SONG XXXIX. ADVICE TO THE LADIES. Y Pray Larry a while and attend to my fong; E nymphs, and ye fhepherds, that join in the throng, The ftory, tho' fimple, is true that I tell, I went t'other day to a walk on the green, And met with a lafs fair as beauty's gay queen; I afk'd for a kifs, but the damfel faid 'No, And struggl'd and frown'd, and cry'd Pray let me go. I tenderly cried, Phillis don't be a prude; But ftill fhe return'd, I'll cry out if you're rude: The more that I prefs'd her, the more fhe cried No, And ftruggl'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 fent for a parfon, and made her my wife, And now I am welcome to kifs her for life. Ye virgins that hear, learn example from this, S ONG XL. Sung by Mr Beard. HO has e'er been at Baldock muft needs know the mill, WH At the fign 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 fo fair, But, looking again, I perceiv'd my mistake, Prometheus ftole fire, as the poets all fay, Since firft I beheld the dear lafs of the mill, Hold, hold, fays my neighbour, here ftop thy career, Prithee finish thy fong, and let's drink to the fair: Pray where ftands the bottle? full brimmers we'll fill, Let's all drink the health of the lafs of the mill. Pray where, &c. N Tay's fair banks you've often faid, And you'd do all to please your maid, But fear'd my I heed not dad, Love gives lot was far above ye. nor mother's fcorn; We for each other fure are born, to me my lad fae bonny, ye, Then take me to your arms my Johnny! My birth they say was high, and so, I heed not dad, &c.As above. But fince I speak my honeft mind, And fwear that you're the fwain to please me, I know your heart is good and true SONG XLII. THE WAIL OF SUSAN. 'ER all the wide ocean the billows were rolling, 'Mid torrents of hail the dread thunder did roar; And loud from the mountains the tempeft was howling, When Sue fat to welcome her lover on fhore. "On me, ye rude winds! (faid fhe) vent all your fury, "Why o'er the deep ocean fo boift'roufly roar ye? "Oh! fpare in your ire my dear Jack, I implore ye! "And fend him fafe back to the arms of his Sue!" Now full in her view, o'er the foaming waves driven, Difmafted and shatter'd, the veffel appears; Defpairing and wild, fhe addrefs'd her to Heaven, And tore her foft treffes, 'mid torrents of tears. "Avaunt, ye rude billows! cease farther to move here! "Ye hurricanes dreadful! your bluft'ring give over, "Nor cruelly twin a fond maid of her lover! "Ah! what, if Jack's drown'd, will become of his "Sue? Alas, haplefs nymph! how prophetic thy doubts are! How fruitlefs thy ftay! well-a-day! and how vain! In view o'er the waves, fee! your Jack lifeless floats there, A victim, ah me! to the rage of the main! Now frantic, now fpeechlefs, fhe ftedfaftly views him, "Yet bear him, kind billows! (the cries) to my bo "fom! "Within my fond arms I'll for ever inclose him, "Nor fhall cruel death fep'rate Jack from his Sue!" To burft with deep fighs her fair bofom was ready, A. E. SONG XLIII. THE SPINNING WHEEL. Set by Dr Arne. T O eafe his heart, and own his flame, Her milk-white hand he did extol, But ftill fhe turn'd her spinning wheel. Then round about her flender waist With gentle voice she bid him rife, He blefs'd her neck, her lips, and eyes : Her fondness she could fcarce conceal, Yet ftill fhe turn'd her fpinning wheel. Till, bolder grown, so close he prefs'd, His wanton thoughts fhe quickly guefs'd; Then push'd him from the rock and reel, And angry turn'd her fpinning wheel. At laft when she began to chide, He fwore he meant her for his bride; 'Twas then her love fhe did reveal, And flung away her fpinning wheel. As we mingle our liquors, we mingle our fouls; The sweet melts the sharp, the kind foothes the ftrong, JESSA MOND MILL. T O fing of the nymph and her cot, Each bard will oft flourish his quill, I'm glad it has fallen to my To celebrate Jeffamond mill. When Spring hither winds her career, Our trees and our hedges to fill; ** |