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To oblige him, and 'cause that I would not be cross,

I presently quitted my pails ;
He pulld me down gently on a bed of green

moss And kiss’d me I should not tell tales.

I ftrove to get up, but he still kept me down ;

I begg’d to go home with my pails :
He vow'd, to such pitch his fond passion was grown,

He'd wed-but I must not tell tales.

So gently he woo'd, and so warmly he preft,

That Í little more thought of my pails, Till beyond all escaping, † found him poflest Of heart-but I must not tell tales.


He folemnly swore that he'd make me his wife,

And ease me of carrying pails; If he don't

, why, as sure as a muscle has life, If I'm filent, there is one will tell tales.

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ET the grave and the gay enjoy life how they may,

My pleasures their pleasures surpass;
Go the world well or ill, 'tis the same with me still,

If I have but my friend and my glass.
The lover may figh, the courtier may

lie, And Croesús his treasure amass ; All the joys are but vain that are blended with pain ; So I'l Atand by my

friend and my glass.
New life wine inspires, and creates new desires,

And oft wins the lover his lass,
Or his courage prepares to disdain the nymph's airs ;
So I'll stand by my friend and my glass.


The earth fucks the rain, the sun draws the main,

With the earth we are all in a class;
Then enliven the clay, let us live while we may,

And I'll stand by my friend and my glass.

'Tis friendship and wine only life can refine :

We care not whate'er comes to pass With courtiers or great men, there's none of us ftatesmen:

Come-Here's to our friend and our glass.




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Nelly ! no longer thy Sandy now mourn,
Let music and pleasure abound without measure,

Let music and pleasure, &c.
O’er hillocks, or mountains, or low in the burn,
Or, thro' the wood, laffie, until thou return.

Thro' the wood, laflie, thro' the wood, laflie,
Thro' the wood, thro' the wood,

Thro' the wood, lassie;
O'er hillocks, o'er mountains, &c.

Since I have been absent from thee, my dear Nell, No content, no delight have I known day or night ; The murmuring stream, and the hill's echo, tell How thro' the wood, laffie, I breath'd my fad knell.

Thro' the wood, &c.

And now to all forrow I'll bid full adieu, And, with joy, like a dove, I'll return to my love: The maxim of loving in truth let us know, Then thro' the wood, laffie, we'll bonnily go. Thro' &c.

Come lads, and come lasses, be blithfome and gay, Let

your hearts merry be, and both full of glee: The Highlands shall reign with the joy of the day, When thro' the wood, happy, we'll dance, fing, and play.

Thro' the wood, &c.

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On her eyes my eyes


O’er her smooth limbs my hand did stray ;
Each sense was ravish'd with delight,
And my foul stood prepar'd for flight:
Blame me not, if at last I meant,
More to be pleas’d than innocent.

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RITONS, loyal and bold,

Who would never be controul'd
By the French. See the bravest of his fex,

British Wolfe, stout and good,

Made the rivers run with blood,
At the glorious conquest of Quebec.


Brave Wolfe was our commander,

was their defender, Their numbers did us sorely dismay:

But brave Wolfe, stout and bold,

He would never be contrould, And his last dying word was,--Huzza!

Contented I die,

Since we've gain'd the victory,

tell me the battle is our own;

soul depart in peace, And the wars for ever cease, Since


life for fair Britain is gone.

The Highlanders, in hot blood,

And failors, stout and rude, Like madmen did clash them away :

When the French began to run,

We advanced on their ground;
But our grief was for Wolfe-Oh that day!

Then the city it surrender'd,

The gates straight we enter'd; Our ships in the harbour lay thick.

We thanked the Most High

For this fignal victory,
At the glorious conquest of Quebec.

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N the dead of the night, when with labour oppressid,

All mortals enjoy the calm blessings of reft, Cupid knock'd at my door, I awoke with the noise, And who is it, I call'd, that my feep thus deftroys ?

You need not be frighten'd, he answer'd fo mild,
Let me in ; I'm a little unfortunate child;
'Tis a dark rainy night; and I'm wet to the skin;
And my way I have loft, and do, pray, let me in.

I was mov'd with compaffion; and, striking a light, I open’d the door, when a boy stood in fight,



Who had wings on his shoulders ; the rain from him

dropp'd, With a bow and arrows too he was equipp'd.

I stirr'd up my fire, and close by its fide,
I set him down by me, with napkins I dry'd,
I chaff'd him all over, kept out the cold air,
And I wrung,

with my hands, the wet out of his hair.

He from wet and from cold was no sooner at ease,
But taking up his bow, he said, If you please
We will try it; I wou'd by experiment know
If the wet hath not damag'd the string of my


Forthwith from his quiver an arrow he drew, To the string he apply'd it, and twang went the yew ; The arrow was gone : in my bosom it cen r'd, No sting of a hornet more sharp ever enter'd.

Away skipp'd the urchin, as brisk as a bee, And laughing, I wish you much joy, friend, quoth he ; My bow is undamag'd, for true went the dart ; But you will have trouble enough with your


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HOME all you young lovers, who, wan with despair,

Compofe idle fonnets, and figh for the fair,
Who puff up their pride by enhancing their charms,
And tell them, 'tis heav'n to lie in their arms :
Be wise, by example take pattern from me,
For let whát will happen, by Jove I'll be free.
For let what will happen, &c.
Young Daphne I saw, in the net I was caught,
I ly'd and I Aatter'd, as custom had taught :
I press'd her to bless, which the granted full foon;
But the date of my passion expir'd with the moon ;

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