soft and low,
Oh how I grieve, I grieve to see you so!

His fatal passion oft she'd chide,
That both their sad misfortunes wrought,
When fate the doleful tidings brought,
For love of Charlotte, Werter dy'd:
Oh how she cry'd in bitter woe,
How could you, Werter, pain me so,
Oh how I grieve the world thy death must know!

'TWAS at the cool and fragrant hour,
When evening steals upon the sky,
When lovers seek the silent bow'r,
Young William taught the groves to sigh:
His heav'nly form, his beauteous air,
Was like the flow'ry vale;
Yet did he sigh, and all for love,
For Mary of the Dale.

When o'er the mountain p
 [...]eps the dawn,
Oppress'd with grief he'd often stray,
O'er rising hill, and fertile lawn,
To sigh, and weep his cares away:

[Page 94]Thus had he charms to win each fair,
That dwells within the vale;
Yet did he sigh and all for love,
For Mary of the Dale.

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

THE balmy zephyrs breath'd their store,
And way'd the gentle breeze;
The busy toil of day was o'er,
And nature sought for ease.

'Twas near a daisy sprinkled mead,
A blushing rose I found,
Wasting its odou
 [...]s in the air,
Its sweetness on the ground.

Sweet flower, I cry'd, how short thy bloom,
And snatch'd it to my breast;
Here may'st tho
 [...] shed thy last perfume,
And find eternal rest.

Yet unto Delia's bosom steal,
Who boasts her youthful prime,
And tell her plainly that her claims
Too soon must fade like thine.

Then on her bosom breathe thy last,
While I thy fate deplore;
And mark with sorrow at thy doom,
That thou shalt bloom no more.

THE nymphs and swains in circles gay,
Enjoy the sweets of fragrant May;

[Page 95]The blackbird whistles through the grove,
And ev'ry joy that spring can give;
And ev'ry bliss that youth receive,
Is crown'd by sportive love.

Daphne, the fairest on the green,
Alone, neglected, now is seen;
Their offer'd love return with scorn,
The slighted swains, now slight
 [...]n turn.

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

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

THE rose had been wash'd, just wash'd in a show'r,
That Mary to Anna convey'd,
The plentiful moisture encumber'd the flower,
And weigh'd down its beautiful head.

The cup was all fill'd and the leaves were all wet,
And it seem'd to a fanciful view,
To weep for the buds it had left with regret,
On the flourishing bush where it grew.

I hastily seiz'd it, unfit as it was
Fora nosegay so dripping and drown'd,
And swinging it rudely, too rudely, alas!
I snap'd it, it fell to the ground.

Ah! such, I exclaim'd, is the pitiless part
Some act by the delicate mind,
Regardless of wringing and breaking a heart
Already to sorrow resign'd.

This elegant rose had I shaken it less,
Might have bloom'd with its owner a while,
And the tear that is wip'd, with a little address,
May be follow'd perhaps with a smile.

[Page 96]

CYMON AND IPHIGENIA.—A CANTATA.

RECITATIVE.
NEAR a thick grove, whose deep embow'ring shade
Seem'd most for love and contemplation made,
A crystal str
 [...]am with gentle murmurs flows,
Whose flow'ry banks are form'd for soft repose:
Thither retir'd from Phoebus' sultry ray,
And lull'd in sleep, fair Iphigenia lay.
Cymon a clown, who never dreamt of love,
By chance was stumping to the neighb'ring grove;
He trudg'd along, unknowing what he sought,
And whistled as he went, for want of thought:
But when he first beheld the sleeping maid,
He gap'd—he star'd—her lovely form survey'd;
And while with artless voice he sweetly sung,
Beauty and nature thus inform'd his tongue.

AIR.
The stream that glides in murmurs by,
Whose glassy bosom shows the sky,
Completes the rural scene,
Completes the rural scene;
But in thy bosom, charming maid,
All heav'n itself is sure display'd,
Too lovely Iphigene,
Too lovely Iphigene.

RECITATIVE.
She wakes, and starts—poor Cymon trembling stands;
Down falls the staff from his unnerved hands:
Bright excellence, said he, dispel all fear;
Where honor's present, sure no danger's near.
Half-raised, with gentle accent she replies,
Oh Cymon! if 'tis you, I need not rise;
Thy honest heart no wrong can entertain;
Pursue thy way, and let me sleep again.
The clown transported was not silent long,
But thus with ecstacy pursu'd his song:

[Page 97]
AIR.
The jetty locks, that careless break
In wanton ringlets, down thy neck;
Thy love-inspiring mien,
Thy love-inspiring mien;
Thy swelling bosom, skin of snow,
And taper shape, enchant me so,
I die for Iphigene,
I die for Iphigene,

RECITATIVE.
Amaz'd, she listens, nor can trace from whence
The former clod is thus inspir'd with sense:
She gazes—finds him comedy, tall and strait,
And thinks he might improve his awk'ard gate;
Bids him be secret, and next day attend,
At the same hour, to 
 [...]ee
 [...] his faithful friend.
Thus mighty love cou'd teach a clown to plead;
And nature's language surest will succeed.

AIR.
Love's a pure, a sacred, fire,
Kind
 [...]ing gentle, chaste desire;
Love 
 [...]a
 [...] rage itself control,
And elevate, and elevate the human soul:
Depriv'd of that, our wretched state
Had made our lives of too long date;
But blest with beauty and with love,
Blest with beauty and with love,
We taste what angels do above,
What angels do above.

IF love's a sweet passion, how can it torment?
If bitter, O tell me whence comes my content?
Since I suffer with pleasure, why should I complain,
Or grieve at my fate, since I know 'tis in vain?
Yet so pleasing the pain is, so soft is the dart,
That at once it both wounds me and tickles my heart.

I grasp her hand gently, look languishing down.
And by passionate silence I make my love known:
But, oh! how I'm blest when so kind she does prove,
By some willing mistake to discover her love:
When, in striving to hide, she reveals all her flame,
And our eyes tell each other what neither dare name!

[Page 98]
How pleasing it beauty! how sweet are the charms!
How delightful embraces! how peaceful her arms!
Sure there is nothing so easy as learning to love;
'Tis taught us on earth, and by all things above:
And to beauty's bright standard all heroes must yield;
For 'tis beauty that conquers and keeps the fair field.

WHEN youth mature, to manhood grew,
Soon beauty touch'd my heart;
From vein to vein love's light'ning flew,
With pleasing, painful smart:
My bosom dear content forsook,
And sooth'd the soft dejection;
The melting eye, the speaking look,
Prov'd love and sweet affection.

Unus'd to arts which win the fair,
What could a shepherd do?
And to submit to sad despair,
Was not the way to woo.
At length I told the lovely maid,
I hop'd she'd no objection
To talk (while round her lambkins play'd)
Of love and sweet affection.

A blush my Chloe's cheek bedeck'd,
A blush devoid of guile;
"And what from me can you expect?"
She answered with a smile:
"How many nymphs have been betray'd,
"Through want of calm reflection!
"Then don't my peace of mind invade,
"With love and sweet affection."

Dear maid, I cry'd, mistrust me not,
In wedlock's bands let's join;
My kids, my kine, my herds, my cot,
My soul itself is thine.
To church I led the charming fair,
To Hymen's kind protection;
And now life's dearest joys we share,
With love and sweet affection.

[Page 99]

FAIR Kitty's charms, young Johnny took,
So eager he for billing;
When, lo! the nymph the swain forsook,
To show her power of killing!
The shepherd briskly chang'd his tone,
And cry'd coquette remember,—
The lover you refus'd in June,
You'll wish for in December.

Young Johnny soon met Philomel,
Good natur'd, blithe and bonny;
She sooth'd the love-sick swain so well,
Proud Kate's forgot by Johnny.
Coquettes take warning, change your tune;
This woeful truth remember,—
The lover you resus'd in June,
You'll wish for in December.

Alas! poor Kate, with scythe so sharp,
Time o'er the forehead struck her:
And now her charms begin to warp,—
She's in a piteous pucker.
Coquettes take warning, change your tune,
This woeful truth remember,—
The lover you refus'd in June,
You'll wish for in December.

THE flow'r of females, beauty's queen,
Who sees thee sure must prize thee;
Tho' thou art drest in robes but mean,
Yet these cannot disguise thee;
Thy graceful air, and modest look,
Strikes ev'ry shepherds fancy O;
Thou'rt match for 'Squire, for Lord, or Duke,
My lovely blue ey'd Nancy O.

Oh! were I but some shepherd's swain,
To feed nay flocks beside thee;
To tend my sheep upon the plain,
In milking to abide thee:

[Page 100]I'd think myself a happier man,
With thee to please my fancy O,
Than he that hugs his thousands ten,
Had I my blue ey'd Nancy O.

Then I'd despise th' imperial throne,
And statesmen
 [...]s dang'rous stations;
I'd be no king, I'd wear no crown,
And smile at conqu'ring nations;
Might I possess and will caress,
This lass that strikes my fancy O;
For these are toys, and still look less,
Compar'd with blue ey'd Nancy O.

AS Jockey sat down by Jenny one day,
Beneath a tall sycamore shade,
The lav'rocks were springing, all nature was gay,
While fondly he gaz'd on the maid.

The glance of her eye soon kindled a flame—
He found his heart caught in a snare;
And said, should I love, would you think me to blame?
Ah! do, she cried; do if you dare.

You cannot be angry, dear Jenny, I'm sure,
For Nature hath form'd you complete:—
She affected to frown, look prim and demure,
Till Jockey fell down at her feet.

Young Cupid, he cry'd, with his whimsical dart,
Has shot me quite through, I declare;
You'll still be unkind, tho' I offer'd my hand,
Aye, do, she cried; do if you dare.

Then leaving the ground he resumed his feat,
And pull'd the fair maid on his knee—
Poor Jenny was soften'd, and felt her heart beat,
And struggled to get herself free.

No, no, cried the youth, your consent I must have,
The parson to make us a pair:
In the church I will meet you to-morrow, dear Jane;
She archly cried, do if you dare.

[Page 101]

LET others Damon's praise rehearse,
Or Collin's at their will;
I mean to sing, in rustic verse,
Young Strephon of the hill.

At once I sat beneath the shade,
Beside a purling rill,
Who should my solitude invade
But Strephon of the hill.

He tapt my shoulder, snatch'd a kiss,
I could not take it ill;
For nothing sure is done amiss
By Strephon of the hill.

Consent, O lovely maid! he cried,
Nor aim thy swain to kill;
Consent this day to be the bride
Of Strephon of the hill.

Observe the doves on yonder spray,
See how they sit and bill;
So sweet your time shall pass away
With Strephon of the hill.

We went to church with hearty glee,
O love propitious still!
May ev'ry nymph be blest, like me,
With Strephon of the hill.

STRAY not to those distant scences,
From thy comfort do not rove;
Tarry in those 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.

[Page 102]Listen to the woodlark's note,
Listen to the cooing dove;
Hark! the thrusth's mellow note,
All uniting, carol love
See the limpid streams around,
Winding thro' the varied grove:
This is passion
 [...]s fairy ground,
Tarry here with me and love.

THE morn was fair, the month was May,
The daisies pied were springing;
I left my cot, and on my way,
Beguil'd the time with singing;
When Damon met me in the grove,
And told me I was clever;
But 'stead of whisp'ring tales of love,
Cry'd, kiss me now or never.

Amaz'd, I like a statue stood,
Then in pretended passion,
Ask'd if he thought a speech so rude
Would gain my approbation?
He smiling answered, ah! dear maid,
That frown's a proof of favour;
I felt 'twas true, and faintly said,
Well, leave me now for ever.

The lad was of the saucy kind,
Tho' beauteous as may be;
And had the proverb in his mind,
"Faint heart ne'er won fair lady"
His lips against my check he press'd,
Cry'd here I'll dwell for ever;
My flutt'ring heart spoke thro' my breast,
He will win me now or never.

He swore he ne'er should live at peace,
Till my consent was granted;
If I would wed, his cares would cease,
'Twas all he wish'd and wanted.
I never met in any swain,
Such love and truth together;
So, left he should not ask again,
Said, take me now or never.

[Page 103]

I SOUGHT the fair throughout the valley,
And hy'd me to her fav'rite brook;
The pink, the violet, and the lilly,
Adorn'd and flourish'd round her crook.
My Isabel in accents moving,
Attuned her lay; and thus she sung,
Where is my Colin roving?

Ye conscious groves, where off my lover,
In accents dear, reveal'd his flame;
Say, can ye Colin's heart discover,
—Ah! is my true love still the same?
While ev'ry look declar'd him loving,
His words were balm to heal my soul;
—Where is my Colin roving?

Oh! how my heart, transported flutter'd,
When she confess'd her love so true,
Such soothing words so sweetly uttered,
New joy inspir'd, to her I flew.
I knelt, I sigh'd, a falling tear,
Proclaim'd my ardent love sincere;
—Ah! could I then be roving?

The world itself shall fade and perish,
Ere I my Isabel forsake;
With love and truth my fair I'll cherish,
Her joys and miseries partake—
She blush'd and smil'd with grace serene,
I thus address'd fair beauty's queen,
—Adieu to all my roving.

THE kiss that he gave me, when he left me behind,
Seal'd the promise of Patrick's love;
And when to my sailor I'm false or unkind,
Such falsehood expect from the dove.
The promise of lovers should ne'er be forgot.
And I promis'd the lad, tho' behind him I tarried,
That I ne'er would forsake him, tho' humble his for;
O hone, if I do, may I never be married.

[Page 104]
Now the winds and the waves bear him over the sea;
The young 'squire would give me fine things;
But what are his riches or grandeur to me,
His baubles, his ribbons, and rings?
The promise of lovers should ne'er be forgot;
And I promi
 [...]'d the lad, tho' behind him I tarried,
That I ne'er would forsake him, tho' humble his lot,
O hone, it I do, may I never be married.

His cabin is low, but content dwells within,
And snug is the thatch o'er the door,
For riches, without him, I care not a pin,
For my sailor's the lad I adore.
The promise of lovers should ne'er be forgot,
Yet some
 [...]imes such hopes, we all know have miscarried;
I trust he'll prove true, but I'll fit him if not,
O hone, it I don't, may I never be married.

YOUNG Willy woo'd me long in vain,
In ev'ry place he met me,
Ah, do you love me said the swain,
How often mast I ask ye?

I hardly could my love deny,
For love him I did really;
Why no, you foolish swain, said I,
How often must I tell ye?

Ah, must I then avoid your view,
Ah, must I always shun ye?
Then tell me, O my dearest Sue,
How often must I ask ye?

At length he asked my hand, and cried,
Ah, dearest, do you love me?
Why yes, said I, and softly sigh'd
How often must I tell ye?

ARISE, my rosy nymph of May,
And with your Col
 [...] early stray,
To taste 
 [...] new-morn air,

[Page 105]The lark his tuneful notes hath rung,
To hail you with a bridal song;
Then rise, my Rosy Fair.

Twelve moons are past this May-day morn,
Since you beneath the white blown thorn
Avow'd to me, I swear,
That this same hour you'd kindly yield;
By ev'ry flow'r that deck'd the field,
You vow'd, my Rosy Fair.

No longer then such bliss deny,
But with your Colin's suit comply,
That he may ever wear
That gentle, kind, and wish'd for chain,
Which is to bind your Colin's swain,
My charming Rosy Fair.

The nymph she hasten'd to her love,
With joy he led her to the grove,
And fragrant was the air:
The linnets tuneful perch'd the spray,
And warbled forth their dulcet lay
To hail the Rosy Fair.

Then soon they join'd the rural train,
In sportive dance they tripp'd the plain,
To Hymen's temple, where
The golden chain, connubial band,
To Colin bound the lilly 
 [...]and
Of his sweet Rosy Fair.

CHARMING village-maid,
If thou wilt be mine,
In gold and pearls array'd,
All my wealth is thine;
For gold is dross to me,
Ev'n Nature's beauties fade,
If not enjoy'd with thee,
My charming village-maid.

Had I yon shepherd's care,
Your lambs to feed and sold,
The dog-star's heat I'd bear,
And winter's piercing cold:

[Page 106]Or such my lot shou'd be,
At harrow, flail, or spade,
Well pleas'd I'd toil for thee,
My charming village-maid.

This morn at early dawn,
I had a hedge rose wild,
Its sweets perfum'd the lawn,
'Twas sportive nature
 [...]s child!
To grace my gay parterre,
Transplanted from the glade,
Sweet emblem of my fair
My charming village-maid.

BLOW on ye winds, descend soft rain,
To soothe my tender grief,
Your solemn music lulls my pain,
And yields a short relief.

O my heart, my heavy, heavy heart,
Swells as 'twould burst in twain;
No tongue can e'er describe the smart,
Nor I conceal its pain.

The sun, which makes all nature gay,
Torments my weary eyes;
And in dark shades I pass the day,
Where echo sleeping lies.

O my heart, &c.

The strongest passions of the mind,
The greatest bliss we know,
Arises from successful love,
If not the greatest woe.

O my heart, &c.

YOUNG Lubin was a shepherd boy,
Fair Rosalie a rustic maid;
They met, they lov'd—each other's joy,
Together o'er the hills they stray'd.

[Page 107]

Their parents saw, and bless'd their love,

Nor wou'd their happiness delay;

To-morrow's dawn their bliss should 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 fav'rite fave:
Too fatally the youth obey'd:
He ran, he plung'd into the wave,
To give the little wanderer aid.

But scarce he guides him to the shore,
When faint and sunk, poor Lubin dies;
Ah Rosalie! for ever more,
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 sooth thy Lubin's shade.

BLITHE Colin, a pretty young swain
To court me came many a mile;
I bid him return back again,
Tho' I wish'd him to stay a great while.

With all by which love is exprest,
He studies my heart to beguile;
I wish him success I protest,
Tho' I tell him he'll wait a great while.

He brought me this nosegay so sweet,
And thought it more pleasure than toil;
I took it, reserv'd and discreet,
But I'll not let him wait a great while.

He beg'd me to grant him a kiss,
So earnest, he made me quite smile—
Have done!—I cried,—lie! 'tis amiss;
Tho' I wish'd it to last a great while.

[Page 108]

He tells me I ought to be kind;

That time all my beauties will spoil;

I cross him, tho' quite of his mind,

For I love he should talk a great while.

I fancy, by what he has said,
My husband he'll be by his style;
And when he once asks me to wed,
Oh! I'll not let him wait a great while.

TIME, like the winged courser, flies,
When youthful pleasures round us roll;
But ah! how faint, how slow he is,
When grief or pain obscures the soul.

No silken cords of love can bind,
Nor wealthy bribe entice his stay;
Nor can the means the wretched find
To urge his cruel cold delay.

The sons o
 [...] pleasure never heed
The moments which their transports crown;
Too late perceive the the traitor's speed,
And wonder where their joys are flown.
Da Capo.

The sons of woe, with sighs and tears,
Wish ev'ry tedious minute gone:
Unmov'd, the fullen tyrant hears,
Nor mends his pace, but slumbers on.
Da Capo.

Tune—'Twas yes, kind sir, and I thank you too.

THE sun was sinking in the west,
The linnet perch'd upon the spray,
The lambskins had retir'd to rest,
And all things show'd the close of day
With smiling face, and gentle mien,
Young Colin did my steps pursue,
And said I was a little queen;
'Twas yes, kind sir—but not for you.

[Page 109]
I milk'd the kine within the vale,
And sung my ditty all the while;
Then happy with my flowing pail,
I trip'd the mead, and gain'd the stile:
Again young Colin there I found,
For he had kept me in his view;
"I have a flow'ry garland bound,
My little queen, it is for you."

In words so sweet he spoke, and kind,
His garland I could not refuse;
For love was stealing on my mind,
(What virgin could the swain refuse?)
He took my piggin o'er the stile,
And beg'd he might assist me too;
I own I could not hide a smile,
But said, kind sir, if you are true.

If I am false then, Colin cried,
Oh! may you ne'er my suit approve;
But you shall truly be my bride,
And then you will not doubt my love:
Then hand in hand we trip'd along,
The village steeple was in view;
To wedlock 'twas he tun'd his song,
My answer was,—and I thank ye too.

WHERE rural cots appear to sight,
And various prospects give delight,
Trees, hills and dales, and meadows gay,
Crown'd with the beauties of the May;
Where lambkins sport, and thro' the grove,
Is heard the tender cooing dove,
And ruddy nymph, and rustic swain,
Make sweet the pleasures of the plain.

As soon as Phoebus gilds the morn,
And cheerful sounds the huntsman's horn;
Soon as the lark begins his song,
The happy moments to prolong;

[Page 110]The peasants rise to daily toil,
To reap the field, or till the soil,
And as they labour, sing the strain,
Sweet are the pleasures of the plain.

At noon when sultry Phoebus glows,
The spreading oak a shade bestows,
Where with their sav'ry meal they sit,
And deal around their artless wit;
How happy does the moments pass,
Thus friendly seated on the grass?
Health waits alike each nymph and swain;
Such are the pleasures of the plain.

At eve when Cynthia gilds the scene,
And glitters o'er the length'ning green,
Then round the pole the youths advance,
And beat the ground in mazy dance;
The pipe and tabor join so sweet,
In concert with their nimble feet:
They fear no harm, they feel no pain;
Such are the pleasures of the plain.

MA CHERE AMIE.

MA chere Amie, my charming fair
Whose smiles can banish ev'ry care,
In kind compassion smile on me,
Whose only care is love of thee,
Ma chere Amie, &c.

Under sweet friendship, sacred name,
My bosom caught the tender flame,
May friendship in thy bosom be,
Converted into love for me,
Ma chere Amie,&c.

Together rear'd, together grown,
O let us now unite in one;
Let pity soften thy decree,
I droop, dear maid, I die for thee,
Ma chere Amie, &c.

[Page 111]

KITTY; OR, THE FEMALE PHAETON.

FAIR Kitty, beautiful and young,
And wild as colt untam'd,
Bespoke the fair from whence she sprung,
With little rage inflam'd;
Inflam'd with rage and sad restraint,
Which wise mamma 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 to play the saint,
While wit and beauty reign'd.

Must lady Jenny frisk about,
And visit with her cousins?
At balls must she make all the rout,
And bring home hearts by dozens?
What has she better, pray, than I,
What hidden charms to boast,
That all mankind for her should die,
While I am force a toast?
While I am scarce a toast?
That all mankind for her should die,
While I am scarce a toast?

Dear, dear mamma, for once let me,
Unchain'd, my fortune try;
I'll have my Earl as well as she,
Or know the reason why.
Fond love prevail'd, mamma gave way;
Kitty, at heart's desire,
Obtain'd the chariot for a day,
And set the world on fire,
And set the world on fire.
Obtain'd the chariot for a day,
And set the world on fire.

LIKE my dear swain, no youth you'd see,
So blithe, so gay, so full of glee;

[Page 112]In all our village, who but he
To foot it up so featly?
His lute to hear,
From far and near,
Each female came,
Both girl and dame;
And all his boon,
For every tune,
To kiss 'em round so sweetly.

While round him in the jocund ring,
We nimbly danc'd, he'd play or sing;
Of May the youth was chosen king,
He caught our ears so neatly.
Such music rare
In his guitar!
But touch his lute,
The croud was mute:
His only boon,
For every tune,
To kiss 'em round so sweetly.

MY love the pride of hill and plain,
Has now set sail and gone to sea:
Yet well I know my gentle swain
Will ne'er inconstant prove to me.
Where'er I rove, where'er I stray,
I'll think of Willy far away.

At morn and eve, I'll sound his praise,
And loudly of his beauties sing;
For oh! engaging are his ways,
And sweet his presence as the spring.
Where'er I rove, where'er I stray,
I'll think of Willy far away.

Should he return to bless my sight,
I'll hail the lad with hearty glee,
And all his tender love requite,
With truth, with love, and constanc
 [...];
In hopes of this, where'er I stray,
I'll think of Willy far away.

[Page 113]

O! Nancy wilt thou gang wi' me,
Nor sigh to leave the flaunting town?
Can silent glens have charms for thee,
The lowly cot, and russet gown?
No longer drest in silken sheen,
No longer drest in jewels rare,
Say canst thou quit each courtly scene,
Where thou wert fairest of the fair?
Say, can'st thou quit each courtly scene, &c.

O Nancy! when thou'rt far away,
Wilt thou not cast a wish behind?
ay, can'st thou face the parching ray,
Nor shrink before the wintry wind?
O can that soft and gentle mien,
Extremes of hardship learn to bear;
Nor sad, regret each courtly scene,
Where thou wert fairest of the fair?

O Nancy! canst thou love so true,
Thro' perils keen with me to go;
Or when thy swain mishap may rue,
To share with him the pangs of woe?
Say, should disease or pain befal,
Wilt thou assume the nurse's care,
Nor wistful those gay scenes recal,
Where thou wert fairest of the fair?

And when at last thy love shall die,
Wilt thou receive his parting breath?
Wilt thou repress each struggling sigh,
And cheer with smiles the bed of death?
And wilt thou o'er his breathless clay
Strew flowers, and drop the tender tear?
Nor then regret those scenes so gay,
Where thou wert fairest of the fair?

[Page 114]

AT the sound of the horn,
We rise in the morn,
And waken the woods as we thunder along;
Yoix, yoix, talliho!
After Reynard we go,
While echo on echo redoubles the song.

We waken the woods as we thunder along,
Talliho! talliho!
After Reynard we go,
While echo on echo redoubles the song.
Not the steeds of the sun,
Our brave coursers outrun,
O'er the mound horse and hound see us bound in full cry.
Like Phoebus we rise,
To the heights of the skies,
And, careless of danger, five bars we defy.
We waken the woods, &c.

At eve, Sir, we rush,
And are close to his brush;
Already he dies, see him panting for breath;
Each feat and defeat,
We renew and repeat,
Regardless of life, so we're in at the death.
We waken the woods, &c.

With a bottle at night,
We prolong the delight,
Much Trimbush we praise, and the deeds that were done;
And yoix, talliho!
The morning we go
With Phoebus, to end as we mount with the sun.
We waken the woods, &c.

WHEN the blush of Aurora first tinges the plain,
And the horn's cheerful note sweetly sounds;
Arise, my brave boys, to the musical strain,
While the stag o'er the forest rebounds.

[Page 113]

Then away to the chase, to the chase haste away,

And taste the sweet joys of the morn;

For nought should such pastime a moment delay,

When rous'd by the echoing horn.

See how the brave hunters with courage elate,
The joys of the field close pursue;
Fly hedges and ditches, or top the bar'd gate,
When e'er the game starts into view.
Then a way to the chase, &c.

While joyous, from valley to valley, resounds
The shout of the hunters so gay;
For hea
 [...]th and contentment our pastime e'er crowns,
And pleasure delights the whole day.
Then away to the chase, &c.

HARK, hark, from the woodlands the loud-swell­ing horn,
Invites to the sports of the chase,
How 
 [...]uddy, how bright, and how cheerful the morn,
How healthy and blooming each face.
To the grove with Diana I'll hasten away,
Nor lose the delights of the morn,
The hounds are all out, hark, hark forward away,
While echo replies to the horn.

Cay health still attends on the sports of the field,
O'er mountain and valley we go:
The joys of the chase, health and pleasure can yield,
No wishes beyond it we know.
To the grove, &c.

Our innocent pastime each virgin may share,
A
 [...]d the censure of envy de
 [...]y;
While Cupid, soo
 [...] follow'd with grief and despair,
The blessings of youth would destroy.
To the grove, &c.

BRIGHT P
 [...]eobus has mounted the chariot of day,
A
 [...] 
 [...] 
 [...]orns and the hound
 [...] call each sportsman away;

[Page 116]Thro' woods and thro' meadows with speed now they bound,
While health, rosy health, is in exercise found.
Hark away is the word to the sound of the horn,
And echo, blithe echo, makes jovial the morn.

 [...]ch hill and each valley is lovely to view,
While puss flies the covert, and dogs quick pursue;
Behold where she flies o'er the wide spreading plain,
While the loud opening pack pursue her amain.
Hark away, &c.

At length puss is caught, and lies panting for breath,
And the shout of the huntsman's the signal for death.
No joys can delight like the sports of the field,
To hunting all pastimes and pleasures must yield.
Hark away, &c.

RECITATIVE.

THE whistling ploughman hails the blushing dawn,
The thrush melodious drowns th' rustic note;
Loud sings the blackbird thro' resounding groves,
And the lark soars to meet the rising sun.

AIR.
Away, to the copse lead away,
And now, my boys, throw off the hounds;
I'll warrant he shows us some play;
See, yonder he skulks thro' the grounds.

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 he tries at in vain,
In cover no safety can find;
So he breaks it and scours amain,
And leaves us a distance behind.

[Page 117]

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 thro' the dale,
All parch'd from his mouth hangs his tongue;
His speed can no longer avail,
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.

WHEN the morning peeps forth, and the zephyr's cool gale
Carries fragrance and health over mountain and dale;
Ye nymphs and ye swains we together will rove,
Up hill and down valley, by thicket and grove;
Then follow with me where the welkin resounds,
With the notes of the horn and the cry of the bounds,

Let the wretched be slaves to ambition and wealth,
All the blessing I ask is the blessing of health;
Where cheerful good humour gives honesty grace,
And the heart shows content in the smiles of the face.
Then follow, &c.

THE blush of Aurora now tinges the morn,
And dew-drops bespangle the sweet-scented thorn;
Then sound, brother sportsman, sound, sound the gay horn,
Till Phoebus awakens the day.
And see, now he rises in splendor, how bright!
I, O, Paean for Phoebus the god of delight;
All glorious in beauty, now vanish the night,
Then mount, boys, to horse and away.

[Page 118]
What raptures can equal the joy of the chase?
Health, bloom, and contentment appear in each face,
And in our swift coursers what beauty and grace,
While we the fleet stag do pursue!
At the deep and harmonious sweet cry of the bounds,
Struck by terror, he bursts from the forest's wide bounds,
And tho' like the lightning he darts o'er the grounds,
Yet still, boys, we keep him in view.

When chas'd till quite spent, he his life does resign,
Our victim we'll offer at Bacchus's shrine,
And revel in honor of Nimrod divine,
That hunter so mighty of fame:
Our glasses then charge to our country and king;
Love and beauty we'll charge too, and jovially sing,
Wishing health and success, till we make the house ring,
To all sportsmen and sons of the game.

GIVE round the word dismount, dismount,
While echo'd by the sprightly horn;
The toils and pleasures we recount
Of this sweet health-inspiring morn.

CHORUS.
'Twas glorious sport, none e'er did lag,
Nor drew amiss, nor made a stand,
But all as firmly kept their pace,
As had Actaeon been the stag,
And we had hunted by command
Of the goddess of the chase.
And we had hunted, &c.

The hounds were out, and snuff'd the air,
And scarce had reach'd the appointed spot,
But pleased they heard a layer, a layer!
And presently drew on the slot.

'Twas glorious sport, &c.

And now o'er yonder plains 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.

[Page 119]
And now the stag has lost his pace,
And while war-haunch the huntsman cries,
His bosom swells, tears wet his face,
He pants, he struggles, and he dies.

'Twas glorious sport, &c.

HARK, away! 'tis the merry-ton'd horn
Calls the hunters all up with the morn:
To the hills and the woodlands we steer,
To unharbour the out-lying deer.

CHORUS OF HUNTSMEN.
And all the day long
This, this is our song,
Still hallooing
And following
So frolic and free;
Our joys know no bounds,
While we're after the hounds;
No mortals on earth are so happy as we.

Round the woods when we beat, how we glow,
While the hills they all echo, hillo!
With a bounce from his cover he flies,
Then our shouts shall resound to the skies.

And all the, day long, &c.

When we sweep o'er the valleys, or climb
Up the health-breathing mountain sublime,
What a joy from our labours we feel!
Which alone they who taste can reveal.

And all the day long, &c.

At night, when our labour is done,
Then we will go hallooing home,
With a halloo, halloo, and a huzza!
Resolving to meet the next day.

And all the day long, &c.

HARK! hark! the joy-inspiring horn
Salutes the rosy, rising morn,

[Page 120]And echoes thro' 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-m
 [...]ttled starting steed,
The jovial pack pursue;
Like lightning darting o'er the plains,
The distant hills with speed he gains,
And sees the game in view.

Her path the timid hare forsakes,
And to the copse for shelter makes,
There pants awhile for breath;
When now the noise alarms her ear,
Her haunt's descried, her fate is near,
She sees approaching death.

Directed by the well-known breeze,
The hounds their trembling victim seize,
She faints, she falls, she dies!
The distant coursers now come in,
And join the loud, triumphant din,
Till echo rends the skies.

THE huntsman's abroad e'er the lark wakes the morn,
The hare once in view all her windings he'll trace;
Never tir'd, he follows the sound of the horn,
The joy of the sport is the length of the chase.

A poor easy conquest keen sportsmen ne'er prize,
Tho' often with puss they can scarcely keen pace:
In pursuit lies the bliss, the game they despise,
The joy of the sport is the length of the chase.

Thus women are roused and keenly pursu'd;
While they fly, they are follow'd o'er distance and space,
But despis'd and neglected, if soon they're subdu'd;
The joy of the sport is the length of the chase.

[Page 121]

TO horse ye jolly sportsmen,
And greet the new-born day;
Incessant, lo! thro' nature's field,
Each creature hunts his prey.

And a hunting, &c.

Dame nature teaches Reynard craft
T' o'er-reach the feather'd flocks;
And we pursue the chiding dogs,
While they run down the fox.

Mankind hunt one another;
Your great men hunt the small;
Some hunt for heaven, and some for hell;
Old Satan hunts us all.

Some fain would hunt for honor,
A game that's hard to find;
The needy hunt for charity,
And may go hunt the wind.

Our patriots loudly bellow,
The nation's desp'rate case,
While all their stir and bustle's made
In hunting out a place.

Full cry the tories hunt the whigs,
Who in their torn pursue;
And running one another down,
Run 
 [...] 
 [...]untry too.

The lawyer 
 [...] 
 [...]b
 [...]les,
Your 
 [...] to maintain; 
 [...]

 [...] the ri
 [...] 
 [...] 
 [...]ll it 
 [...] 
 [...]rong▪

 [...]en hun
 [...] 
 [...]

The toper daily 
 [...] 
 [...]pot,
Both care and sense to drown;
Whilst gamesters hunt another's purse,
And lose sight of their own.

The lasses hunt their lovers,
Each lover hunts his lass;
The fop in chase of his dear face,
Hunts out his looking-glass.

[Page 122]
O'er hill and dale, with hound and horn,
Let's hunt boys while 'tis light;
Then joyous we'll o'erflowing bowls
Revive the chase at night.

And a hunting, &c.

HARK, hark ye, how echoes the horn in the vale,
Whose notes do so sportingly dance on the gale,
To charm us to barter for ignoble rest,
The joys which true pleasure can raise in the breast:
The morning is fair, and in labour with day,
And the cry of the huntsman is hark, hark, away:
Then wherefore defer we, one moment our joys?
Haste, haste, let's away, so to horse, my brave boys.

What pleasure can equal the joys of the chase,
Where meaner delights to more noble give place?
While onward we press, and each sorrow defy,
From valley to valley re-echoes the cry:
Our joys are all sterling, no sorrows we fear,
We bound o'er the lawn, and look back on old Care;
Forgetful of labour we leap'd o'er the mounds.
Led on by the horn, and the cry of the hounds.

AWAY to the field, see the morning looks gay,
And, sweetly bedappled, forebodes a 
 [...]
The hounds are all eager the sport to 
 [...]
And carol aloud to be led to th
 [...] 
 [...].
Then, hark, in the morn, to
 [...] 
 [...] call of the ho
 [...]
And join with the jovial 
 [...]
While the season invites, with 
 [...]
The health-giving chase to pu
 [...] 
 [...]

How charming the sight when Aurora first dawns,
To see the bright beagles spread o'er the lawns!
To welcome the sun, now returning from rest,
Their mattins they chant as they merrily quest.
Then, hark, in the morn, &c.

But oh! how each bosom with transport it fills,
To start just as Phoebus peeps over the hills;

[Page 123]While joyous, from valley to valley resounds,
The shouts of the hunters and cry of the hounds.
Then, hark, in the morn, &c.

See how the brave hunters, with courage elate,
Fly hedges or ditches, or top the barr'd gate;
Borne by their bold coursers, no danger they fear,
And give to the winds all vexation and care.
Then, hark, in the morn, &c.

Ye cits, for the chase quit the joys of the town,
And scorn the dull pleasure of sleeping on down;
Uncertain you toil, or for honor or wealth,
Ours still is repaid with contentment and health.
Then, hark, in the morn, &c.

HARK, hark, to the sound of the sweet winding horn,
It invites to the chase and awakens the morn;
Diana leads forward o'er mountain and plain,
While echo enraptur'd repeats the blithe strain.
Diana leads, &c.

While Bacchus deprives us of reason and wealth,
The sports of the field give both pleasure and health:
Such innocent pastimes insure us all joys,
Where no business disturbs us, no malice destroys.
Diana leads, &c.

WHEN join'd in the chase, fly Reynard in view,
On high mettled coursers, with haste we pursue,
And follow the foe through the glade;
Away to the vale he scours it full speed.
Then darts thro' the hedge, the dogs to mislead,
Awhile he lies close in the shade;
The covert be breaks,
Then down the lane takes,
And drooping his brush drags along;
Till panting he stops—
Surrounded he drops,
A prey to the fleet-footed throng.

[Page 124]At length the chase is o'er, the horn's jocund sound,
To invite those thrown out, floats echoes around;
They hear the glad call and obey.
From the death to the flask we hie to regale—
Diana we toast in full bumpers of ale,
And merrily finish the day:
Brisk liquor we quaff,
We sing, joke and laugh;
Good humour adorns ev'ry face:
We jolly boys are
Sworn strangers to care,
Who delight in the joys of the chase.

THIS bleak and frosty morning,
All thought of danger scorning,
Our spirits briskly flow,
All in a glow,
Thro' the sparkling snow,
While a skaiting we go,
With a fa, la, la, la, la, la, la,
To the sound of the merry horn.

From right to left we're plying,
Swifter than winds we're flying,
Spheres on spheres surrounding,
Health and strength abounding:
In circles we sleep,
Our poise dill we keep,
Behold how we sweep
The face of the deep.

With a fa, la, la, &c.

Great Jove looks on us smiling,
Who thus the time beguiling,
Where the waters he seal,
Still rove on our keel,
Our weapons are steel,
And no danger we feel,

With a fa, la, la, &c.

See, see, our train advances,
See how each skaiter lances,

[Page 125]Health and strength abounding,
While horns and hautboys sounding,
The Tritons shall blow,
Their couch-shells below,
And their beards fear to show,
While a skaiting we go,
With a fa, la, la, la, la, la, la,
To the sound of the merry horn.

HARK! forward, away, my brave boys to the chase,
To the joys that sweet exercise yield;
The bright ruddy morning breaks on us apace,
And invites to the sports of the field.
Hark! forward's the cry, and cheerful the morn,
Then follow the hounds and the merry ton'd horn.

No music can equal the hounds in full cry;
Hark! they open, then hasten away;
O'er hill, dale, and valley, with vigour we fly,
While pursuing the sports of the day.
Hark! forward's the cry, &c.

With the sports of the field no joys can compare,
To pleasures light footsteps we trace;
We run down dull sloth, and we distance old care,
Rosy health we o'ertake in the chase.
Hark! forward's the cry, &c.

THE stag through the forest, when rous'd by the horn,
Sore frighted, high bounding, flies wretched, forlorn,
Quick panting, heart bursting, the hounds now in view,
Speed doubles! speed doubles! they eager pursue.

But escaping the hunters again thro' 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.

[Page 126]

YE sluggards, who murder your life time 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 enlighten the morn,
The huntsman unkennels his hounds,
Enraptur'd we glow at the sound of the horn,
Whilst the woods the sweet echo resound.

The courtier, the lawyer, the priest, has his view,
Nay, every 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 every night,
At the break of each morn the huntsman is up,
And bounds o'er the lands with delight.

Then quickly, my lads, to the forest repair,
O'er dales and o'er valleys let's fly;
For who can, ye gods, feel a moment of care,
When pursuing the hounds in full cry.
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.

BY moon light on the green
Where lads and lasses stray,
How sweet the blossom'd bean.
How sweet the new-made hay.

But not to me sa sweet,
The blossoms on the thorn,
As when my lad I meet
More fresh than May-day morn.

Give me the the lad sa blithe and gay,
Give me the Tartan Pladdie,

[Page 127]For spite of all the wise can say,
I'll wed my Highland laddie.
My bonny Highland laddie.

His skin is white as snow,
He een are bonny blue,
Like rosebud sweet his mow,
When wet with morning dew.

Young Willy is rich and great,
And fain wou'd ca' me his;
But what is pride or state,
Without love's smiling bliss?
Give me the lad, &c. &c.

When first he talk'd of love,
He look'd sa blithe and gay,
His flame I did approve,
And could na say him nay.

Then to the kirk I'll haste,
There prove my love and truth,
Reward a love sa chaste,
And wed the constant youth.
Give me the lad, &c. &c.

YOUNG Sandy is not rich, but has won my fond hear
 [...];
Tho' mither has forc'd the dear lad to depart:
The laird he loves me, and has filler in store,
Half-lame and half-blind the soon is threescore.
I canna ha one, and I winna ha t'other:
Was ever poor lassie wi love tortur'd so!
So teaz'd wi old age and an obstinate mither,
Poor Jane, lack-a-day, must lead apes below.

When the old one grins, fondly I think on my lad.
Whose smiles gave me joy, and whose songs made me glad:
When he hobbles along, I sigh for the grace,
And the air, and the charms of Sandy's sweet face.
I canna ha one, and I winna ha t'other;
Was ever poor lassie wi love tortur'd so!
So teaz'd wi old age and an obstinate mither.
Pop
 [...] Jane, lack-a-day, must lead apes below.

[Page 128]
Thus mournful she sung, underneath a green shade,
When Sandy appearing, cry'd, now, dearest maid,
To kirk let us go, now your dame's not in view,
No riches we want, blest wi love that is true.
She did na say nay, 'twas the offer she wanted,
To kirk all delighted the fond couple go,
Tho' frighten'd to death, in confusion she granted
Not so bad, lack-a-day, as to to lead apes below.

IT was upon a Lammas right,
When corn rigs are bonnie,
Beneath the moon's unclouded light,
I held awa to Annie;
The time flew by with heedless head,
Till 'tween the late and early,
Wi mie persuasion she agreed
To see me thro' the barley.

The sky was blue, the wind was still,
The moon was shining clearly,
I set her down wi right good will,
Among the rigs o' barley;
I knew her heart was a mi ane,
I loo'd her most sincerely;
I kiss'd her o'er and o'er again,
Among the rigs o' barley.

I lock'd her in my fond embrace,
Her heart was beating rarely;
My blessings on that happy place,
Among the rigs o' barley;
But by the moon and stars so bright,
That shone that hour so clearly,
She aw shall bless that happy night,
Among the rigs o' barley.

I hae been blithe wi comrades dear,
I hae been merry drinking;
I hae been joyful gath'ring gear,
I hae been happy thinking;
But a' the pleasures I e'er saw,
Tho' three times doubled fairly,

[Page 129]That happy night was worth them a',
Among the rigs o' barley.

CHORUS.
Corn rigs and barley rigs,
And corn rigs are bonnie;
I'll ne'er forget that happy night,
Among the rigs wi Annie.

BEHIND yon hill where Stinchar flows,
Many moors and masses many O;
The wintry sun the day has clos'd,
And I'll awa to Nannie O.

The whistling wind blows loud and shrill,
The night's baith mirk and rainy O;
But I'll get my plaid, and out I'll steal,
And o'er the hill to Nannie O.

My Nannie's charming, sweet and young,
Nae artfu' wiles to win ye O;
May ill befa' the flattering tongue,
That wad beguile my Nannie O.

Her face is fair, her heart is true,
As spotless as she's bonnie O;
The op'ning gowan wet wi dew,
Nae purer is than Nannie O.

A country lad is my degree,
An few they be that ken me O;
But what care I how few they be;
I'm welcome to my Nannie O.

My riches a's my penny fee,
And I maun guide it cannie O;
But wardly gear ne'er troubles me,
My thoughts are a' my Nannie O.

Our auld gude man delights to view
His sheep an kyne thrive bonnie O;
But I'm as blithe that haulds this pleugh,
And ha na care but Nannie O.

[Page 130]

Come weel, come woe, I care na by,

I'll tak what heaven will send me O;

Nae ither care in life leave I,

But live and love my Nannie O.

WHAT a lover is he that has nothing to give,
But a look, and a vow and a sigh?
Silly maid, take me word, you should know how to live,
Before you lie so ready to die.

How stupid a pair are the bridegroom and bride.
Who wed but for cooing and billing;
Oh, how dull will they be, at they fit side by side,
If it happens they're not worth a shilling.

At first, by good luck, every hour of the day,
'Tis my darling, my soul's dearest pleasure;
But at last says the wife, I want money to pay.
Come, give it, my heart's richest treasure!

"But I have it not, sweeting!"—This theme may bread strife—
"Come, let us be cooing and billing"—
Go, barbarous husband—go, termagant wife—
So it happens when not worth a shilling.

ALL you who would wish to succeed with a lass,
Learn how the affair's to be done;
For, if you stand fooling, and shy, like an ass,
You'll lose her as sure as a gun.

With whining, and sighing, and vows, and all that,
As far von please you may run;
She'll hear you, and jeer you, and give you a pat,
But just you as sure as a gun.

To worship, and call her bright goddess is fine,
But, mark you the consequence—mum;
The baggage will think herself really divine,
And scorn you, as sure as a gun.

[Page 131]

Then be with a maiden, bold, frolic, and shout,

And no opportunity shun;

She' tell you, she hates you, and swear she'll cry [...]et,

But mum—she's as sure as a gun.

COME cease all your pother, about this or that;
All discord and envy let pass:
The tatler who talks of he cannot tell what,
May justly be reckon'd an 
ass, an 
ass.

The beau who befrizzles and tortures his hair,
To heighten his delicate shape,
(While ever grimace is the end of his care)
Deserves to be reckon'd an 
ape

The cynical churl, who would fain be thought wife,
And doth constantly cavil and growl,
(Tho' this may be wisdom in some people's eyes)
Deserves to be reckon'd an 
owl.

The glutton who, greedy, for ever would stuff
On all the fine dishes in vogue,
Who ne'er content, would have more than enough,
Deserves to be reckon'd a 
hog.

The clown who, tho' clumsy, would active be thought,
Or wonderous clever appear,
As the fable can show—put him into a boat,
And he'll prove nothing else but a 
bear.

The merchant who 
 [...]entures o'er Afric' to roam,
In hazardous search after luck,—
Ne'er knows that his lady hath gallants at home,
Who dub the poor cuckold a 
buck.

The innocent fool who believes he's secure,
In the middle of danger to sleep,
Who dreads no deceit from the Foxes in pow'r,
Deserves to be reckon'd a 
sheep.

The gossip, brim full of an ill-natur'd tale,
Runs over with awkward abuse,—
Whilst this cackling humour doth ever prevail,
She deserves to be reckon'd a 
goose.

[Page 182]

The rogue, who in plundering and filching replete,

Th' unweary draws into a gulf.

Who lives but to murder, to rob, and to cheat,

May justly be reckon'd a wolf.

But he whom good sense and good-nature inspire;
To do all the good that he can,
While justice and virtue are all his desire,
May justly be reckon'd a 
man, a 
man.
May justly be reckon'd a 
man.

WHEN kind friends expect a song
Something new and striking;
Surely he can ne'er be wrong,
Who gives each his liking.

Patriots like to get a place,
The courtiers theirs to keep;
Country 'squires to drink and chase,
And cits to eat and sleep.

Parsons like a bishopric,
Gamblers like to bubble:
Doctors like to see friends sick,
Lawyers theirs in trouble.

Soldiers like both peace and pay,
When fighting is no more;
Sailors like a road to stray,
For gold to wash ashore.

Ruddy bullies like to bluster,
Pale beaux to seem polite;
Train-band Captains like a muster,
But neither like to fight.

Ladies like—a thousand things,
But yet it were not well;
He who for his pleasure sings,
Should all their likings tell.

WHEN I awake with painful brow,
Ere the cock begins to crow,

[Page 133]Tossing, tumbling in my bed,
Aching heart, and aching head;
Pond'ring over human ills,
Cruel bailiffs, taylors bills,
Flush and Pam thrown up at Loo;—
When these sorrows strike my view,
I cry, —
And to stop the gushing tear,
Wipe it with the pillow bier.
But when sportive evening comes,
Routs, ridottos, balls, and drums,
Casinos here, festinos there,
Mirth and pastime ev'ry where.

Seated by a sprightly lass,
Smiling with a smiling glass;
When these pleasures are my lot,
Taylors, bailiffs, all forgot,
I laugh, —
Careless what may then befal,
Thus I shake my sides at all.

Then again, when I peruse,
O'er my tea, the morning news,
Dismal tales of plunder'd houses,
Wanton wives, and cuckold spouses;
When I read of money lent
At sixteen and half per cent.
I cry, —

But if ere the muffin's gone,
Simp'ring enters honest John,
"Sir, Miss Lucy's at the door,
"Waiting in a chaise and four;"
Instant varnish all my cares,
Swift I scamper down the stairs,
And laugh, —
So may this indulgent throng.
Who now smiling grace my song,
Never more cry oh! oh! la:
But join with me in ha! ha! ha!

[Page 134]

YE bucks and ye bloods, who love tipling and smoak­ing,
Who season each moment with laughing and joking,
A while be but silent, attend to what is spoke,
And I'll make it appear that the world is a joke.

Sing tanterarara joke all, joke all,

Sing tantararara joke all.

The patriot so grave, from plain fir to his grace,
For his country will bawl—till he gets a good place,
Then he lays down the mask, and he throws off the clock,
And proves what he said was, alas! but in joke.

The gen'ral so brave, would his post soon betray,
If the foe would genteelly but double his pay;
No longer would venture with cannon and smoke,
But resign and retire, and then laugh at the joke.

The lawyer, who pleads that your cause is quite good,
Tho' he knows by himself it is not understood;
When he 
 [...] drain'd all the fees that he can from your poke,
Your cause is neglected, and all is a joke.

The physician so prim, with his cane and large wig,
Who lols in his chariot, and looks very big;
When death comes and gives you the finishing stroke,
You'll find his prescriptions were all but a joke.

The next is old spintext, reclaimer of evil,
Who says for your sins you will go to the devil;
When out of the pulpit, 
 [...]'ll wench, drink adn smoke,
And all will conclude, the
 [...] his preaching's a joke.

The ladies so virtuous, so charming and pretty,
Who rail against lovers, and cast away pity;
Such railing, we know, is no more than a cloak,
For ladies were always all fond of a joke.

The flattering fop, and the tradesmen who cheat,
Will joke at each other when pa
 [...]ng the street;
Nay, he that can't joke, we a m
 [...]ny should call,
So let us sing tantararara, joke all.

Sing tantararara, &c.

[Page 135]

MUNGO's COMPLAINT.

DEAR heart! what a terrible life am I led!
A dog has a better that's shelter'd and fed;
Night and day 'tis the same;
My pain is dere game;
Me wish to de Lord me was dead.

What'er's to be done,
Poor black must run;
Mungo here, Mungo dere,
Mungo every where,
Above or below,
Sirrah, come, sirrah go;
Do so, and do so:
Oh! oh!
Me wish to de Lord me was dead!

NOW'
 [...] the time for mirth
 [...]nd glee,
Sing, and love, and laugh with me;
Cupid is my theme of story;
'Tis his godship's fame and glory▪
How all yield unto his law!
Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!

O'er the grave, and o'er the gay,
Cupid takes his share of play;
He makes heroes quit their glory;
He's the god most fam'd in story;
Sending them unto his law.

Ha! ha! ha! &c.

Sly the urchin deals his darts,
Without pity—piercing hearts:
Cupid triumphs over passions,
Not regarding modes or fashions:
Firmly fix'd is Cupid's law.

Ha! ha! ha! &c.

[Page 136]
Some may think these lines not true,
But they're fact—'twixt me and you:
Then, y
 [...] maids, and men, be wary,
Cupid's will is solely law.

Ha! ha! ha! &c.

THE
 [...] 
 [...] grinders enough, sir, of ev'ry degree,
From 
 [...]wel-deck'd great, to low poverty;
Wh
 [...]ever the station, it sharpens the sense,
And the wheel it goes round to wind in the pence.
Master grinders enough at the helm you may find,
Tho' I'm but a journeyman—knives to grind!

Whatever the statesman may think of himself,
He turns fortune's wheel in pursuit of the pelf;
He grinds back and edge, Sirs, his ends to obtain,
And his country may starve, so he p
 [...]ets the gain.
Master grinders, &c.

The rich grind the poor, is a sa
 [...]ng 
 [...]ld;

 [...] merchant, the tradesman, we me not be told:

 [...] Pagan, Mahomet 
 [...] you be,

 [...] grinders of all sorts, of evr'y degree.

 [...] &c.

 [...] pat
 [...] 
 [...] real animated declares
The curtain he'll 
 [...], and display the state players;
He is staunch grinder, to some 'tis well known,
And they're mightily gall'd by the grit of his stone▪
Master grinders, &c.

I too am a grinder, what, what, Sin, of that?
I am but in taste, since I copy the great:
To be, sirs, ingenuous, I'll tell you my mind:
'Tis for what I can get, makes me willing to grind.
Master grinders, &c.

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