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When abfent from thee, I grew restless to all,
And dreaded the dangers that might thee befal;
But trust me, my fair one! when you did appear,
Ah, little you think what your Colin felt here!

My heart pitta-patted, just as it does now;
And I'm happy fince Chloe accepts of my vow.

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SONG

XXX.

LOVE A TEMPEST.

OVE'S a tempeft, life's the ocean, deep deform; Rude and raging tho' the motion, Virtue fearless braves the storm.

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OVE'S a gentle gen'rous paffion, Source of all fublime delight; When with mutual inclination,

L

Two fond hearts in one unite.

What are titles, pomp, or riches,

If compar'd with true content? That falfe joy which now bewitches, When obtain'd we may repent.

Lawless paffion brings vexation,

But a chafte and conftant love, Is a glorious emulation

Of the blissful ftate above.

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THE CONSTANT TAR.

like the is often

Like the fea it ebbs and flows;
Let the youth whofe heart is ranging,
Fear the nymph whom most he knows.

But give me, Fate, one faithful pilot,
To direct and guide my
foul:
Changing lovers then I'll smile at,
She's my 'magnet, fhe's my pole.

XXXIII.

SONG

TO ATTAIN A LONG LIFE.

NOME hear me, my boy, haft a mind to live long, Take a dofe of brifk claret, and part of a fong; A gen'rous heat good wine does impart,

CO

And time to good mufic is beat by the heart:
Let each be content with his own proper store,

And keep ourselves honeft, though the world keeps us

poor.

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XXXIV.

SONG

ELL me, lovely fhepherd, where Thou feed'ft at noon thy fleecy care; Direct me to the fweet retreat

T

That guards thee from the mid-day heat;
Left by thy flocks I lonely ftray,
Without a guide, and lofe
my way:
Where reft at noon thy bleating care,
Gentle fhepherd, tell me where.

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Woman.

JO

OHN Anderson my jo, cum in as ze gae by, And ze fall get a fheep's heid weel baken in a pie, Weel baken in a pie, and the haggis in a pat: John Anderson my jo, cum in, and ze's get that.

Man.

And how do ze, cummer? and how do ze thrive? And how many bairns hae ze?-Wom.-Cummer, I hae

five;

Man. Are they to zour ain guidman ?—Wom.—No, Cummer, no;

For four o' them were gotten quhan Willie was awa'.

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SONG

XXXVI.

Sung in the Chaplet by Mr Vernon and Mrs Scott.

Damon.
NONTENTED all day I will fit by your fide,

And while the clear river runs purling along,
The thrush and the linnet contend in their fong.

tide;

Laura.

Whilft you are but by me no danger I fear; Ye lambs reft in fafety, my Damon is near; Bound on, ye blithe kids, now your gambols may pleafe, my fhepherd is kind, and my heart is at eafe. For my fhepherd, &c.

For

Damon.

Ye virgins of Britain, bright rivals of day,
The wifh of each heart, and the theme of each lay;
Ne'er yield to the fwain till he make you a wife,
For he who loves truly will take you for life.

C 2

For he who, &C.

Laura.

Ye youths, who fear nought but the frowns of the fair, 'Tis yours to relieve, not to add to their care; Then fcorn to their ruin affiftance to lend,

Nor betray the sweet creatures you're born to defend. Nor betray, &c.

Damon.

For their honour and faith be our virgins renown'd, Nor falfe to his vows one young fhepherd be found: Be their moments all guided by virtue and truth, To preferve in their age what they gain'd in their youth.

To preferve, &c.

SONG

XXXVII.

THE RAM BL E.

WAS at Midfummer's tide, no matter the day, The lambkins were merry, and the birds grac'd the spray,

'T

I rambled with Patty unto the green grove,
Attended by no one but mufic and love.

The murmuring brooks in sweet harmony flow'd, And the foft breathing zephyrs fo wantonly blow'd; We rambled, we tattl'd, all in the green grove, Attended by no one but music and love.

Flow on, foft meanders, in mirth ever flow,
To wash away forrow and heart aching woe;
Let no troubles moleft us while in the green grove,
Attended by no one but mufic and love.

May Fortune, e'er fmiling, bless Patty and I,
Our bofoms be strangers to care, fear, or figh;
O then in sweet raptures we'll trace the green grove!
Attended by no one but mufic and love.

SONG

XXXVIII.

IN PRAISE OF WOMEN.

THE

HE lily and the blushing rofe
To many give delight;
But not a flow'r on earth that grows
Is half fo bright a fight,
As lovely women,
Charming women,
Pleafing, teafing,
Heavenly women.

Pray what makes cowards brave and bold?
Or what gives poets birth?
Or what makes people fond of gold?
Or pleasure dwell on earth?

Or what's the pageantry of kings?
Or pleasures of the bowl?
But vain, prefumptuous, gaudy things,
Deftroyers of the foul,

But lovely women, &c.

Such pow'r has women,
Virtuous women, &c.

When men are fore opprefs'd with grief,
and roam in fearch of peace,
There's nought can give fuch fure relief,
And make their torments cease,

Unlefs fweet women, &c.

Then, fince the fair give fuch delight,
Aloud refound their praise;

For who can view the glorious fight
And not their voices raife?

To lovely women, &c.

The rich, the poor, the bold, the brave,
The lord, the clown, and king,
The peafant, courtier, prieft, and knave,
In diff'rent ftrains will fing
To praise sweet women, &c.

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