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So I tell you with courage, By Jove I'll be free. your pow'r yet to ruin me,

The next was young Phillis, whom beauties adorn ;
She ferv'd you but right, Sir, to treat you with fcorn;
When the fox could not get the fweet grapes in his
pow'r,

He

gave

them a curfe, and he said they were four : So thofe nymphs that are wife, Sir, and won't ruin'd be, With fpleen 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

When there's no other way, you'll be glad of a cage.
your fever your pains to affuage,
When mirth, wine, and mufic no cordials can be,
May the fair one then answer, By Jove I'll be free.
I wish that all women would follow my rule;
Then foon, haughty Strephon, you'd look like a fool:
When Cupid has fhot with a well-pointed dart,

And made an

When trembling and pale, you approach the fair fhe,
May the 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 bleffing to fettle 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.

impreffion upon your vain heart,

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Αν

BANKS OF FORTH.

WAKE, my Love, with genial ray,
The fun returning gilds the day;

Awake, the balmy zephyr blows,
The hawthorn blooms, the daifie glows,
The trees regain their verdant pride,
The turtle wooes his tender bride,
To love, each warbler tunes the fong,
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 ftreams that murmur through the grove!
Bethink thee all is on the wing,

These pleasures wait on wafting spring;
Then come, the tranfient blifs enjoy;
Nor fear what fleets fo faft will cloy.

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Tune,-Charles of Sweden.

OME, jolly Bacchus, god of wine,
Crown this night with pleasure :

Let none at cares of life repine,
To deftroy our pleasure :

Fill up the mighty sparkling bowl,

That ev'ry true and loyal foul
May drink and fing without controul,
To fupport our pleasure.

Thus, mighty Bacchus, thou fhalt 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 fing thy praises that we may

Live and die with pleasure.

D

SONG XCVII.

HIGHLAND L A D.

Own by yon fhady grove, one day I chanc'd to rove,
To pafs the dull hours away:

Beneath a myrtle fhade I fpy'd a lovely maid,

On her spinnet fhe fweetly did play.

To yield me more delight, this charming lady bright,
In concert fhe fung very fad,

Unhappy maid am I, that fure of love must die,
For my bonny bonny Highland lad.

I drew a little near, the better for to hear,
And this charming creature fung on,

My love has crofs'd the fea, alas! he's gone from me,
This charming comely young man ;

His lovely air and mien may well deferve a queen,
Although that his fortune is bad;

But

yet I hope to fee my love before I die, Oh! my bonny bonny Highland lad.

Ye fates that rule above, preferve the man I love,
And keep him fecure from all harms;
Guardian angels too attend, my love for to defend,
And return him safe to my arms.

If in battle he is flain, all pleasure I'll difdain,

I'll rove

quite diftracted and mad;

There's none to cafe my care, the lofs I cannot bear
Of my bonny bonny Highland lad.

First when my love I'd feen one day in Aberdeen,
My fenfes were ravished quite;

He was proper, straight and tall, the comliest of them

I

all,

He's my only joy and delight;

near unto him drew, his bonnet it was blue,

He was drefs'd in his tartans and plaid;

A captive I became, and think it is no fhame,
For my bonny bonny Highland lad.

Oh! if I knew but where to find my dearest dear,
I would range the wide world all o'er;

To fea I would repair, dress'd in man's attire,

To find out the youth I adore.

Thro' lonely woods I'll stray, 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.

SONG XCVIII.

THE CHOICE OF A WIFE.

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, conftant 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 fhe black, brown or fair,
If fhe 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 fenfe and sweetness move,
And innocence, refining the tenderness of love;
From fcolding, and from fcandal, I'd have her tongue 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 condefcending to fuit herself and mine;
Of a chearful difpofition, with humour free and gay,
And fometimes with a fong for to pass an hour away.
Then I'd go no more a roving, &c.

It shall not be my study to court a leaden purse,
Altho' with that ingredient she will not be the worse;
Let modefty reserve be her property and choice,
Not over fond to cloy, and yet not over nice.
Then I'd go no more a roving, &c.

To heighten my affection and double all my joy,
A profpect I would have of a lovely girl or boy;
And out of what I have, for 'tis what I would allow,
I would charitable have her, and hospitable too.
Then I'd go no more a roving, &c.

This granted, I would freely my liberty refign, She fhould give me her heart and hand, and I would give her mine;

A monarch on his throne then unenvy'd should be, For home would be a paradife with fuch a girl as fhe. Then I'd go no more a roving, &c.

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SONG

XCIX.

THE CHOICE OF A HUSBAND.

Same Tune.

INCE honour has attended upon the marry'd state,
And from the torch of Hymen our happiness we

date;

If e'er the fates ordain it, that I should be a wife,
The picture I will draw of the

partner

Then I'd live no longer fingle,

Could but my influence

of my

A conqueft gain o'er such a swain,

Endu'd with manly sense

Then I'd live no longer fingle.

life.

The fop, the beau, the fribble, could ne'er my fancy take,. Nor yet would I admire the rattle headed rake;

H.

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