SONG V. Push about the JORUM. Sung by Mifs Catley. With fift on jugg, Or fhew me that glib speaker, Who her red rag In gibe can wag, With her mouth full of liquor. རས་�སར་་་་་ར SONG VI. The words from Shakespeare. Sung by Mifs Catley. COME OME live with me, and be my love, There will we fit upon the rocks, There will I make beds of rofes, A gown made of the finest wool Which from our pretty lambs we pull; Slippers lin'd choicely for the cold, A belt of ftraw, and ivy buds, With coral clafps, and amber studs: And if these pleasures may thee move, Then live with me, and be my love. The fhepherd fwains fhall dance and fing, SONG VII. THE NYMPH'S REPLY. Sung by Mifs Catley. IF F that the world and love were young, But time drives flocks from field to fold, When rivers rage, and rocks grow cold, And Philomel becometh dumb, And all complain of cares to come. The flowers do fade, and wanton fields Thy gowns, thy fhoes, thy beds of rofes, Thy belt of ftraw and ivy buds, Thy coral clafps, and amber ftuds; All thofe in me no means can move But could youth laft, and love still breed, WHEN the trees are all bare, not a leaf to be seen, And the meadows their beauty have loft, In the yard when the cattle are fodder'd with straw, While the ruftics laugh loud, if by falling, fhe shows, When the birds to the barn-door hover for food, And the poor timid hare in vain feeks the wood, Left her footsteps her path fhould betray; When the lads and the laffes together are got, And all close round the embers are fet, Talk of fairies, church-yards, and of ghofts, and what not, Till the laffes are all in a sweat; When the children, where puddles are froze, make their flides, And exercise there till they glow, And when black heavy clouds much foul weather betides, Drooping birds hop around in the fnow; When the bleak ftormy winds drive the fnow and the fleet, And no fowl's to be feen on the wing, While I gaze may I doat on her charms, and there meet With the bloom and the sweetness of spring. Heaven grant in that feason it may be my lot, That with her I fo love and admire, To be warm I may thither retire. Where in neatness and quiet, and free from surprise, May we live and no hardships endure, Nor feel any turbulent paffions arife, S Sung by Mifs Catley. HEPHERDS, I have loft my love, Pride of every fhady grove, I for her my home forfook, Never fhall I see them more, Until her returning, All the joys of life are o'er, From gladness chang'd to mourning. Whither is my charmer flown, Ο SONG X. Sung at Ranelagh. NE midfummer morning when nature look'd gay, The birds full of frolick, the lambs full of play, When earth feem'd to answer her fmiles from above, And all things proclaim'd it the season for love; My mother cried, Nancy go hafte to the mill, If the corn is not ground you may scold if you will. The freedom to use my tongue pleas'd me no doubt, For a woman, alas! would be nothing without; I went toward the mill without any delay, And conn'd o'er the words I intended to fay; But when I came near her, I found her ftock ftill, Blefs my ftars! now cried I, huff him rarely I will. The miller to market that instant was gone, And the work was all left to the care of his fon; And though I could fcold as well as any woman can, Yet I thought it would be wrong for to fcold the young man. I faid I'm furpris'd you can use me fo ill, Sir, I must have my corn ground, I must and I will. Sweet maid, cried the youth, the neglect is not mine, But hark how the birds fing, and hear how they bill, My corn being ground, I to home bent my way; |