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He left his mates and flew to me,
And kiss'd my hand with merry glee:
Then led me forth beneath the vale,
(And gave me fweetmeats, cakes, and ale)
Where all the village gaily spent
The live-long night in merriment.

Not all the lads I daily fee,
With Sandy can compared be ;
He is the most accomplish'd youth,
For virtue, innocence, and truth;
His locks are as the raven black,
In flowing ringlets, down his back;
With rosy cheeks and face so neat,
And coral lips that kiss so sweet.

His cot is feated by a mill,
Adjoining to a chryttal rill ;
Upon whose verdant margin creep
(So sweet to view) his flock of sheep.
Next Easter day, less ill betide,
He's promis'd I shall be his bride :
Among the swains, alas ! how few,
Like Sandy, are so kind and true !

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HY heaves my fond bosom? ah! what can it

mean? Why flutters


heart that was once fo ferene? Why this fighing and trembling when Daphne is near? Or why, when she's absent, this sorrow and fear?

Methinks I for ever with wonder could trace The thousand soft charms that embellish thy face: Each moment I view thee, new beauties I find ! With thy face I am charm’d, but enslav'd by thy mind.

Untainted with folly, unfully'd with pride, There native good-humour and virtue reside; Pray heaven that virtue thy soul may supply, With compassion for him, who without thee must die.

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Where sweetly winding Fortha glides,
Conduct me to these banks again,

Since there my charming Molly bides.
These banks that breathe their vernal sweets,
Where ev'ry smiling beauty meets ;
Where Molly's charms adorn the plain,
And chear the heart of ev'ry swain.

Thrice happy were the golden days,

When I, amidst the rural throng,
On Fortha's meadows breath'd my lays,

And Molly's charms were all my song.
While she was present all were gay,
No forrow did our mirth allay ;
We sung of pleasure, fung of love,
And music breath'd in every grove.

O then was I the happiest swain !

No adverse fortune marr'd my joy ; The shepherds figh'd for her in vain,

On me she smil'd, to them was coy. O’er Fortha's mazy banks we stray'd : I woo'd, I lov'd the beauteous maid ; The beauteous maid my love return’d, And both with equal ardour burn’d.

Once on the graffy bank reclin’d,

Where Forth ran by in murmurs deep, It was my happy chance to find

The charming Molly lull'd asleep:


My heart then leapt with inward bliss,
I softly stoop'd, and stole a kiss;
She wak’d, The blush'd, and faintly blam'd,
Why, Damon, are ye not asham'd ?

Oft in the thick embow'ring groves,

Where birds their music chirp'd aloud, Alternately we sung our loves,

And Fortha's fair meanders view'd. The meadows wore a gen’ral smile, 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 swains our cares impart, Restore me to these bleft abodes,

And ease, oh ease! my lovesick heart ; These happy days again reftore, When Moll and I shall part no more ; When she shall fill these longing arms, And crown my bliss with all her charms.

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AIL no more, ye learned asses,

'Gainst the joys the bowl fupplies ; Sound its depth, and fill your glasses,

Wisdom at the bottom lies : Fill them higher ftill, and higher,

Shallow draughts perplex the brain; Sipping quenches all our fire,

Bumpers light it up again.

Draw the scene for wit and pleasure,

Enter jollity and joy :
We for thinking have no leisure,

Manly mirth is our employ;

Since in life there's nothing certain,

We'll the present hour engage;
And when death shall drop the curtain,

With applause we'll quit the stage.





HE filver moon's enamour'd beams

Steals softly through the night,
To wanton with the winding streams,

And kiss reflected light :
To courts begone! heart-foothing sleep,

Where you've so feldom been,
Whilft I May's wakeful vigil keep

With Kate of Aberdeen.

The nymphs and swains expectant wait,

In primrose chaplets gay,
Till morn unbars her golden gate,

And gives the promis’d May.
The nymphs and Iwains shall all declare

The promis'd May, when seen,
Not half fo fragrant, half so fair,

As Kate of Aberdeen.

I'U tune my pipe to playful notes,

And rouse your nodding grove,
Till new-wak'd birds diftrain their throats,

And hail the maid I love.
At her approach the lark mistakes,
And quits the new-dress’d

green: Fond birds, 'tis not the morning breaks,

Tis Kate of Aberdeen,

Now blithsome o'er the dewy mead,

Where elves disportive play,
The feftal dance young shepherds lead,

Or sing their love-tun'd lay,

Till May, in morning-robe, draws nigh,

And claims a virgin-queen:
The nymps and swains exulting cry,

6 Here's Kate of Aberdeen.”

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Whose life is a series of pain without end,
For ever depriv'd of hope’s all chearing ray,
Nor know what it is to be happy a day.

Obey then the summons, the bottle invites,
Drink deep, and I'll warrant it sets you to rights.

Did Neptune's falt element run with fresh wine,
Tho' all Europe's powers together combine,
Our brave British failors need ne'er care a jot,
Surrounded with plenty of such rare grape-shot.

Obey then the summons, &c.

Was each dull pedantical text spinning vicar
To leave off dry preaching and fick to his liquor,
O how would he wish for that

power divine,
To change, when he would, simple water to wine.

Obey then the summons, &c.

If wine then can miracles work fuch as these, And give to the troubl'd mind comfort and ease, Despair not, that blessing in Bacchus you'll find, Who showers his gifts for the good of mankind.

Obey then the summons, &c.





ITH the man that I love was I deftin’d to dwell
On a mountain, a moor, in a cot, in a cell ;

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