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W

ITH my holiday gown, and my new fashion'd hat,

Last Monday I went to the fair ;
I held up my head, and I'll tell you for what,

Young Roger I thought would be there.
He wooes me to marry, whene'er we do meet,

Sure honey does dwell on his tongue ;
And indeed he's so handsome, fo mild and discreet,
That I w-W- wou'd, that I w—W— wou'd, that I'd

marry if I were not too young.

He whispers such soft pretty things in mine ear,

He vows, and he fighs, and implores ;
Such ribbons he bought me, such trinkets and ware,

Till, trust me, my pockets ran o'er :
A song too he bought me, the best he could find,
With which I was mightily ftung;

And indeed, &c.

The fun being declin'd, it was time to retire,

My cottage lay distant a mile,
I rose from my chair, Roger bow'd like a fquire,

And he handed me over the stile :
His arms he threw round me, love play'd in his looks,
While we walked the meadows along ;

And indeed, &c.

KXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

SONG

XXIV.

THE MIGHTY BOWL.

F

ILL me a bowl, a mighty bowl,

Large as my capacious soul ;
Yast as my thirst is, let it have
Depth enough to be my grave:
I
mean the

grave
of all

my care, For I design to bury't there.

Let it of silver fashion'd be,
Worthy of wine, worthy of me;
Worthy to adorn the spheres,
As that bright cup amongst the ftars.

Fill me a bowl, &c.

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TWEEDSIDE. By a Lady. WHEN Maggy firft pearched wi’ love,

I carry'd my noddle fu' hi';
Nae goudspink'in a' the gay glade,

Or mavis fo happy as I.
I pip'd, and I danc'd, and I sang :

I wood, but I came nae good speed;
Therefore into England I'll gang,

my

banes over the Twecd, To Maggy my love I did tell, Sa't tears did my paflion express;

me, for I loo'd her o'er well, And woman loves nac fic man lefs,

And lay

1

Woe's

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T

HOU rifing fun! whose gladfome ray
Dispel the mist, and clear the skies,
And bring my Orra to my eyes.

Oh! were I sure my dear to view,
I'd climb the pine-tree's topmost bough,
Aloft in air that quivering plays,
And round and round for ever gaze.

My Orra Moor, where art thou laid?
What woods conceal my sleeping maid ?
Up by the roots, enrag'd, I'll tear
The trees that hide my promis'd fair.

O could I ride on clouds and skies,
Or on the raven's pinions rise!
Ye storks, ye swans, a moment stay,
And waft a lover on his

way.

a

My bliss too long my bride denies,
Apace the wafting summer flies;
Nor yet the wint'ry blasts I fear,
Not storms or nights 'shall keep me here.

What may for strength with steel compare ?
Oh! love has stronger fetters far!
By bolts of steel are limbs confin'd,
But cruel love enchains the mind.

No longer then perplex the breast;
When thoughts perplex, the first are best :
"Tis mad to go, 'tis death to stay ;
Away to Orra, hafte away.

*****

SONG

XXVII.

THEB E E.

B
USY humble bee am I,

That range the garden sunny;
From flow'r to flow'r I changing fly,

And ev'ry flower's my honey,
Bright Chloe, with her golden hair,

A while my rich jonquile is,
Till, cloy'd with fipping nectar there,

I shift to rofy Phillis.
But Phillis's sweet opening breast

Remains not long my station,

I shift, &c.

The gay, &C.

For Kitty must be now address’d,

My spicy breath'd carnation. Yet Kitty's fragrant bed I leave,

To other flow'rs I'm rover ; And all in turns my love receives, The

gay wide garden over. Variety that knows no bound

My roving fancy edges,
And oft with Flora I am found,

In dalliance under hedges :
For as I am an arrant bee

Who range each bank that's funny, Both fields and gardens are my fee,

And ev'ry flower's my honey.

And every, &c.

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! The valiant Jockey

Leaves his lovely Peggy,
On loud calls, To arms, he must away ;

Fill your flowing glasses,

Farewel, bonny laffes, For no longer with you I can stay. For no longer, &c.

Peggy.
0, Jockey, do not leave me !

O, how much you grieve me !
Stay at home in your own native land !

Let them go my honey,

That want friends and money,
Jockey, you have both at your command. Jockey, &c.

Fockey.
Peggy, leave off pleading,

That's a wrong proceeding;
I love you, but, alas ! 'tis all in vain ;

I'must prefer before you

Fame, honour and glory, Which causes me to cross the raging main. Which, &c.

Peggy
When Jockey's on the billows,

Peggy's on the willows,
Venting out her bitter grief and moan;

When Jockey lies a-sleeping,

Peggy lies a-weeping,
Always wishing for his fafe return.
Always wishing, &c.

S O N G

XXIX.

PROGRESS OF LOVE.

W

HEN first I beheld thee, I vow and protest,

I felt a strong something strike into my breaft;
It smarted and tickled, so pleafing the pain,
I wish'd for it gone, then with'd for it again :

My heart pitta-patted, I cannot tell how,
Feel, Chloe ! it flutter'd just as it does now.

a

When I rose with the lark to pipe forth a fond lay, And chided the time till you brighten'd the day, That moment gay nature smild on my sweet maid, I long'd to falute thee, but still was afraid :

My heart pitta-patted, I cannot tell how, (brow.

Methouglit when I press’d you, frown hung in your
When chose queen of May, and the swains all around,
Stood with wonder to see so much beauty abound,
Young Damon approach'd you with languishing look,
And, low bowing, presented his new-carven crook :

My heart pitta-patted, I cannot tell how,
At his languishing look and his courtly low bow.

'Twas one summer's eve (oft it comes to my mind, When Colin grew blest, as his Chloe grew kind), When shepherds to fold drove their day weary'd train, And oxen from labour low'd over the plain :

My heart pitta-patted, I cannot tell how,
As we sat and sip'd syllabub under the cow.

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