SONG

XXXIX.

ADVICE TO THE LADIES.

E nymphs, and ye shepherds, that join in the throng,

The story, tho' fimple, is true that I tell,
I hope it will please you all wonderful well.

I went t'other day to a walk on the green, And met with a lass fair as beauty's gay queen ; I ask'd for a kiss, but the damsel said No, And struggld and frown'd, and cry'd Pray let me go.

I tenderly cried, Phillis don't be a prude; But still she return’d, I'll cry out if you're rude : The more that I press'd her, the more she cried No, And struggl'd and frown'd, and cry'd Pray let me go.

I found no intreaties would make her comply, Whenever I touch'd her 'twas, Fye, Colin, fye ; So I sent for a parson, and made her my

wife, And now I am welcome to kiss her for life.

Ye virgins that hear, learn example from this,
Take care how too freely you part with a kiss ;
Conceal for a time all the favours you can,
For that's the best way to make sure of your man.

a

W

HO has e'er been at Baldock must needs know the

mill, At the sign of the horse, at the foot of the hill, Where the grave and the gay, the clown and the beau, Without all diftinction promiscuously go.

Where the grave, &c.

This man of the mill has a daughter so fair,
With so pleasing a shape and so winning an air,
That once on the river's green bank as I stood,
I'd swore she was Venus just sprung from the flood.

That once, &c.

But, looking again, I perceiv'd my mistake,
For Venus, tho’ fair, has the looks of a rake,
While nothing but virtue and modefty fill
The more beautiful looks of the lass of the mill.

While nothing, &c.

Prometheus stole fire, as the poets all say,
To enliven that mass which he modell’d of clay :
Had Polly been with him, the beams of her

eyes Had fav'd him the trouble of robbing the skies.

Had Polly, &c.

Since first I beheld the dear lass of the mill,
I can never be quiet, but, do what I will,
All day and all night I figh, and think still
I shall die if I have not the lass of the mill.

I shall die, &c.

Hold, hold, says my neighbour, here ftop thy career, Prithee finish thy song, and let's drink to the fair : Pray where stands the bottle ? full brimmers we'll fill, Let's all drink the health of the lass of the mill.

Pray where, &c.

O

N Tay's fair banks you've often said,

You wish'd that I wou'd try to love ye,
And you'd do all to please your maid,
But fear'd

my

lot was far above ye. I heed not dad, nor mother's fcorn ;

Love gives to me my lad sae bonny, We for each other sure are born,

Then take me to your arms my Johnny !

My birth they say was high, and so,

For greater bliss they did design me,
They'd have me fly from one fo low,
But love and fate to you

incline me.
I heed not dad, &c. As above.

But since I speak my honeft mind,

And swear that you're the fwain to pleafe me, Will

you be tender, fond, and kind, And never wish to leave or teaze me?

I heed not dad, &c.

I know your heart is good and true
As
any

laird's, so let's not tarry,
To Tay's fam'd stream we'll bid adieu,
For folks in love 'tis best to marry.

I heed not dad, &c.

S O N G

XLII.

THE WAIL OF SUSA N.

'ER all the wide ocean the billows were rolling,

'Mid torrents of hail the dread thunder did roar; And loud from the mountains the tempest was howling, When Sue sat to welcome her lover on shore. “ On me, ye rude winds ! (said she) vent all your fury,

Why o'er the deep ocean so boift'rously roar ye? “Oh! spare in your ire my dear Jack, I implore ye ! “ And send him safe back to the arms of his Sue!”

Now full in her view, o’er the foaming waves driven, Dismasted and shatter'd, the vessel appears; Despairing and wild, she address’d her to Heaven, And tore her soft tresses, 'mid torrents of tears. “ Avaunt, ye rude billows! cease farther to move here! “ Ye hurricanes dreadful! your blust'ring give over, “ Nor cruelly twin a fond maid of her lover! “ Ah! what, if Jack's drown'd, will become of his

« Sue?

a

Alas, hapless nymph! how prophetic thy doubts are ! How fruitless thy stay! well-a-day! and how vain ! In view o'er the waves, see! your Jack lifeless floats

there, A victim, ah me! to the rage of the main ! Now frantic, now speechless, the stedfastly views him, “ Yer bear him, kind billows ! (she cries) to my bo.

66 fom! " Within

my fond arms I'U for ever inclose him,
“ Nor shall cruel death sep’rate Jack from his Sue !"

To burst with deep fighs her fair bofom was ready,
As frantic her lifeless poor failor she ey'd,
When, all on a sudden, a swift wheeling eddy,
Inurn'd him, poor youth! in the deep roaring tide.
Yet still in her fancy the fond virgin sees him,
eager

The plung’d in the main to embrace him,
And funk with her love to the shade of Elysium
Allotted for lovers like Jack and his Sue. Α. Ε.

And

SONG

XLIII.

THE SPINNING WHEEL. Set by Dr Arne.

To

O ease his heart, and own his flame,

Blithe Jockey to young Jenny came,
But, tho' she lik’d him paffing weel,
She careless turn'd her spinning wheel.

Her milk-white hand he did extol,
And prais'd her fingers long and small :
Unusual joy her heart did feel,
But still she turn'd her spinning wheel.

Then round about her slender waist He clasp'd his arms, and her embrac’d; To kiss her hand he down did kneel, But

yet she turn’d her spinning wheel.

With gentle voice she bid him rise,
He blefs'd her neck, her lips, and eyes :
Her fondness she could scarce conceal,
Yet still she turn’d her spinning wheel.

Till, bolder grown, so close he prefs'd, His wanton thoughts she quickly guess’d; Then push'd him from the rock and reel, And angry turn’d her spinning wheel.

At last when she began to chide, He fwore he meant her for his bride; 'Twas then her love she did reveal, And Aung away her fpinning wheel.

SONG

XLIV.

MINGLING OF SOUL S.

WOU Pu you know how we meet o’er our jolly

full bowls As we mingle our liquors, we mingle our souls ; The sweet melts the Tharp, the kind soothes the strong, And nothing but friendship grows all the night long : We drink, laugh, and celebrate every desire, Love only remains our unquenchable fire.

S O N G

XLV.

JESS Ą. M O N D MIL L.

TO

O sing of the nymph and her cot,

Each bard will oft flourith his quill, I'm glad it has fallen to my lot

To celebrate Jessamond mill.

When Spring hither winds her career,

Our trees and our hedges to fill ;