And the artful coquette, tho' fhe feems to refuse, Let the bold and the bufy hunt glory and wealth, All the bleffings we afk is the bleffing of health; With hounds and with horns thro' the woodlands to roam, And when tir'd abroad find contentment at home. M SONG my XLIX. Y dog and Go Mifs where fhe will, and whenever fhe pleafe, One woman's the fame as another to me; So, in fpite of her airs, I'll not make the least ftrife, I laugh at the wretches who ftupidly pine, But that which is found in the bowl or the flask; The girl that behaves with good humour and fenfe, Shall still to my heart have the warmest pretence; And for thofe that would jilt me, deceive, and betray, In honefter bumpers I'll wash them away. 'Tis my final resolve, not to make the leaft ftrife, But be cheary, and merry, and happy thro' life, SONG L. THE WISH. By a Lady. Fever, O Hymen, I add to thy tribe, defcribe, Be manly his prefence, engaging his air, When fuch a bleft youth fhall approve my small charms, And no thoughts of intereft his bofom alarms, In wedlock I'll join with a mutual defire, And prudence fhall cherish the wavering fire. Thus life will glide on unperceiv'd in decay, Each night fhall be blifsful, and happy each day. Such a partner, grant heaven! with my prayers comply; Or a maid let me live, and a maid let me die. SK you who is finging here, Who fo blithe can thus appear? I'm the child of joy and glee, And my name's Variety. Ne'er have I a clouded face, Like a bird that skims the air, Here and there and ev'ry where, Love's fweet paffion warms my breast, Crouded fcenes and lonely grove, ALL hail to the day that merits more praise Than all other days in the year; And bless'd be the night that giveth delight May good fortune attend every honeft man's friend, Let mifery pack, and a whip at her back, And let envy be drown'd in a river profound, May forrow's expence come a thousand years hence, For we'll spend the whole night in an honeft delight, The courtiers of ftate fet open their gate, But by all report, both of city and court, Now let each individual shake hands with a grace ; The honeft man's hand, and the honest man's heart ; SONG LIV. TULLOCHGORUM. Written by a Clergyman at Aberdeen. Fiddlers, your pins in temper fix, Frae out your quorum, Nor fortes wi pianos mix, Gie's Tullochgorum. HOME gie's a fang, the lady cry'd, COME What fignifies't for folks to chide To drop their whipmegmorum. Let Whig and Tory all agree, The reel of Tullochgorum. R. FERGUSSON. |