She vow'd she was ruin'd: I said it might be :
I'm sorry, my dear, but by Jove I'll be free, &c.
The next was young Phillis, as bright as the morn;
The love that I proffer'd she treated with scorn.
I laugh'd at her folly, and told her my mind,
That none can be handsome, but such as are kind;
Her pride and ill-nature were lost
upon me;
For in spite of fair faces, by Jove I'll be free, &c.
Let others call marriage the harbour of joys,
Calm peace I delight in, and fly from all noise ;
Some chuse to be hamper'd, 'tis sure a strange rage,
Like birds they fing best when put in a cage.
Confinement's the devil, 'twas ne'er made for me,
Let who will be bound slaves, by Jove I'll be free, &c.
Then let cach brisk bumper run over the glass,
In a toast to the young and the beautiful lass,
Whose yielding and ease prescribes no dull rule,
Nor thinks it a wonder a lover should cool:
Let us bill like the sparrow, and rove like the bee,
For, in spite of grave lessons, by Jove I'll be free, &c.
OW dare you, bold Strephon, presume thus to prat,
To boast of your freedom, since not long ago
That you were a llave to fair Chloe you know !
When the next arrow comes, I wish't be from me,
Then I'd give you that answer, By Jove I'll be free.
You say that young Daphne you brought to disgrace ; I thank my kind stars, that is none of my
cafe I'll take special care, Sir, of yielding too soon, Nor will I despair at the change of the moon;
It was ne'er in your pow'r yet to ruin me,
So I tell you with courage, By Jove I'll be free.
The next was young Phillis, whom beauties adorn ;
She serv'd you but right, Sir, to treat you with scorn;
When the fox could not get the sweet grapes in his
pow'r,
He gave them a curse, and he said they were four :
So those nymphs that are wise, Sir, and won't ruin'd be,
With spleen you despair of, yet cry, I'll be free.
Although you make sport, Sir, of the marriage-state,
Remember proud Strephon, it may be your fate ;
In the heat of your fever your pains to assuage,
When there's no other way, you'll be glad of a cage.
When mirth, wine, and music no cordials can be,
May the fair one then anfwer, By Jove I'll be free.
I wish that all women would follow my
rule ; Then soon, haughty Strephon, you'd look like a fool : When Cupid has shot with a well-pointed dart, And made an impreffion upon your vain heart, When trembling and pale, you approach the fair she, May she answer you coldly, By Jove I'll be free. But give me the man that can love without feint, (For natural beauty is far before paint,) Who thinks it a blessing to settle for life, And knows how to value a virtuous wife : With patience I'll wait till I find the kind he, And then I'll no longer defire to be free.
Awake, the balmy zephyr blows,
The hawthorn blooms, the daisie glows,
The trees regain their verdant pride,
The turtle wooes his tender bride,
To love, each warbler tunes the song,
And Forth, in dimples, glides along.
O more than blooming daifies fair !
More fragrant than the vernal air !
More gentle than the turtle dove,
Or streams that murmur through the grove !
Bethink thee all is on the wing,
These pleasures wait on wafting spring ;
Then come, the transient bliss enjoy ;
Nor fear what feets so fast will cloy.
NOME, jolly Bacchus, god of wine,
Crown this night with pleasure :
Let none at cares of life repine,
To destroy our pleasure :
Fill up the mighty sparkling bowl,
That ev'ry true and loyal soul
May drink and fing without controul,
To support our pleasure.
Thus, mighty Bacchus, thou shalt be
Guardian to our treasure,
That under thy protection we
May enjoy new pleasure.
And as the hours glide away,
We'll in thy name invoke their stay,
And sing thy praises that we may
Live and die with pleasure.
DOwn by yon shady grove, one day I chanc'd to rove,
To pass the dull hours away:
Beneath a myrtle shade I spy'd a lovely maid,
On her spinnet she sweetly did play.
To yield me more delight, this charming lady bright,
In concert she sung very lad,
For my bonny bonny Highland lad.
I drew a little near, the better for to hear,
And this charming creature sung on,
My love has cross’d the sea, alas ! he's gone
This charming comely young man;
His lovely air and mien may well deserve a queen,
Although that his fortune is bad ;
Oh! my bonny bonny Highland lad.
I hope to see my love before I die,
Ye fates that rule above, preserve the man I love,
And keep him secure from all harms;
Guardian angels too attend, my love for to defend,
And return him safe to my arms.
If in battle he is sain, all pleasure I'll disdain,
I'll rove quite diftracted and mad;
There's none to ease my care, the loss I cannot bear
Of my bonny bonny Highland lad.
First when my love I'd seen one day in Aberdeen,
He was proper, straight and tall, the comlieft of them
My senses were ravished quite;
Oh! if I knew but where to find my dearest dear,
I would range the wide world all o’er;
To sea I would repair, dress’d in man's attire,
To find out the youth I adore.
Thro' lonely woods I'll ftray, and flow'ry meadows gay,
I will leave my mammy and dad,
And never will return, but always figh and mourn
For my bonny bonny Highland lad.
N city, town, and village, my fancy oft hath rov'd,
A Phillis and a Chloe I ev'ry where have lov'd; But, tired with variety, to marriage I'm inclin'd, Would fortune only grant me a partner to my mind.
Then I'd go no more a roving,
But, constant as the dove,
My time I'd pass, with such a lass,
In harmony and love.
Then I'd go no more a roving.
I care not for complexion, be the black, brown or fair,
If she has but difcretion, and meaning in her air ;
Her Shape I would have graceful, to pride and folly blind,
To mind the one thing needful, to cultivate her mind.
Then I'd go no more a roving, &c.
An animated form, where sense and sweetness move,
And innocence, refining the tenderness of love ;
From scolding, and from scandal, I'd have hertongue be free,
And always neat and clean keep herself and family.
Then I'd go more a roving, &c.
I'd have a juft decorum in all her actions shine,
With a temper condescending to suit herself and mine
Of a chearful disposition, with humour free and gay,
And sometimes with a song for to pass an hour away.
Then I'd go no more a roving, &c.
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