Untainted with folly, unfully'd with pride, There native good-humour and virtue refide; Pray heaven that virtue thy foul may supply, With compaffion for him, who without thee must die. SONG CV. Tune,-Banks of Forth. YE fylvan pow'rs that rule the plain, Where fweetly winding Fortha glides, Since there my charming Molly bides. Thrice happy were the golden days, O then was I the happiest swain! No adverse fortune marr'd my joy; The fhepherds figh'd for her in vain, On me fhe fmil'd, to them was coy. Once on the graffy bank reclin'd, My heart then leapt with inward blifs, She wak'd, the blufh'd, and faintly blam'd, Oft in the thick embow'ring groves, Where birds their mufic chirp'd aloud, Alternately we fung our loves, And Fortha's fair meanders view'd. The meadows wore a gen'ral fmile, Love was our banquet all the while; The lovely profpect charm'd the eye, To where the ocean met the sky. Ye fylvan pow'rs, ye rural gods, To whom we fwains our cares impart Reftore me to these bleft abodes, And ease, oh eafe! my lovefick heart; These happy days again reftore, When Moll and I fhall part no more; When fhe fhall fill these longing arms, And crown my blifs with all her charms. RALL, no more, ye learned affes, 'Gainft the joys the bowl fupplies; Sound its depth, and fill your glaffes, Wisdom at the bottom lies: Fill them higher ftill, and higher, Draw the scene for wit and pleasure, We for thinking have no leifure, Since in life there's nothing certain, Weexesxesxesxe & awesÑE SONG CVII. MAY-EVE: OR, KATE OF ABERDEEN HE filver moon's enamour'd beams Steals foftly through the night, To wanton with the winding ftreams, To courts begone! heart-foothing fleep, The nymphs and fwains expectant wait, I'll tune my pipe to playful notes, And roufe your nodding grove, Till new-wak'd birds diftrain their throats, At her approach the lark mistakes, And quits the new-drefs'd green: Fond birds, 'tis not the morning breaks, 'Tis Kate of Aberdeen. Now blithfome o'er the dewy mead, The feftal dance young fhepherds lead, Till May, in morning-robe, draws nigh, The nymps and fwains exulting cry, THE CHARMS OF A BOTTLE. YE mortals, whom forrow and trouble attend, Whose life is a series of pain without end, Obey then the fummons, the bottle invites, Did Neptune's falt element run with fresh wine, Was each dull pedantical text spinning vicar If wine then can miracles work fuch as these, And give to the troubl'd mind comfort and ease, Defpair not, that bleffing in Bacchus you'll find, Who fhowers his gifts for the good of mankind. Obey then the fummons, &c. ***********: SONG ************ CIX. WITH the man that I love was I deftin'd to dwell On a mountain, a moor, in a cot, in a cell; Retreats the most barren, moft defart, would be Let the vain, and the venal, in wedlock aspire L SONG CX. A FAVOURITE NEW SONG. ET the tempeft of war be heard from afar, Let the brave, if they will, by their valour or skill, To live fafe, and retire, is what I defire, For in them I obtain true peace, without pain; In fome cottage or cell, like a fhepherd, to dwell, In a peaceable life, to be bleft with a wife, |