When filence each ev'ning here dwells,
The birds in coverts all still,
No mufic in sweetness excels
The clacking of Jeffamond mill.
Reclin'd by the verge of the stream,
Or ftretch'd on the fide of the hill,
I'm never in want of a theme,
While leering at Jeffamond mill.
Sure Venus fome plot has defign'd,
Or why is my heart never still,
Whenever it pops in my mind
To wander near Jeffamond mill.
My object, ye fwains, you will guefs,
If ever in love you had fkill;
And, faith, I will frankly confefs,
'Tis Jenny at Jeffamond mill.
EEP not, ye ftreams of filver Tay;
Nor mourn, ye flow'ry banks fae bonny!
Tho' wars have call'd my love away,
Heav'n will protect my faithful Johnny.
'Twas Fame that urg'd him to the field,
'Twas Fame infpir'd him thus to leave me ;
Pleas'd, I furvey'd the glitt'ring fhield,
But ah! how much our parting grieves me!
Let dad and fretful mother fcold,
And for fome richer laird defign me; Yet neither pow'r, nor pomp, nor gold, From youthful Johnny fhall incline me. 'Twas Fame, &c.As above.
What's wealth compar'd to him I love?
To him for ever fond to please me?
The live long day beneath the grove
To kifs, to clap, to bless and squeeze me!
'Twas Fame, &c.
Weep not, ye ftreams of filver Tay!
Nor mourn, ye flow'ry banks fae bonny!
Tho' arms allur'd my love away
Heav'n will return unhurt, my Johnny.
'Twas Fame, &c.
A DUET. Tune, Guardian Angels.
UARDIAN angels! hov'ring near me,
Save a lover fick with care!
Nor from faireft Myra tear me,
Oh! 'twill heighten my defpair!
May I with her spend the day,
In raptures pafs my years away;
And fhould I from thefe fhades remove,
Deign to waft along my love.
'HE fun from the eaft tips the mountains with gold,
And the meadows all fpangl'd with dew-drops be-
hold;
The lark's early matin proclaims the new day,
And the horn's chearful fummons rebukes our delay.
With the sports of the field there's no pleasure can vie,
While jocund we follow, follow, follow, follow,
Follow, follow, follow, follow, follow, follow,
Follow, follow, follow the hounds in full
Let the drudge of the town make riches his fport,
And the flave of the ftate hunt the fmiles of the court,
No care nor ambition our pleasures annoy,
But innocence ftill gives a zeft to our joy.
With the fports of the field, &c.
Mankind are all hunters in various degree;
The prieft hunts a living, the lawyer a fee;
The doctor a patient, the courtier a place;
Tho' often, like us, they're flung out with difgrace.
With the fports of the field, &c.
The cit hunts a plum, the foldier hunts fame;
The
poet a dinner, the patriot a name;
Let dad and fretful mother scold,
And for fome richer laird design me; Yet neither pow'r, nor pomp, nor gold, From youthful Johnny fhall incline me. 'Twas Fame, &c.- -As above.
What's wealth compar'd to him I love?
To him for ever fond to please me?
The live long day beneath the grove
To kifs, to clap, to bless and squeeze me
'Twas Fame, &c.
Weep not, ye ftreams of filver Tay!
Nor mourn, ye flow'ry banks fae bonny!
Tho' arms allur'd my love away
Heav'n will return unhurt, my Johnny.
'Twas Fame, &c.
A DUE T. Tune, Guardian Angels.
UARDIAN angels! hov'ring near me,
Save a lover fick with care!
Nor from faireft Myra tear me,
Oh! 'twill heighten my despair!
May I with her spend the day,
In raptures pass my years away;
And fhould I from thefe fhades remove,
Deign to waft along my love.
Come, ye Cupids! twine the myrtle,
Bring along the fweets of May,
Wreathe a flow'r enamel'd kirtle,
For my Myra's wedding day.
Innocence, and meek-ey'd Love,
Peace, inhabitant above,
Joys harmonious descend,
All our moments to attend.
HE fun from the eaft tips the mountains with gold, And the meadows all fpangl'd with dew-drops behold;
The lark's early matin proclaims the new day,
And the horn's chearful fummons rebukes our delay.
With the sports of the field there's no pleasure can vie,
While jocund we follow, follow, follow, follow,
Follow, follow, follow, follow, follow, follow,
Follow, follow, follow the hounds in full cry.
Let the drudge of the town make riches his fport,
And the flave of the state hunt the fmiles of the court,
No care nor ambition our pleasures annoy,
But innocence ftill gives a zeft to our joy.
With the fports of the field, &c.
Mankind are all hunters in various degree;
The prieft hunts a living, the lawyer a fee;
The doctor a patient, the courtier a place;
Tho' often, like us, they're flung out with difgrace.
With the fports of the field, &c.
The cit hunts a plum, the foldier hunts fame
The
poet a dinner, the patriot a name;
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