The Charms of melody: or, A choice collection of the most approved songs, catches, duets, &c.

2009-04

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THE CHARMS of MELODY: OR, A CHOICE COLLECTION OF THE MOST APPROVED SONGS, CATCHES, DUETS, &c.

PHILADELPHIA: PRINTED BY M. CAREY, For THOMAS SEDDON, MARKET-STREET. M.DCC.LXXXVIII.

[Page ii]

INDEX

A rose tree in full bearing, 6
As I went to the wake that is held on the green, 55
As down on Banna's banks I stray'd, 85
As you mean to set sail for the land of delight, 77
Ask if yon damask rose is sweet, 50
A bumper of good liquor, 55
Ah! sure a pair was never seen, 13
Attend, ye nymphs, while I impart, 56
By the gaily circling glass, 77
By him we love offended, 59
Blest as th' immortal gods is he, 75
Believe my sighs, my tears, my dear, 78
Blow, blow, thou winter's wind, 58
Cease, gay seducers, pride to take, 32
Come, haste to the wedding, 7
Come, jolly Bacchus, god of wine, 15
Come, now, all ye social pow'rs, 28
Come, live with me, and be my love, 51
Could I her faults remember, 54
Contented I am, and contented I'll be, 63
Dear Tom, this brown jug, 6
Down the burn and through the mead, 26
Dear heart! what a terrible life I am led! 66
Dear Chloe, come, give me sweet kisses, 87
Encompass'd in an angel's frame, 11
Farewell to Lochaber, and farewell, my Jean, 30
Farewell ye green fields, and sweet groves, 66
Fill your glasses: banish grief: 44
Give Isaac the nymph who no beauty can boast 35
Give me but a wife, I expect not to find, 35
Guardian angels, now protect me, 40
Go, rose, my Chloe's bosom grace, 59
Had I a heart for falshood fram'd, 31
Here's to the maiden of bashful fifteen, 53
Hope! thou nurse of young desire, 36
How blest the maid whose bosom, 37
How imperfect is expression, ibid
[Page iii]How happy were my days till now? 50
How blithe was I each morn to see, 92
How blest has my time been! 93
How oft, Louisa, hast thou said, 25
If o'er the cruel tyrant, love, 89
In the social enjoyments of life let me live, 90
In penance for past folly, 60
In love there should meet a fond pair, 82
If love's a sweet passion, how can it torment, 79
I wanna marry any man but Sandy o'er the lee, 80
I have seriously weigh'd it, and find it but just, 57
I am marry'd, and happy. With wonder hear this, 42
I lock'd up all my treasure, 65
Jolly mortals, fill your glasses, 41
Let masonry from pole to pole, 13
Let rakes and libertines, resign'd, 32
Let's be jovial—fill your glasses, 42
Leave off this idle prating, 38
Lovely nymph, assuage my anguish, 81
My banks are all furnish'd with bees, 43
My lodging is on the cold ground, 12
My heart's my own, my will is free, 27
My temples with clusters of grapes I'll entwine, 16
My Sandy is the sweetest swain, 81
My Nancy quits the rural train, 85
O bonny lass will you lie in a garret? 17
O the days when I was young! 14
O Sandy, why leav'st thou thy Nelly to mourn, 8
O Nelly, no longer thy Sandy now mourns, 9
Oh! had I been by fate decreed, 43
Push about the brisk bowl: 'twill enliven the heart, 67
Rail no more ye learn'd asses, 83
Shepherds, I have lost my love, 25
Since laws are made for ev'ry degree, 96
Since wedlock's in vogue, 90
Sleep on, sleep on, my Kathleen dear, 5
The wealthy fool, with gold in store, 5
The wand'ring sailor ploughs the main, 10
The wanton god, who pierces hearts, 23
The silver moon's enamour'd beam, 29
[Page iv]The world, my dear Myra, is sull of deceit, 31
The soldier, tir'd of war's alarms, 33
The pride of all nature was sweet Willy O, 48
The bird, that hears her nestlings cry, ibid
The lowland lads think they are fine, 62
The heavy hours are almost past, 65
The modes of the court so common are grown, 73
The virgin, when soften'd by May, 74
The sun from the east tips the mountains with gold, 88
Though prudence may press me, 33
To ease his heart and own his flame, 23
To heal the smart a bee had made, 83
There was a jolly miller once, 18
There was once, it is said, 69
'Twas summer, and softly the breezes were blowing, 49
Vows of love should ever bind, 82
When war's alarms had hurry'd Willy from me, 34
When trees did bud, and fields were green, 39
When all the Attic fire was sled, 54
When the trees are all bare, not a leaf to be seen, 62
When innocent pastime our pleasures did crown, 84
When late I wander'd o'er the plain, 94
While the lads of the village shall merrily, ah! 24
What bard, O time, discover, 27
What shepherd, or nymph of the grove, 75
Was I a shepherd's maid, to keep, 84
Water parted from the sea, 82
Would you taste the noontide air, 77
With woman and wine I defy ev'ry care, 16
With tuneful pipe, and merry glee, 51
Well met, pretty nymph, says a jolly young swain, 68
Ye sportsmen draw near, and ye sportswomen too, 95
Ye belles, and ye flirts, and ye pert little things, 45
Ye virgins, attend, 47
Ye fair married dames who so often deplore, 20
Ye fair, possess'd of ev'ry charm, ibid
Ye fair who shine throughout this land, 21
Young Jamie loo'd me weel, and ask'd me for his bride, 52
You tell me I'm handsome, 95

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THE CHARMS of MELODY.

SONG 1. Poor Soldier.

SLEEP on, sleep on, my Kathleen dear,
May peace possess thy breast;
Yet dost thou dream thy true love's here,
Depriv'd of peace and rest?

The birds sing sweet, the morning breaks,
Those joys are none to me;
'Tho' sleep is fled, poor Dermot wakes
To none, but love and thee!

SONG 2. Poor Soldier.THE wealthy sool, with gold in store,
Will still desire to grow richer;
Give me but health, I ask no more,
My little girl, my friend, and pither.
My friend so rare,
My girl so fair;
With such, what mortal can be richer?
Give 
 [...] but these, a fig for care,
With my sweet girl, my friend, and pitcher.

[Page 6]Tho' fortune ever shuns my door,
(I know not what can thus bewitch her)
With all my heart: can I be poor,
With my sweet girl, my friend, and pitcher?
My friend so rare,
My girl so fair, &c.

SONG 3. Poor Soldier.
DUET.

HE.

A Rose tree in full bearing,
Had sweet flowers fair to see;
One rose beyond comparing,
For beauty attracted me.
Tho' eager then to win it,
Lovely, blooming, fresh, and gay;
I find a canker in it,
And now throw it far away.

SHE.

How fine this morning early,
All sunshiny, clear, and bright!
So late I lov'd you dearly,
Tho' lost now each fond delight.
The clouds seem big with showers,
Sunny beams no more are seen;
Farewell ye fleeting hours,
Your falsehood has chang'd the scene.

SONG 4. Poor Soldier.

DEAR Tom, this brown jug, that now foam with mild ale,
Out of which I now drink to sweet Nan of the vale,

[Page 7]Was once Toby Philpot, a thirsty old soul,
As e'er crack'd a bottle, or fathom'd a bowl.
In boozing about, 'twas his praise to excel,
And among jolly topers he bore off the bell.

It chanc'd in the dog-days, as he sat at his ease,
In his flow'r-woven arbour, as gay as you please,
With a friend and a pipe, puffing sorrow away,
And with honest old stingo was soaking his clay,
His breath-doors of life on a sudden were shut,
And he died full as big as a Dorchester but.

His body, when long in the ground it had lain,
And time, into clay, had dissolv'd it again,
A potter found out in it's covert so snug,
And with part of fat Toby he form'd this brown jug,
Now sacred to friendship, and mirth, and mild ale:
So here's to my lovely sweet Nan of the vale.

SONG 5. The Country Wedding.

COME haste to the wedding, ye friends and ye neighbours,
The lovers their bliss can no longer delay:
Forget all your sorrows, your cares, and your labours,
And let ev'ry heart beat with rapture to day.
Come, come, one and all,
Attend to my call,
And revel in pleasures that never can cloy;
Come see
Rural felicity,
Which love and innocence ever enjoy.
Come see, &c.

[Page 8]
Let envy and pride, let hate and ambition,
Still crowd to, and bias the breasts of the great;
To such wretched passions we give no admission,
But leave them alone to the wise ones of state,
We boast of no wealth,
But contentment and health;
In mirth and in friendship our moments employ.
Come see, &c.

With reason we taste of each heart-stirring pleasure;
With reason, we drink of the full-flowing bowl,
Are jocund and gay, but all within measure,
For fatal excess but enslaves the free soul.
Come, come at our bidding,
To this happy wedding,
No care shall obtrude here, our bliss to annoy.
Come see, &c.

SONG 6. Thro' the Wood, Laddie.

O Sandy, why leav'st thou thy Nelly to mourn?
Thy presence cou'd ease me,
When naething can please me:
Thy presence cou'd ease me,
Now dowie I sigh, on the banks of the burn,
Or thro' the wood, laddie, until thou return.
Thro' the wood, laddie, thro' the wood, laddie,
Thro' the wood, thro' the wood,
Thro' the wood, laddie;
Now dowie I sigh, &c.

Tho' woods now are bonny, and mornings are clear,
While lav'rocks are singing,
And primroses springing;

[Page 9]Yet nane of them pleases my eye or my ear,
When through the wood, laddie, ye dinna appear.
Thro' the wood, &c.

That I am forsaken, some spare not tell:
I am fash'd wi' their scorning,
Baith ev'ning and morning;
Their jeering gaes aft to my heart wi' a knell,
When thro' the wood, laddie, I wander mysell.
Thro' the wood, &c.

Then stay, my dear Sandy, nae langer away,
But quick as an arrow,
Haste here to thy marrow,
Wha's living in languor till that happy day,
When thro' the wood, laddie, we'll dance, sing, and play.

SONG 7.

O Nelly! no longer thy Sandy now mourns,
Let music and pleasure
Abound without measure,
Let music and pleasure, &c.
O'er hillocks, or mountains, or low in the burn,
Or, thro' the wood, lassie, until thou return.
Thro' the wood, lassie, thro' the wood, lassie,
Thro' the wood, thro' the wood,
Thro' the wood, lassie;
O'er hillocks, or mountains, &c.

Since I have been absent from thee, my dear Nell,
No content, no delight,
Have I known day or night;
The murmuring stream, and the hill's echo tell,
How thro' the wood, lassie, I breath'd my sad knell,
Thro' the wood, &c.

[Page 10]
And now to all sorrow I'll bid full adieu,
And, with joy, like a dove,
I'll return to my love:
The maxim of loving, in truth let us know,
Then thro' the wood, lassie, we'll bonnily go,
Thro' the wood, &c.

Come lads, and come lassies, be blithsome and gay,
Let your hearts merry be,
And both full of glee:
The highlands shall ring with the joy of the day,
When thro' the wood, happy, we'll dance, sing and play.
Thro'the wood, &c.

SONG 8. The wandering sailor.

THE wand'ring sailor ploughs the main,
A competence in life to gain;
Undaunted, braves the stormy seas,
To find at last content and ease;
In hopes, when toil and danger's o'er,
To anchor on his native shore.

When winds blow hard, and mountain roll,
And thunders shake from pole to pole;
Tho' dearthful waves surrounding foam,
Still flatt'ring fancy wafts him home;
In hopes, when toil and danger's o'er,
To anchor on his native shore.

When round the bowl the jovial crew
The early-scenes of youth renew;
Tho' each his fav'rite fair will boast,

[Page 11]This is the universal toast,
May we, when toil and danger's o'er,
Cast anchor on our native shore!

SONG 9. Anna's urn.

ENCOMPASS'D in an angel's frame.
An angel's virtue lay:
Too soon did heav'n assert its claim,
And call'd its own away.
My Anna's worth, my Anna's charms,
Can never more return;
What then shall fill these widow'd arms?
Ah me! my Anna's urn.

Can I forget that bliss refin'd,
Which, blest with her, I knew?
Our hearts in sacred bonds entwin'd,
Were bound by love most true.
That rural train which once were us'd
In festive dance to turn,
So pleas'd when Anna they amus'd,
Now, weeping, deck her urn.

The soul escaping from its chain,
She clasp'd me to her breast,
To part with thee is all my pain,
She cried, then sunk to rest.
While mem'ry shall her seat retain,
From beauteous Anna torn,
My heart shall breathe its mournful strain,
Of sorrow o'er her urn.

There with the earliest dawn, a dove

[Page 12]Laments her murder'd mate;
There Philomela, lost to love,
Tells the pale moon her fate.
With yew and ivy round me spread,
My Anna there I'll mourn;
For all my soul, now she is dead,
Concenters in her urn.

SONG 10. A favourite mad song.

MY lodging is on the cold ground,
And very hard is my fate;
But that which grieves me more, love,
Is the coldness of my dear:
Yet still she cried, turn love,
I pray thee love turn to me;
For thou art the only girl, love,
That is ador'd by me.

With a garland of straw I will crown thee, love,
I'll marry you with a rush ring:
Thy frozen heart shall melt with love,
So merrily I shall sing.
Yet still, &c.

But if you will harden your heart, love,
And be deaf to my pitiful moan:
Oh! I must endure the smart, love,
And tumble in straw all alone.
Yet still, &c.

[Page 13]

SONG 11.
From the Duenna.

AH! sure a pair was never seen,
So justly form'd to meet by nature;
The youth excelling so in meir,
The maid in ev'ry graceful feature:

CHORUS.
O how happy are such lovers,
When kindred beauties each discovers!
For surely she was made for thee,
And thou to bless this charming creature.

So mild your looks, your children thence,
Will early learn the task of duty:
The boys with all their father's sense;
The girls with all their mother's beauty.

CHORUS.
O how charming to inherit,
At once such graces and such spirit!
Thus while you live may fortune give,
Each blessing equal to your merit.

SONG 12. On free masonry

LET masonry from pole to pole,
Her secret laws expand;
Far as the mighty waters roll,
To wash remotest land!

[Page 14]

That virtue has not left mankind,

Her social maxims prove;

For stamp'd upon the mason's mind

Are unity and love.

Ascending to her native sky,
Let masonry increase;
A glorious pillar rais'd on high,
Integrity its base.
Peace adds to olive-boughs entwin'd,
An emblematic dove:
As stamp'd upon the mason's mind
Are unity and love.

SONG 13.
Duenna.

CHORUS.
O The days when I was young,
When I laugh'd at fortune's spite,
Talk'd of love the whole day long,
And with nectar crown'd the night.

Then it was old father, care,
Little reck'd I of thy frown;
Half thy malice youth could bear,
And the rest a bumper drown,
O! the days, &c.

Truth, they say, lives in a well,
Why, I vow, I ne'er cou'd see;
Let the water-drinkers tell,
There it lay always for me.
O! the days, &c.

[Page 15]
For, when sparkling wine went round,
Never saw I falshood's mask;
But still honest truth I found
At the bottom of each flask.
O! the days, &c.

True, at length my vigour's flown,
I have years to bring decay;
Few the locks that now I own,
And the few I have are grey.
O! the days, &c.

Yet, old Jerome, thou may'st boast,
While thy spirits do not tire,
Still beneath thy age's frost,
Glow's a spark of useful fire.
O! the days, &c.

SONG 14.

Tune, Charles of Sweden.

COME, 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 sing without controul,
To supp
 [...] 
 [...] pleasure.

Thus, mighty Bacchus, shalt thou be
Guardian to our pleasure,
That under thy protection we
May enjoy new pleasure;

 [...] 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.

[Page 16]

SONG 15.

MY temples with clusters of grapes I'll entwine,
And barter all joys for a goblet of wine:
In search of a Venus no longer I'll run,
But stop and forget her at Bacchus's ton.

Yet why this resolve to relinquish the fair?
'Tis a folly, with spirits like mine, to despair,
For what mighty charms can be found in a glass,
If not fill'd to the health of some favourite lass?

'Tis woman whose charms ev'ry rapture impart,
And lend a new spring to the pulse of the heart:
The miser himself (so supreme is her sway)
Grows convert to love, and resigns his key.

At the sound of her voice, Sorrow lifts up his head,
And Poverty listens well pleas'd from his shed;
While Age, in an ecstacy, hobbling along,
Beats time with his crutch to the tune of her song.

Then bring me a goblet from Bacchus's hoard,
The largest and deepest that stands on the board:
I'll fill up a brimmer, and drink to the fair;
'Tis the thirst of a lover, and pledge me who dare.

SONG 16. The union of love and wine.

WITH woman and wine I defy ev'ry care,
For life without these is a bubble of air
For life without these, &c.
Each helping the other, in pleasure I roll.

[Page 17]And a new flow of spirits enlivens my soul;
Each helping the other, &c.

Let grave sober mortals my maxims condemn,
I never shall alter my conduct for them;
I care not how much they my measures decline,
Let 'em have their own humour and I will have mine.

Wine prudently us'd will our senses improve,
'Tis the spring-tide of life, and the fuel of love:
And Venus ne'er look'd with a smile so divine,
As when Mars bound his head with a branch from the vine.

Then come, my dear charmer, thou nymph half divine,
First pledge me with kisses, next pledge me with wine;
Then giving and taking, in mutual return,
The torch of our love shall eternally burn.

But should'st thou my passion for wine disapprove,
My bumper I'll quit to be blest with thy love:
For rather than forfeit the joys of my lass,
My bottle I'll break, and demolish my glass.

SONG 17.

O BONNY lass, will you lie in a barrack,
And marry a soger, and carry his wallet?
Yes I will go, and think no more on it,
I'll marry my Harry, and carry his wallet:
I'll neither ask leave of my minnie or daddie,
But off and away with my soger laddie.

O bonny lass, will you go a campaigning?
Will you suffer the hardships of battle and famine?
When fainting and bleeding, O could you draw near me,

[Page 18]And kindly support me, and tenderly chear me?

O yes, I will go through those evils you mention,
And twenty times more, if you had the invention;
Neither hunger, nor cold, nor danger alarms me,
While I have my soger, my dearest, to charm me.

SONG 18. The jolly miller.

THERE was a jolly miller once,
Liv'd on the river Dee;
He work'd, and sung, from morn till night,
No lark more blithe than he;
And this the burden of his song,
And ever us'd to be,
I care for nobody, no, not I,
If nobody cares for me.

A noble lord, that liv'd hard by,
Sent for this miller one day,
And ask'd him various questions,
And amongst the rest did say,
How comes it, miller, that, ev'ry day,
You sing so full of glee?
Quoth Ralph, I care for nobody,
If nobody cares for me.

Are you always thus contented?
To him the lord did say:
Ay, that I am, more happy, Quoth Ralph,
Than folks that live more gay;
No worldly cares disturb my breast,
My wife and I agree;
I care for nobody, &c.

[Page 19]
The reason of your happiness
I would be glad to know:
Quoth Ralph, I'll tell your lordship
Part of it before you go;
I pay my rent at quarter-day,
My mind is ever free;
I care for nobody, &c.

Thrice happy thou, who thus content
Can ever merry be;
My whole estate I'd freely give
To be as content as thee.
Ralph, smiling, shook his head, and said,
My lord, that cannot be,
Your lordship cares for somebody,
And somebody cares for thee.

How can you say so, good miller,
I pray ther tell to me,
And if you rightly me instruct,
Ten thousand shall be your fee:
This sum I'll give, as sure's I live,
Immediately unto thee,
When I can say, oh! happy day,
I care for nobody.

Quoth Ralph, your lordship must refrain,
Where flatt'ring knaves resort,
Where base deceit and treach'ry reign,
I mean that place, the court.
Leave pomp and pageantry aside,
Be from ambition free;
And then your lordship soon may sing,
I care for nobody.

[Page 20]

SONG 19.

YE fair married dames, who so often deplore,
That a lover once bless'd, is a lover no more,
Attend to my counsel; nor blush to be taught,
That prudence must cherish what beauty has caught.

The bloom of your cheeks, and the glance of your eye,
Your roses and lillies may make the men sigh:
But roses, and lillies, and sighs pass away;
And passion will die, as your beauties decay.

Use the man whom you wed, like your fav'rite guitar:
Though music in both, they are both apt to jar:
How tuneful and soft, from a delicate touch,
Not handled too roughly, or play'd on too much!

The sparrow and linnet will feed from your hand;
Grow tame by your kindness; and come at command.
Exert with your husband, the same happy skill:
For hearts, like your birds, may be tam'd to your will.

Be gay and good-natur'd, complying and kind;
Turn the chief of your care from your face to your mind:
'Tis there that a wife may her conquests improve,
And Hymen shall rivet the fetters of love.

SONG 20.

YE fair, possess'd of ev'ry charm
To captivate the will,
Whose smiles can rage itself disarm,
Whose frowns at once can kill—

[Page 21]

Say, will ye deign the verse to hear.

Where flatt'ry bears no part—

An honest verse, that flows sincere,

And candid from the heart?

Great is your pow'r: but greater yet
Mankind it might engage,
If, as ye all can make a net,
Ye all could make a cage,
Each nymph a thousand hearts may take:
For who's to beauty blind?
But to what end a pris'ner make,
Unless we've strength to bind?

Attend the counsel, often told,
Too often told in vain!
Learn that best art, the art to hold,
And lock the lover's chain,
Gamesters to little purpose win,
Who lose again as fast:
Though beauty may the charm begin,
'Tis sweetness makes it last.

SONG 21.

YE fair, who shine throughout this land,
And triumph o'er the heart,
Awhile, I pray, t' advice attend,
Which artless lays impart.
Would you obtain the youth you love,
The precepts of a friend approve,
And learn the way to keep him.

As soon as nature has decreed
The bloom of eighteen years,
And Isabel from school is freed,
Then beauty's force appears:

[Page 22]The youthful blood begins to flow;
She hopes for man; and longs to know
The surest way to keep him.

When first the pleasing pain is felt
Within the lover's breast—
And you by strange persuasion melt—
Each wishing to be blest—
Be not too bold, nor yet too coy,
With prudence lure the happy boy;
And that's the way to keep him.

At court, at park, at ball, or play,
Assume a modest pride;
And, lest your tongue your mind betray,
In fewer words confide.
The maid, who thinks to gain a mate
By giddy chat, will find, too late,
That's not the way to keep him.

In dressing, ne'er the hours kill,
That bane to all the sex!
Nor let the arts of dear spadille
Your innocence perplex.
Be always decent as a bride,
By virtuous rules your conduct guide:
For that's the way to keep him.

But when the nuptial knot is fast,
And both its blessings share,
To make those joys for ever last,
Of jealousy beware.
His love with kind compliance meet,
Let constancy the work complete,
And you'll be sure to keep him.

[Page 23]

SONG 22.

THE wanton god, who pierces hearts,
Dips in gall his pointed darts:
But the nymph disdains to pine,
Who bathes the wound with rosy wine,
Rosy wine, rosy wine,
Who bathes the wound with rosy wine.

Farewell lovers, when they're cloy'd,
If I'm scorn'd because enjoy'd—
Sure the squeamish fops are free
To rid me of dull company:
Sure they're free, sure they're free
To rid me of dull company.

They have charms whilst mine can please;
I love them much, but more my ease:
No jealous fears my love molest,
Nor faithless vows shall break my rest—
Break my rest, break my rest,
Nor faithless vows shall break my rest.

Why should they e'er give me pain,
Who to give me joy disdain?
All I hope of mortal man,
Is to love me while he can—
While he can, while he can,
Is to love me while he can.

SONG 23.

TO ease his heart, and own his flame,
Blithe Jockey to young Jenny came:
But though she lov'd him passing well,
She careless turn'd her spinning wheel.

Her milk-white hand he did extol;
And prais'd her fingers long and small:

[Page 24]Unusual joy her heart did feel:
But still she turn'd her spinning wheel.

Then round about her slender waist
He clasp'd his arms, and her embrac'd.
To kiss her hand he down did kneel:
But yet she turn'd her spinning wheel.

With gentle voice she bid him rise:
He bless'd her neck, her lips, her eyes.
Her fondness she could scarce conceal:
Yet still she turn'd her spinning wheel.

Till, bolder grown, so close he press'd,
His wanton thoughts she quickly guess'd;
Then push'd him from her rock and reel,
And angry turn'd her spinning wheel.

At length, when she began to chide,
He swore he meant her for his bride:
''I'was then her love she did reveal,
And threw aside her spinning wheel.

SONG 24. Quaker.

WHILE the lads of the village shall merrily, ah!
Sound the tabors, I'll hand thee along;
And I say unto thee, that verily, ah!
Thou and I will be first in the throng.
While the lads, &c.

Just then, when the swain who last year won the dow'r,
With his mates shall the sports have begun,
When the gay voice of gladness resounds from each bow'r,
And thou long'st in thy heart to make one.
While the lads, &c.

[Page 25]Those joys which are harmless, what mortal can blame;
'Tis my maxim, that youth should be free?
And to prove that my words and my deeds are the same,
Believe me, thou'lt presently see.
While the lads, &c.

SONG 25.

SHEPHERDS, I have lost my love,
Have you seen my Anna!
Pride of ev'ry shady grove
Upon the banks of Banna.
I for her my home forsook,
Near yon misty mountain;
Left my flock, my pipe, my crook,
Greenwood shade, and fountain.

Never shall 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?
Shepherds, tell me whither?
Ah! woe is me, perhaps she's gone
For ever, and for ever.

SONG 26.
Duenna.

HOW oft, Louisa, hast thou said,
(Nor wilt thou the fond boast disown)
Thou would'st not lose Anthonio's love,
To reign the partner of a throne?

[Page 26]

And by hose lips that spoke so kind!

And by that hand I press'd to mine!

To gain a subject nation's love,

I swear I would not part with thine.

Then how, my soul, can we be poor,
Who own what kingdoms could not buy!
Of this true heart thou shalt be queen,
And, serving thee, a monarch I.

Thus uncontroul'd in mutual bliss,
And rich in love's exhaustless mine,
Do thou snatch treasures from my lips,
And I'll take kingdoms back from thine.

SONG 27. Johnny and Mary.

DOWN the burn, and thro' the mead,
His golden locks wav'd o'er his brow,
Johnny lilting tun'd his reed,
And Mary wip'd her bonny mou'.
Dear she loo'd the well known song,
While her Johnny, blith and bonny,
Sung her praise the whole day long.
Down the burn, and thro' the mead,
His golden locks wav'd o'er his brow,
Johnny lilting tun'd his reed,
And Mary wip'd her bonny mou'.

Costly claiths she had but few:
Of rings and jewels nae great store;
Her face was fair, her love was true,
And Johnny wisely wish'd nae mair:
Love's the pearl, the shepherd's prize,

[Page 27]O'er the mountain, near the fountain,
Love delights the shepherd's eyes.
Down the burn, &c.

Gold and titles give not health,
And Johnny cou'd nae these impart;
Youthsu' Mary's greatest wealth
Was still her faithsu' Johnny's heart:
Sweet the joys the lovers find,
Great the treasure, sweet the pleasure,
Where the heart is always kind.
Down the burn, &c.

SONG 28.

MY heart's my own, my will is free:
And so shall be my voice.
No mortal man shall wed with me,
'Till first he's made my choice.

Let parents rule, cry nature's laws,
And children still obey.
But is there then no saving clause
Against tyrannic sway?

SONG 29.
WHAT bard, O time, discover,
With wings first made thee move?
Ah! sure he was some lover,
Who ne'er had left his love!

For who, that once did prove
The pangs which absence brings,

[Page 28]Though but a day,
He were away,
Could picture thee with wings?
What bard, &c.

SONG 30

COME now, all ye social pow'rs,
Shed your influence o'er us:
Crown with joy the present hours,
Enliven those before us,

Fill the flask, the music bring,
Joy shall quickly find us;
Drink, and dance, and laugh and sing,
And drive dull care behind us.

Friendship, with thy pow'r divine,
Brighten all our features:
What but friendship, love, and wine,
Can make us happy creatures?
Fill the flask, &c.

Love, thy godhead I adore,
Source of gen'rous passion;
But will ne'er bow down before
Those idols, wealth or fashion.
Fill the flask, &c.

Why the deuce shou'd we be sad,
Since to earth we moulder?
Whether we're grave, or gay, or glad,
We ev'ry day grow older.
Fill the flask, &c.

Then, since time will steal away,
Spite of all our sorrow,

[Page 29]Brighten ev'ry joy to-day,
And never mind to-morrow.
Fill the flask, &c.

SONG 31.

THE silver moon's enamour'd beam
Steals softly through the night,
To wanton with the winding stream,
And kiss reflected light:
To courts begone! heart-soothing sleep,
Where you've so seldom been,
Whilst I May's wakeful vigil keep,
With Kate of Aderdeen.

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 swains shall all declare
The promis'd May, when seen,
Not half so fragrant, half so fair,
As Kate of Aberdeen.

I'll tune my pipe to playful notes,
And rouse yon nodding grove,
Till new-wak'd birds distend their throats,
And hail the maid I love.
At her approach, the lark mistakes,
And quits the new-drest green.
Fond bird! 'tis not the morning breaks:
'Tis Kate of Aberdeen.

Now, blithsome, o'er the dewy mead,
Where elves disportive play,
The festal dance young shepherds lead,
Or sing their love-tun'd lay—

[Page 30]

Till May, in morning robe, draws nigh,

And claims a virgin queen:

The nymphs and swains exulting cry,

Here's Kate of Aberdeen.

SONG 33.

FAREWELL to Lochaber, and farewell, my Jean,
Where heartsome with thee I've many days been:
For Lochaber no more, Lochaber no more,
We'll may be return to Lochaber no more.
Those tears that I shed, they are a' for my dear,
And no for the danger attending on weir,
Tho' borne on rough seas to some far bloody shore,
May be to return to Lochaber no more.

Tho' hurricanes rise, and tho' rise ev'ry wind,
They'll ne'er make a tempest like that in my mind:
Though loudest of thunder, or louder waves roar,
That's nothing like leaving my love on the shore.
To leave thee behind me, my heart is fair pain'd,
By ease that's inglorious no same can be gain'd:
And beauty and love's the reward of the brave;
And I must deserve it, before I can crave.

Then glory, my Jean, maun plead my excuse:
Since honour commands me, how can I refuse?
Without it, I ne'er can have merit for thee:
And, without thy favour, I'd better not be!
I gae then, my lass, to win honour and fame:
And if I should luck to come gloriously hame,
I'll bring a heart to thee, with love running o'er,
And then I will leave thee and Lochaber no more.

[Page 31]

SONG 34.

THE world, my dear Myra, is full of deceit:
And friendship's a jewel we seldom can meet.
How strange does it seem, that in searching around,
This source of content is so rare to be found!

O friendship! thou balm and rich sweetner of life,
Kind parent of ease, and composer of strife!
Without thee, alas! what are riches and pow'r,
But empty delusions, the joys of an hour!

How much to be priz'd and esteem'd is a friend,
On whom we may always with safety depend!
Our joys, when extended, will always increase:
And griefs, when divided, are hush'd into peace.

When fortune is smiling, what crowds will appear,
Their kindness to offer, and friendship sincere!
Yet change but the prospect, and point out distress,
No longer to court you they eagerly press.

SONG 35.

HAD I a heart for shood fram'd,
I ne'er could injure you:
For tho' your tongue no promise claim'd,
Your charms would make me true.

To you no soul shall bear deceit,
No stranger offer wrong:
But friends in all the ag'd you'll meet,
And lovers in the young.

But when they learn, that you have blest
Another with your heart,

[Page 32]They'll bid aspiring passion rest,
And act a lover's part.

Then, lady, dread not here deceit;
Nor fear to suffer wrong:
For friends in all the ag'd you'll meet,
And brothers in the young.

SONG 36.

CEASE, gay seducers, pride to take
In triumphs o'er the fair,
Since clowns as well can act the rake,
As those in higher sphere.

Where, then, to shun a shameful fate,
Shall hapless beauty go?
In ev'ry station, ev'ry state,
Poor woman finds a foe.

SONG 37.
DUET.

HE.

LET rakes and libertines, resign'd
To sensual pleasures, range.
Here all the sex's charms I find;
And ne'er can cool or change.

SHE.

Let vain coquettes and prudes conceal
What most their hearts desire.
With pride my passion I reveal:
Oh! may it ne'er expire!

BOTH.

[Page 33]The sun shall cease to spread his light,
The stars their orbits leave,
And fair creation sink in night,
Ere I my dear deceive.

SONG 38.THE soldier, tir'd of war's alarms,
Forswears the clang of hostile arms,
And scorns the spear and shield.
But if the brazen trumpet sound,
He burns with conquest to be crown'd,
And dares again the tented field.

SONG 39.

THOUGH prudence may press me,
And duty distress me,
Against inclination, O what can they do!
No longer a rover,
His follies are over,
My heart, my fond heart says, my Henry is true.

The bee, thus, as changing,
From sweet to sweet ranging,
A rose should he light on, ne'er wishes to stray:
What raptures! possessing
In one ev'ry blessing,
Till, torn from her bosom, he flies far away.

[Page 34]

SONG 40.

WHEN war's alarms entic'd my Willy from me,
My poor heart with grief did sigh:
Each fond remembrance brought fresh sorrow on me:
I 'woke ere yet the morn was nigh.
No other could delight him:
Ah! why did I e'er flight him,
Coldly answering his fond tale?
Which drove him far
Amid the rage of war,
And left silly me thus to bewail.

But I no longer, though a maid forsaken,
Thus will mourn, like yonder dove:
For ere the lark to-morrow shall awaken,
I will seek my absent love.
The hostile country over,
I'll fly to meet my lover,
Scorning ev'ry threat'ning fear;
Nor distant shore,
Nor cannon's roar,
Shall keep me from my dear.

SONG 41.

COULD I her faults remember,
Forgetting ev'ry charm,
Soon would impartial reason
The tyrant, love, disarm.

But when, enrag'd, I number
Each failing of her mind,
Love still suggests her beauty,
And sees—while reason's blind.

[Page 35]

SONG 42.

GIVE Isaac the nymph, who no beauty can boast,
But health and good humour to make her his toast:
If straight, I don't mind whether slender or fat,
And six feet or four—we'll ne'er quarrel for that.

Whate'er her complexion, I vow I don't care:
If brown, it is lasting; more pleasing, if fair:
And though in her cheeks I no dimples should see,
Let her smile—and each dell is a dimple to me.

Let her locks be the reddest that ever were seen:
And her eyes—may be e'en any colour—but green:
For in eyes, though so various the lustre and hue,
I swear I've no choice—only let her have two.

'Tis true, I'd dispense with a throne on her back:
And white teeth, I own, are genteeler than black:
A little round chin too's a beauty I've heard:
But I only desire—she mayn't have a beard.

SONG 43.

GIVE me but a wife, I expect not to find
Each virtue and grace in one female combin'd.
No goddess for me: 'tis a woman I prize:
And he that seeks more, is more curious than wife.

Be she young, she's not stubborn, but easy to mould:
Or the claims my respect for her age, if she's old.
Thus either can please me: since woman I prize:
And he that seeks more, is more curious than wife.

[Page 36]

Like Venus she ogles, if squinting her eye.

If blind, she the roving of mine cannot spy.

Thus either is lovely: for woman I prize:

And he that seeks more, is more curious than wife.

If rich be my bride, she brings tokens of love:
If poor, then the farther from pride my remove.
Thus either contents me: for woman I prize:
And he that seeks more, is more curious than wife.

I ne'er shall want converse, if tongue she possess:
And if mute, still the rarity pleases no less.
I'm suited to either: for woman I prize:
And he that seeks more, is more curious tnan wife.

Then cease, ye profane, on the fair to descant:
If you've wit to discern, of charms they've no scant.
Each fair can make happy, if woman we prize:
And he that seeks more, is more curious than wife.

SONG 44.
DUET.

HE.

HOPE! thou nurse of young desire!
Fairy promiser of joy,
Painted vapour, glow-worm fire,
Temp'rate sweet, that ne'er can cloy!

SHE.

Hope! thou earnest of delight,
Softest soother of the mind,
Balmy cordial, prospect bright,
Surest friend the wretched find!

BOTH.

Kind deceiver, flatter still,
Deal out pleasures unposses'd:

[Page 37]With thy dreams my fancy fill,
And in wishes make me blest.

SONG 45.HOW blest the maid, whose bosom
No headstrong passion knows!
Her days in joys she passes,
Her nights in calm repose.
Where'er her fancy leads her,
No pain, no fear invades her:
But pleasure,
Without measure,
From ev'ry object flows.

SONG 46.

HOW imperfect is expression,
Some emotions to impart—
When we mean a fond confession,
And yet seek to hide the heart!
When our bosoms, all-complying,
With delicious tumults swell,
And beat what broken, falt'ring, dying
Language would, but cannot tell.

Deep confusion's rosy terror
Quite expressive paints my cheek:
Ask no more: behold your error!
Blushes eloquently speak.
What! though silent is my anguish,
Or breath'd only to the air—
Mark my eyes—see how they languish—
Read what your's have written there.

[Page 38]
Oh! that you could once conceive me
Once my soul's strong feelings view!
Love has nought more fond, believe me,
Friendship nothing half so true.
From you, I am wild, despairing;
With you, speechless as I touch:
This is all that bears declaring,
And perhaps declares too much.

SONG 47.

LEAVE off this idle prating,
Talk no more of whig and tory;
But fill your glass,
Round let it pass,
The bottle stands before ye.

Fill it up to the top,
Let this night with mirth be crown'd,
Drink about,
See it out,
Love and friendship still go round.

We gain both life and pleasure
By love and hearty drinking:
While statesmen plod,
And wink and nod,
To kill themselves with thinking.
Fill it, &c.

If any are so zealous,
To be a party's minion,
Let them drink like me,
They'll soon agree,
And be of one opinion.
Fill it, &c.

[Page 39]
If claret be a blessing,
This night devote to pleasure,
Let state affairs,
And worldly cares,
Attend us more at leisure.
Fill it, &c.

SONG 48.

WHEN trees did bud, and fields were green,
And broom bloom'd fair to see—
When Mary was complete fifteen,
And love laugh'd in her eye—

Blithe Davy's blinks her heart did move
To speak her mind thus free:
Gang down the burn, Davy, love,
And I will follow thee.

Now Davy did each lad surpass,
That dwelt on the burn side,
And Mary was the bonniest lass,
Just meet to be a bride:

[Page 40]

Till baith at length impatient grown,

To be mair fully blest,

In yonder vale they lean'd them down,

Love only saw the rest.

What pass'd, I guess, was harmless play,
And naething sure unmeet:
For ganging hame I heard them say,
They lik'd a wa'k sae sweet;

And that they aften shou'd return
Sic pleasure to renew.
Quoth Mary, love, I like the burn,
And aye shall follow you.

As fate had dealt to him a routh,
Strait to the kirk he led her,
There plighted her his faith and truth,
And a bonny bride he made her;

No more asham'd to own her love,
Or speak her mind thus free:
Cang down the burn, Davy, love,
And I will follow thee.

[Page]

SONG 50.

JOLLY mortals, fill your glasses:
Noble deeds are done by wine.
Scorn the nymph and all her graces:
Who'd for love or beauty pine?

Look within the bowl that's flowing,
And a thousand charms you'll find,
More than Phillis has, though going
In the moment to be kind.

Alexander hated thinking;
Drank about at council board:
He subdu'd the world by drinking,
More than by his conqu'ring sword.

[Page]

 [...] with wonder near this,

 [...] rakes of the age,
Who laugh at the mention of conjugal bliss,
And whom only loose pleasures engage.
You may laugh: but, believe me, you're all in the wrong,
When you merrily marriage deride:
For to marriage the permanent pleasures belong,
And in them we can only confide.

The joys, which from lawless connections arise,
Are fugitive—never sincere—
Oft stolen with haste—or snatch'd by surprise—
Interrupted by doubts and by fear.
But those, which in legal attachments we find,
When the heart is with innocence pure,
Are from ev'ry embitt'ring reflection refin'd,
And to life's latest hour will endure.

[Page 43]
The love, which ye boast of, deserves not that name:
'True love is with sentiment join'd:
But yours is a passion—a feverish flame—
Rais'd without the consent of the mind.
When, dreading confinement, ye mistresses hire,
With this and with that ye are cloy'd:
Ye are led, and misled, by a flatt'ring false fire;
And are oft by that fire destroy'd.

If you ask me, from whence my felicity flows?
My answer is short—From a wife,
Whom for chearfulness, sense, and good nature I chose,
Which are beauties that charm us for life.
To make home the seat of perpetual delight,
Ev'ry hour each studies to seize:
And we find ourselves happy from morning to night,
By our mutual endeavours to please.

SONG 53.

OH! had I been by fate decreed
Some humble cottage swain,
In fair Rosetta's sight to feed
My sheep upon the plain!

What bliss had I been born to taste,
Which now I ne'er 
 [...] know!
Ye envious pow'rs! why have ye plac'd
My fair one's lot so low?

SONG 54.

MY banks are all furnish'd with bees,
Whose murmur invites one to sleep:
My grottoes are shaded with trees,
And my hills are white over with sheep.

[Page 44]
I seldom have met with a loss,
Such health do my fountains bestow:
My founts are all border'd with moss,
Where the hare-bells and violets grow,
Where the hare-bells and violets grow.

I have found out a gift for my fair—
I have found where the wood-pigeons breed.
But let me that plunder forbear:
She'll say, 'twas a barbarous deed.
For he ne'er could be true, she averr'd,
Who could rob a poor bird of its young.
And I lov'd her the more, when I heard
Such tenderness fall from her tongue,
Such tenderness, &c.

But where does my Phillida stray,
And where are her grots and her bow'rs?
Are the groves and the vallies as gay,
And the shepherds as gentle as ours?
The groves may perhaps be as fair,
And the face of the vallies as fine:
The swains may in manners compare:
But their love is not equal to mine,
But their love is not equal to mine.

SONG 55.

FILL your glasses: banish grief:
Laugh, and worldly care despise.
Sorrow ne'er can bring relief:
Joy from drinking will arise.
Why should we with wrinkled care,
Change what nature made so fair?
Drink, and set your hearts at rest:
Of a bad bargain make the best.

[Page 45]
Some pursue the winged wealth:
Some to honour do aspire.
Give me freedom, give me health—
There's the sum of my desire.
What the world can more present,
Will not add to my content.
Drink, and set your hearts at rest:
Peace of mind is always best.

Busy brains, we know, alas!
With imaginations run,
Like the sand in th' hour-glass,
Turn'd, and turn'd, and still runs on;
Never knowing where to stay,
But uneasy ev'ry way.
Drink, and set your hearts at rest:
Peace of mind is always best.

Mirth, when mingled with our wine,
Makes the heart alert and free:
Let it rain, or snow, or shine,
Still the same thing 'tis to me.
There's no fence against our fate:
Changes daily on us wait.
Drink, and set your hearts at rest:
Of a bad bargain make the best.

SONG 56.

YE belles, and ye flirts, and ye pert little things,
Who trip in this frolicsome round,
Pray tell me from whence this indecency springs,
The sexes at once to confound?
What means the cock'd hat, and the masculine air,
With each motion design'd to perplex?

[Page 46]Bright eyes were intended to languish, not stare—
And softness the test of your sex—dear girls,
And softness the test of your sex.

The girl, who on beauty depends for support,
May call ev'ry art to her aid,
The bosom display'd, and the petticoat short,
Are samples she gives of her trade.
But you, on whom fortune indulgently shines,
And whom pride has preserv'd from the snare,
Should siily attack us with coyness and wiles,
Not with open and insolent air—brave girls,
Not with open and insolent air.

The Venus, whose statue delights all mankind,
Shrinks modestly back from the view:
And kindly should seem, by the artist design'd,
To serve as a model for you.
Then learn, with her beauties, to copy her air:
Nor venture too much to reveal.
Our fancies will paint what you cover with care,
And double each charm you conceal—sweet girls,
And double each charm you conceal.

The blushes of morn, and the mildness of May,
Are charms, which no art can procure:
Oh! be but yourselves, and our homage we'll pay,
And your empire is solid and sure.
But if, Amazon-like, you attack your gallants,
And put us in fear of our lives,
You may do very well for sisters and aunts,
But, believe me, you'll never be wives—poor girls,
But, believe me, you'll never be wives.

[Page 47]

SONG 57.

YE virgins, attend,
Believe me your friend,
And with prudence attend to my plan:
Ne'er let it be said,
There goes an old maid:
But get marry'd as fast as you can.

As soon as you find
Your hearts are inclin'd
To beat quick at the sight of a man,
Then choose out a youth,
With honour and truth,
And get marry'd as fast as you can.

For age, like a cloud,
Your charms will soon shroud:
And this whimsical life's but a span:
Then, maids, make your hay,
While Sol darts his ray,
And get marry'd as fast as you can.

The treacherous rake
Will artfully take
Ev'ry method poor girls to trepan.
But baffle the snare,
Make virtue your care,
And get marry'd as fast as you can.

And when Hymen's bands
Have join'd both your hands,
The bright flame still continue to fan.
Ne'er harbour the stings,
That jealousy brings:
But be constant and bless'd while you can.

[Page 48]

SONG 58.

THE pride of all nature was sweet Willy O.
The first of all swains,
He gladden'd the plains:
None ever was like to the sweet Willy O.

He sung it so rarely did sweet Willy O,
He melted each maid,
So skilful he play'd:
No shepherd e'er pip'd like the sweet Willy O.

All nature obey'd him, this sweet Willy O:
Wherever he came,
Whate'er had a name,
Whenever he sung, follow'd sweet Willy O.

He would be a soldier, the sweet Willy O:
When arm'd in the field,
With sword and with shield,
The laurel was won by the sweet Willy O.

He charm'd 'em when living, the sweet Willy O:
And when Willy dy'd,
'Twas nature that sigh'd,
To part with her all in her sweet. Willy O.

SONG 59.

THE bird, that hears her nestlings cry,
And flies abroad for food,
Returns impatient through the sky,
To nurse her callow brood;
The tender mother knows no joy,
But bodes a thousand harms;
And sickens for her darling boy,
When absent from her arms.

[Page 49]
Such fondness, with impatience join'd,
My faithful bosom fires—
Now forc'd to leave my fair behind,
The queen of my desires.
The pow'rs of verse too languid prove,
All similes are vain,
To shew how ardently I love,
Or to relieve my pain.

The saint with fervent zeal inspir'd
For heav'n and joy divine—
The saint is not with rapture fir'd,
More pure, more warm than mine.
I take what liberty I dare:
'Twere impious to say more.
Convey my longings to the fair,
The goddess I adore.

SONG 60. Banks of the Dee.

—Tune, Langolee.

'TWAS summer, and softly the breezes were blowing,
And sweetly the nightingale sung from the tree,
Ar the foot of a rock, where the river was flowing,
I sat myself down on the banks of the Dee.
Flow on, lovely Dee, flow on, thou sweet river;
Thy banks' purest streams shall be dear to me ever;
For there I first gain'd the affection and favour
Of Jamie, the glory and pride of the Dee.

But now he's gone from me, and left me thus mourning,
To quell the proud en'my, for valiant is he;
And ah! there's no hope of his speedy returning,

[Page 50]To wander again on the banks of the Dee.
He's gone, hapless youth! o'er the rude roaring billows;
The kindest and sweetest of all the gay fellows;
And left me to stray among the once loved willows,
The loneliest maid on the banks of the Dee.

But time and my pray'rs may perhaps yet restore him;
Blest peace may return my dear shepherd to me,
And when he returns, with care I'll watch o'er him;
He never shall leave the sweet banks of the Dee.
The Dee then shall flow, all its beauties displaying;
The lambs on its banks shall again be seen playing,
While I with my Jamie are carelesly straying,
And tasting again all the sweets of the Dee.

SONG 61.

HOW happy were my days till now!
I ne'er did sorrow feel;
I rose with joy to milk my cow,
Or turn my spinning-wheel.

My heart was lighter than a fly;
Like any bird I sung.
Till he pretended love, and I
Believ'd his flatt'ring tongue.

Oh! the fool, the silly, silly fool,
Who trusts what man may be!
I wish I was a maid again,
And in my own country.

[Page 51]

SONG 62.

By Shakespeare.

COME, live with me, and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That hills and valleys, dales and fields,
And all the craggy mountain yields;
There will we sit upon the rocks,
And see the shepherds feed their flocks,
Near shallow rivers, by whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

There will I make thee beds of roses,
With a thousand fragrant posies;
A cap of flowers, with a girdle
Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle;
A gown made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull.
If these delights thy mind may move,
Come, live with me, and be my love.

Fur-lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold;
A belt of straw with ivy buds,
And coral clasps, and silver studs:
The shepherd swains shall dance and sing,
For thy delight each May morning.
if these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me, and be my love;

SONG 63.

WITH tuneful pipe and merry glee,
Young Jockie won my heart;
A bonnier lad you ne'er cou'd see,

[Page 52]All beauty without art.
In Abenleen there ne'er was seen,
A lad so blithe and gay;
His glancing een and comely mein,
Have stole my heart away.

Young Jemmy courts with artful song,
But vain is a' his love;
My Jockie blithe has lov'd me long,
To him I'll constant prove.
In Aberdeen, &c.

No more shall I of sorrow know,
Nor ever more complain,
Nor fear my mammy's threats, I trow,
Now Jockey is mine ain.
In Aberdeen, &c.

SONG 64.

YOUNG Jamie loo'd me weel, and ask'd me for his bride;
But saving a crown, he had naithing else beside;
To make the crown a pound, my Jamie went to sea,
And the crown and the pound were baith for me.
He had nae been gane a year and a day,
When my father Irake his arm, and our cow was stole away,
My mither she fell sick, and Jammie at the sea,
And auld Robin Gray came a courting to me.

My father cou'dna wark, my mither cou'dna spin.
I toil'd day and night, but their bread cou'dna win;
And Rob maintain'd 'em baith, and, with tears in his e'e,
Said, Janie for their sakes, oh marry me:

[Page 53]My heart it said nay, for I look'd for jamie back,
But the wind it blew hard, and his ship was a wrack,
His ship it was a wrack, why didna Janie die,
And why was she spar'd, to cry waes me?

My father urg'd me fair, my mither didna speak,
But she look'd in my face till my heart was like to break;
They gi'ed him my hand, tho' my heart was at sea;
So auld Robin Gray is a gude man to me:
I had na been a wife a wee kbut only four,
When sitting so mournfully out at my door,
I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I cou'dna think it he,
Till he said, I'm come hame, love, to marry thee.

Sair, sair did we greet, and mickle did we say,
We tuk but a kiss, and tare ourselves away;
I wish I were dead, but I am na lik to die,
Oh, why was I born to say waes me!
I gang like a ghaist, and I care not to spin,
I dare na think on Jamie, for that wou'd be a sin;
So I will do my best a gude wise to be,
For auld Robin Gray's so kind to me.

SONG 65.

HERE's to the maiden of bashful fifteen,
Here's to the widow of fifty;
Here's to the bold and extravagant quean,
And here's to the housewife that's thristy.
Let the toast pass,
Drink to the lass,
I warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass.

Here's to the maiden whose dimples we prize,
Likewise to her that has none, sir;

[Page 54]Here's to the maid with a pair of blue eyes,
And here's to her that's but one, sir.
Let the toast pass, &c.

Here's to the maid with a bosom of snow,
And to her that's as brown as a berry;
Here's to the wise with a face full of woe,
Aiul here's to the girl that is merry,
Let the toast pass, &c.

Let her be clumsy, or let her be slim,
Young or ancient, I care not a feather;
So fill a pint bumper quite up to the brim,
And e'en let us toast them together.
Let the toast pass, &c.

SONG 66.

WHEN all the Attic fire was fled,
And all the Roman virtue dead,
Poor freedom lost her seat.
The gothic mantle spread a night,
That damp'd fair virtue's fading light:
The muses lost their mate.

Where should they wander? what new shore
Has yet a laurel left n store?
To this blest land they steer.
Soon the Parnassian choir was heard—
Soon virtue's sacred form appear'd,
And freedom soon was here.

The lazy monk has left his cell:
Religion rings her hallow'd bell;
She calls thee now by me.

[Page 55]Hark! her sweet voice all plaintive sounds:
See, she receives a thousand wounds,
If shielded nor by thee.

SONG 67.

A Bumper of good liquor
Will end a contest quicker,
Than justice, judge, or vicar;
So fill a chearful glass,
And let good humour pass.

But if more deep the quarrel,
Why sooner drain the barrel,
Than be that hateful fellow,
That's crabbed when he's mellow,
A bumber, &c.

SONG 68.

AS I went to the wake that is held on the green,
I met with young Phoebe as blithe as a queen:
A form so divine might an anchoret move:
And I found, tho' a clown, I was smitton with love.
So I ask'd for a kiss: but she, blushing, reply'd,
Indeed gentle shepherd, you must be deny'd.

Lovely Phoebe, I cry'd, don't affect to be shy
I vow I will kiss you—here's nobody by.
No matter for that, she reply'd; 
 [...]
For know, silly 
 [...]
So pray let me go. I shall 
 [...]
Besides, I'm resolv'd, that I will not 
 [...]

[Page 56]
Lord bless me! I cry'd, I'm surpriz'd you refuse.
A few harmless kisses but serve to amuse.
The month it is May—and the season for love—
So come, my dear girl, to the wake let us rove.
No, Damon, she said, I must first be your wife:
You then shall be welcome to kiss me for life.

Well, come then, I cry'd, to the church let us go:
But after, dear Phoebe must never say no.
Do you prove but true, she reply'd—you shall find,
I'll ever be constant, good-humour'd, and kind.
So I kiss when I plese: for she never says she won't:
And I kiss her so much, that I wonder she don't.

SONG 69.

ASK if yon damask rose is sweet,
That scents the ambient air?
Then ask each shepherd that you meet,
If dear Susannah is fair?

Say, will the vulture quit his prey,
And warble through the grove?
Bid wanton linnets quit the spray:
Then doubt thy shepherd's love.

The spoils of war let heroes share:
Let pride in splendor shine.
Ye bards, unenvy'd laurels wear:
Be fair Susannah mine.

SONG 70.

ATTEND, ye nymphs, while I impart
The secret wishes of my heart;

[Page 57]And tell what swain, if one there be,
Whom fate designs for love and me,

Let reason o'er his thoughts preside:
Let honour all his acions guide.
Stedfast in virtue let him be,
The swain design'd for love and me.

Let solid sense inform his mind,
With pure good nature sweetly join'd:
Sure friend to modest merit be
The swain designd for love and me.

Where sorrow prompts the pensive sigh—
Where grief bedews the drooping eye—
Melting in sympathy, I see
The swain design'd for love and me.

Let sordid av'rice claim no part
Within his tender, gen'rous heart.
Oh! be that heart from falshood free,
Devoted all to love and me.

SONG 71.

I Have seriously weigh'd it, and find it but just,
That a wife makes a man either blessed or curst.
I declare I will marry, ah! can I but find,
Mark me well, ye young lasses, the maid to my mind.

Not the pert little miss, who advice will despise,
Nor the girl, who's so foolish to think herself wise,
Nor she who to all men alike would prove kind,
Not one of these three is the maid to my mind.

Not the prude, who in public will never be free,
Yet in private a toying for ever would be,

[Page 58]Nor coquette that's too forward, nor jilt that's unkind,
No one of these three is the maid to my mind.

Nor she who for pleasure her husband will flight,
Nor the positive dame, who thinks always she's right,
Nor she, who a dupe to the fashion's inclin'd,
Not one of these three is the maid to my mind.

But the fair with good nature and carriage genteel,
Who her husband can love, and no secrets reveal,
In whose breast I may virtue and modesty find,
This, this, and this only's the maid to my mind.

SONG 72.

BLOW, blow, thou winter's wind,
Thou art not so unkind,
Thou art not so unkind,
As man's ingratitude:
Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because thou art not seen:
Thy tooth is not so keen,
Bccause thou art not seen,
Although thy breath be rude,
Although thy breath be rude.

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky:
Thou dost not bite so nigh,
Thou dost not bite so nigh,
As benefits forgot.
Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp,
Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp,
As friends remember'd not,
As friends remember'd not.

[Page 59]

SONG 73.

BY him we love offended,
How soon our anger flies!
One day apart, 'tis ended,
Behold him, and it dies!
Last night, your roving brother,
Enrag'd, I bade depart,
And sure his rude presumption
Deserv'd to lose my heart.
Yet were he now before me,
In spite of injur'd pride,
I fear my eyes would pardon,
Before my tongue could chide.
By him we love, &c.

With truth, the bold deceiver
To me thus often said,
"In vain would Clara flight me,
"In vain would she upbraid!
"No scorn those lips discover,
"Where dimples laugh the while.
"No frown appears resentful,
"Where heav'n has stamp'd a smile!"

SONG 74.Go, rose, my Chloe's bosom grace,
My Chloe's bosom grace:
How happy should I prove,
How happy should I prove,
Might I supply that envy'd place
With never fading love,
With never fading love,
There, phoenix like, beneath her eye,
Involv'd in fragrance, burn and die.

[Page 60]Know, hapless flow'r, that thou shalt find
More fragrant roses there,
More fragrant roses there;
I see thy with'ring head reclin'd
With envy and despair,
With envy and despair:
One common fate we both must prove,
You die with envy, I with love,
You die, &c.

SONG 73.

IN penance for past folly,
A pilgrim blithe and jolly,
Sworn soe to melancholy,
Set out strange lands to see;
With cockle shells on hat brim,
Staffs, beads, and scrip, in that trim,
Befitting of a pilgrim,
Begging for charity.

With unshod feet he traces
His way thro' wilds and chaces,
And sundry dismal places,
In hopes some roof to see;
But when that he could find no
House nor hut to go to,
Was ever pilgrim put so
To it for charity!

But now, when most dejected,
Kind heaven, when least expected,
A maiden's steps directed,
Whence come you, sir? says she.
Full many a weary step, sweet,
And all with these poor bare feet,

[Page 61]O could I by your help, meet
Lodging for charity.

With courteous voice and accent,
Says she, I see you're quite spent,
Yet what I say is well meant,
Pray lodge to-night with me.
This favour is excessive:
No speeches, sir; while I live,
If I have aught I can give,
'Tis giv'n in charity.

He ey'd her charms whilst eating,
And call'd her love and sweeting,
And many a tender greeting,
So kind a heart had he.
Kind sir, says she, you're tir'd,
'Tis time you were retir'd,
Nor beds nor rooms are hir'd,
But lent in charity.

My tenement is brittle,
And is, I fear, too little.
It fits me to a tittle,
So in at once went he.
Through many a town and city
I've been, and O! the pity,
Ne'er met a room so pretty,
Nor so much charity.

Nine days he past in clover,
So well he play'd the lover:
She thought it too soon over,
And will you go? said she.
But, gentle pilgrim, should you
Return, you know I would do
As much as woman could do,
To shew my charity.

[Page 62]

SONG 76.

THE lowland lads think they are fine,
But O they're vain and idly gaudy;
How much unlike the graceful mein,
And manly looks of my highland laddie!
O my bonny highland laddie,
My handsome charming laddie
May heav'n still guard, and love reward
The lowland lass and her highland laddie.

If I were free at will to chuse
To be the wealthiest lowland lady;
I'd take young Donald in his trews,
With bonnet blue and belted plaiddie.
O my bonny, &c.
No greater joy I'll e'er pretend,
Than that his love prove true and steady;
Like mine to him, which ne'er shall end,
While heav'n preserves my highland laddie.
O my bonny, &c.

SONG 76.

WHEN the trees are all bare, not a leaf to be seen,
And the meadows their beauties have lost;
When nature's disrob'd of her mantle of green,
And the streams are fast bound with the frost:
While the peasant, inactive, stands shivering with cold,
As bleak the winds northerly blow;
And the innocent flocks run for ease to their fold.
With their faces besprinkled with snow.

In the yard when the cattle are fodder'd with straw;
And they send forth their breath like a steam;
And the neat looking dairy maid sees she must thaw

[Page 63]Flakes of ice that she finds in the cream:
When the sweet country maiden, as fresh as a rose,
As she carelessly trips, often sldes;
And the rustics laugh loud, if, by falling, she shews
All the charms that her modesty hides.

When the lads and the lasses, for company join'd,
In a cro
 [...]d round the embers are met;
Talk of faries and witches, that ride on the wind,
And of ghosts 'till they're all in a sweat:
When the birds to the barn come hovering for food,
Or they silently sit on the spray;
And the poor timid hare in vain seeks the wood,
Left her footsteps her course should betray.

Heav'n grant in this season it may prove by lot,
With the nymph whom I love and admire,
While the icicles hang from the eves of my cot,
I may thither in safety retire!
Where in neatness and quiet, and free from surprize,
We may live, and no hardships endure;
Nor feel any turbulent passions arise,
But such as each other may cure.

SONG 76

CONTENTED I am and contented I'll be:
For what more can this world afford,
Than a girl who will sociably sit on me,
And a cellar that's plenteously stor'd?
My brave boys, &c.

My vault-door is open. Descend ev'ry guest:
Tap that cask: ay, that wine we will try:
'Tis as sweet as the lips of your love to the taste,
And as bright as her cheeks to the eye.

[Page 64]

In a piece of slit hoop, I my candle have stuck,

'Twill light us each bottle to hand.

The foot of my glass for the purpose I broke,

For I hate that a bumper should stand.

Astride on a but, as a but should be strod,
I fit my companions among,
Like grape-blessing Bacchus, the good-fellow's god,
And a sentiment give, or a song.

We are dry where we sit, tho' the oozing drops seem
The moist walls with wet pearls to emboss.
From the arch, mouldy cobwebs in gothic taste stream,
Like stucco-work cut out of moss.

My cellar's my camp; my soldier my flasks,
All gloriously rang'd in review.
When I cast my eyes round, I consider my casks,
As kingdoms I've yet to subdue.

I charge glass in hand, and my empire maintain,
No ancient more patriot-like bled;
Each drop in desence of delight I will drain,
And myself for my bucks I'll drink dead,

Sound that pipe, 'tis in tune, and those bins are well fill'd,
View the heap of champaigne in your rear;
Yon bottles are burgundy, see how they're pil'd,
Like artillery, tier over tier.

'Tis my will, when I die, not a tear shall be shed:
No "Hic jacet" be grav'd on my stone:
But pour o'er my coffin a bumper of red,
And write that "His drinking is done."

[Page 65]

SONG 77.

THE heavy hours are almost past,
That part my love and me;
My longing eyes may hope, at last,
Their only wish to see.
But how, my Delia, will you meet
The man you've lost so long?
Will love in all your pulses beat,
And tremble on your tongue?

Will you in ev'ry look declare,
Your heart is still the same,
And heal each idle, anxious care
Our fears in absence frame?
Thus, Delia, thus I paint the scene,
When shortly we shall meet,
And try, what yet remains between
Of loit'ring time to cheat.

But if the dream, that soothes my mind,
Shall false and groundless prove—
If I am doom'd at length to find,
That you've forgot to love—
All I of Venus ask, is this,
No more to let us join:
But grant me here the flatt'ring bliss,
To die, and think you mine.

SONG 78.

I Lock'd up all my treasure,
I journey'd many a mile:
And by my grief did measure
The passing time the while.

[Page 66]

My business done and over,

I hasten'd back amain,

Like an expecting lover,

To view it once again.

But this delight was stifled,
As it began to dawn:
I found the casket rifled,
And all my treasure gone.

SONG 79.

DEAR heart! what a terrible life I am led!
A dog has a better, that's shelter'd and fed.
Night and day 'tis the same:
My pain is dere game.
Me wish to de Lord me was dead.

Whate'er's to be done,
Poor Blacky must run.
Mungo here—Mungo dere—
Mungoevery where.
Above or below,
Sirrah, come, sirrah, go:
Do so, and do so:
Oh! oh!
Me wish to de Lord me was dead!

SONG 80.

FAREWELL, ye green fields, and sweet groves,
Where Phillis engag'd my sond heart—
Where nightingales warble their loves.
And nature is dress'd without art.

[Page 67]

No pleasure ye now can afford,

Nor music can lull me to rest:

For Phillis proves false to her word,

And Strephon can never be blest.

Oft times, by the side of a spring,
Where roses and lillies appear,
Gay Phillis of Strephon would sing:
For Strephon was all she held dear.
But as soon as she found, by my eyes,
The passion that glow'd in my breast,
She then, to my grief and surprize,
Prov'd all she had said was a jest.

Too late, to my sorrow, I find,
The beauties alone that will last,
Are those that are fix'd in the mind,
Which envy or time cannot blast.
Beware, then, beware how ye trust
Coquettes, who to love make pretence;
For Phillis to me had been just,
If nature had blese'd her with sense,

SONG 81.

PUSH about the brisk bowl: 'twill enliven the heart,
While thus we sit round on the grass:
The lover, who talks of his suff'rings and smart,
Deserves to be reckon'd an ass, an ass,
Deserves to be reckon'd an ass.

The wretch, who sits watching his ill-gotten pelf,
And wishes to add to the mass,
Whate'er the curmudgeon may think of himself,
Deserves to be reckon'd an ass,
Deserves, &c.

[Page 68]
The beau, who, so smart with his well powder'd hair,
An angel beholds in his glass,
And thinks with grimace to subdue all the fair,
Deserves to be reckon'd an ass,
Deserves, &c.

The merchant from climate to climate will roam,
Of Croesus the wealth to surpass:
And oft, while he's wand'ring, my lady at home
Claps the horns of an ox on the ass,
Claps the horns, &c.

The lawyer so grave, when he puts in his plea,
With forehead well fronted with brass,
Tho' he talks to no purpose, he pockets your fee;
There you, my good friend, are an ass,
There you, &c.

The formal physician, who knows ev'ry ill,
Shall last be produced in this class;
The sick man a while may confide in his skill,
But death proves the doctor an ass,
But death, &c.

Then let us, companions, be jovial and gay,
By turns take our bottle and lass;
For he who his pleasure puts off for a day,
Deserves to be reckon'd an ass, an ass,
Deserves to be reckon'd an ass.

SONG 82.

WELL met, pretty nymph, says a jolly young swain,
To a lovely young shepherdess crossing the plain;
I Why so much in hast? (now the month it was May)

[Page 69]Shall I venture to ask you, fair maiden, which way?
Then straight to this question the nymph did reply,
With a smile in her look, and a leer in her eye,
I came from the village, and homeward I go;
And now, gentle shepherd, pray why would you know?

I hope, pretty maid, you won't take it amiss,
If I tell you the reason of asking you this;
I would see you safe home (the swain was in love)
Of such a companion if you would approve.
Your offer, kind shepherd, is civil, I own,
But I see no great danger in going alone;
Nor yet can I hinder, the road being free
For one as another, for you as for me.

No danger in going alone, it is true,
But yet a companion is pleasanter too;
And if you would like (now the swain he took heart)
Such a sweetheart as me, we never would part.
Oh! that's, a long word, said the shepherdess then;
I've often heard say, there's no minding you men;
You'll say and unsay, and you'll flatter, 'tis true;
Then leave a young maiden the first thing you do.

Oh! judge not so harshly, the shepherd reply'd;
To prove what I say, I will make you my bride;
To morrow the parson (well said, little swain)
Shall join both our hands, and make one, of us twain.
Then what the nymph answer'd to this is not said;
The very next morn to be sure they were wed:
Sing hey diddle, ho diddle, hey diddle down;
Now when shall we see such a wedding in town?

SONG 83.

THERE was once—it is said,
When—'tis out of my head;—

[Page 70]Aye, and where too—yet true is my tale;
That a round-belly'd vicar,
Bepimpled with liquor,
Could stick to no text like good ale,
Tol derol, lol derol lol, &c.

He one night 'gan to dose,
For, under the rose,
The priest was that night 
non se ipse;
Non se ipse, 
you'll say,
What is that to the lay?—
In plain English then, parson was tipsey.

When the clerk coming in,
With his band-bobbing chin,
As solemn and sniv'ling as may be,
The vicar he gap'd,
His clerk hem'd and scrap'd,
Saying—Please, sir, to baby.

Now our author supposes
The clerk's name was Moses,
Who look'd at his master so rosy;
He blink'd with one eye,
And with wig all awry,
He hiccup'd out—How cheers it, Mozy?

A child, sir, is carry'd,
For you, to be bury'd;—
Bury me, Moses!—no, that won't do,—
Lord, sir, says the clerk,
You are all in the dark,
'Tis a child to be bury'd, not you.

Well, Moses, don't hurry—
The infant we'll bury;—
But, master, the corpse cannot stay:—

[Page 71]

What!—can't it?—but why?

For once, then, we'll try

If a corpse, Moses, can run away.

But Moses reply'd,
The parish will chide,
For keeping them out in cold weather:
Then, Mozy, quoth he,
Pray tell'em from me,
I'll bury them warm, all together.

But, sir, it rains hard,
Pray have some regard;—
Regard, Moses! that makes me stay;
For no corpse, young or old,
In the rain can catch cold,
But, Moses, faith, you or I may.

Moses begg'd to be gone,
Saying, sir, the rain's done;
Please to rise, and I'll lend you my hand;—
'Tis hard, quoth the vicar,
To leave thus my liquor,
And go—when I'm sure I can't stand.

At length, though sore troubled,
To church-yard he hobbled,
Lamenting the length of the way;
For, Moses, quoth he,
Were I bishop, d'ye see,
I neither need walk, preach, nor pray.

When he came to the grave,
Says he, Moses—a stave;—
Lord, where's my tobacco box hid?
I protest this fast walking
Prevents me from talking;
So, Moses 
 [...] give me a quid.

[Page 72]
Then he open'd his book,
And therein seem'd to look,
Whilst o'er the page only he squinted;
Crying, Moses, I'm vex'd,
For I can't see the text,
This book is so damnably printed.

Woman of a man born—
No—that's wrong—the leaf's torn;—
Upon woman the natural sweil is;
Were men got with child
The world would run wild,
You and I, Moses, might have big bellies.

Our guts would be press'd hard
Were we got with bastard;
How wonderful are our supposes!—
What midwife would do it?
He'd be hardly put to it,
Lord bless us, to lay me and Moses.

So, Moses, come forth,
Put the child into earth,
And dust to dust, dust it away;
For, Moses I trust,
We should soon turn to dust,
If we were not to moister our clay,

Moses, hear what I say,
When 'tis night, 'tis not day.
Now in former times, saints could work miracles
And raise from the dead
There's no more to be said—
For, Moses, I've dropt down my spectacles.

Moses—mind what I say;—
Life's, alas! but a day—
Nay, sometimes 'tis over at noon;—

[Page 73]

Man is but a flow'r,

Cut down in an hour,

'Tis strong ale, Moses, does it soon.

So one pot, and then;—
Moses answered, amen!—
And thus far we've carry'd the farce on;
'Tis the vice of the times
To relish those rhymes,
Where the ridicule runs on a parson.

But satire detests
Immorality's jests,
All profane or immodest expression;
So now we'll conclude,
And drink, as we should,
To the good folks of ev'ry profession,
Tol derol, lol derol lol, &c.

SONG 84.THE modes of the court so common are grown.
That a true friend can hardly be met;
Friendship for interest is but a loan,
Which they let out for what they can get,
'Tis true, you find
Some friends so kind,
Who will give you good counsel themselves to
In sorrowful, ditty,
They promise, they pity;
But shift you for money from friend to 
 [...]

[Page 74]

SONG 85.

THE virgin, when soften'd by May,
Attend; to the villager's vows,
The birds fondly bill on the spray,
And poplars embrace with their boughs:
On Ida bright Venus may reign,
Ador'd for her beauty above;
We shepherds, that dwell on the plain,
Hail May as the mother of love.

From the west as it wantonly blows
Fond zephyr caresles the vine;
The bee steals a kiss from the rose,
And willows and woodbines entwine:
The pinks by the rivulet's side,
That border the vernal alcove,
Bend downward, and kiss the soft tide,
For May is the mother of love.

May tinges the butterfly's wing,
He flutters in bridal array;
If the larks and the linnets row sing,
Their music is taught them by May:
The stock-dove, recluse with her mate,
Conceals her fond bliss in the grove,
And murmuring seems to repeat,
That May is the mother of love.

 [...]oddess will visit ye soon,

 [...]irgins, be sportive and gay;

 [...] pipes, O ye shepherds, in tune,

 [...] must welcome the May:

 [...] Phillis prove kind,

 [...] anguish remove,

 [...] tales, and he'll find,

 [...] mother of love.

[Page 75]

SONG 86.

BLEST as th' immortal gods is he,
The youth who fondly sits by thee,
And hears and sees thee all the while,
Softly speak, and sweetly smile!
So spake the lovely eastern maid;
(Like thine, seraphic were her charms)
That in Circassia's vineyard stray'd,
And blest the wisest monarch's arms.

A thousand fair, of high desert,
Strove to enchant the am'rous king;
But the Circassian gain'd his heart,
And taught the royal bard to sing.
Clarinda thus our song inspires,
And claims the smooth and softest lays:
But while each charm our bosom fires,
Words seem too few to found her praise.

Her mind, in ev'ry grace complete,
To paint, surpasses human skill:
Her majesty, mix'd with the sweet,
Let seraphs sing her, if they will.
Whilst wand'ring, with a ravish'd eye,
We all that's perfect in her view,
Viewing a sister of the sky,
To whom an adoration's due.

SONG 87.

WHAT shepherd, or nymph of the grove,
Can blame me for dropping a tear,
Or lamenting aloud, as I rove,
Since Phoebe no longer is here?

[Page 76]My flocks, if at random they stray,
What wonder, if she's from the plains?
Her hand they wore wont to obey;
She rul'd both the sheep and the swains.

Can I ever forget how we stray'd
To the foot of yon neighbouring hill,
To the bow'r we had built in the shade,
Or the river that runs by the mill?
There, sweet by my side as she lay,
And heard the fond stories I told,
How sweet was the thrush from the spray,
Or the bleathing of lambs from the fold!

How oft would I spy out a charm,
Which before had been hid from my view!
And, while arm was enolded in arm,
My lips to her lips how they grew!
How long the sweet contest would last,
Till the hours of retirement and rest,
What pleasures and pain each had past,
Who longest had lov'd, and who best.

No changes of place, or of time,
I felt when my fair one was near;
Alike was each weather and clime,
Each season that chequer'd the year:
In winter's rude lap did we freeze,
Did we melt on the bosom of May—
Each morn brought contentment and ease,
If we rose up to work or to play.

She was all my fond wishes could ask;
She had all the kind gods could impart;
She was nature's most beautiful task,
The despair, and the envy of art:

[Page 77]There all that is worthy to prize,
In all that was lovely was drest;
For the graces were thron'd in her eyes,
And the virtues all lodg'd in her breast.

SONG 88.

WOULD you taste the noon-tide air,
To you fragrant bow'r repair,
Where woven with the poplar bough,
The mantling vine will shelter you.
The mantling vine will shelter you.
Down each side a fountain flows,
Tinkling, murm'ring, as it goes,
Lightly o'er the mossy ground,
Lightly o'er the mossy ground,
Sultry Phoebus scorching round,
Sultry Phaebus scorching round.

Round, the languid herds and sheep,
Stretch'd on funny hillocks sleep—
While on the hyacinth and rose,
The fair does all alone repose—
The fair does all alone repose—
All alone—yet in her arms
Your breast shall beat to love's alarms—
Till, blest and blessing, you shall own,
The joys of love are joys alone,
The joys of love are joys alone.

SONG 89.

AS you mean to set fail for the land of delight,
And in wedlock's soft hammock to swing ev'ry night—

[Page 78]If you hope that your voyage successful should prove,
Fill your sails with affection, your cabin with love.
Fill your sails with affeftion, &c,

Let your heart, like the main-mast, be ever upright,
And the union vou boast, like our tackle, be tight:
Of the shoals of indiff'rence be sure to keep clear,
And the quicksands of jealousy never come near,
And the quicksands, &c.

If husbands e'er hope to live peaceable lives,
They must reckon themselves, give the helm to their wives:
For the evener we go, the better we sail,
And on shipboard, the helm is still rul'd by the tail,
And on shipboard, &c.

Then list to your pilot, my boy, and be wise:
If my precepts you scorn, and my maxims despise,
A brace of broad antlers your brows may adorn,
And a hundred to one but you double Cape Horn.

SONG 90.

BELIEVE my sighs, my tears, my dear,
Believe the heart you've won;
Believe my vows to you sincere,
Or, Peggy, I'm undone.

You say I'm false, and apt to change
At ev'ry face that's new:
Of all the girls I ever saw,
I ne'er lov'd one but you,

My heart was like a lump of ice,
Till warm'd by your bright eye,

[Page 79]And then it kindled in a trice,
A flame that ne'er can die.

Then take and try me—you shall find
That I've a heart that's true:
Of all the girls I ever saw,
1 ne'er lov'd one like you.

SONG 91.

BY the gayly-circling glass
We can see how minutes pass;
By the hollow cask; are told
How the waning night grows old,
How the waning night grows old.

Soon, too soon, the busy day
Drives us from our sport and play:
What have we with day to do?
Sons of care, 'twas made for you;
Sons of care, 'twas made for you.

SONG 92.

IF love's a sweet passion, how can it torment?
If bitter, O tell me whence comes my content?
Since I suffer with pleasure why should I complain,
Or grieve at my fate, since I know 'tis in vain?
Yet so pleasing the pain is, so soft is the dart,
That at once it both wounds me and tickles my heart.

I grasp her hand gently, look languishing down,
And by passionate silence, I make my love known:
But oh! how I'm blest when so kind she does prove,
By some willing mistake to discover her love;

[Page 80]When, in striving to hide, she reveals all her flame,
And our eyes tell each other what neither dare name!

How pleasing is beauty! how sweet are her charms!
How delightful embraces! how peaceful her arms!
Sure there's nothing so easy as learning to love;
'Tis taught us on earth, and by all things above:
And to beauty's bright standard all heroes must yield;
For 'tis beauty that conquers and keeps the fair field.

SONG 93.

I Winna marry ony mon bat Sandy o'er the lee;
I winna ha the Dominee, for geud he canna be;
But I will ha my Sandy lad, my Sandy o'er the Ice.
For he's aye a kissing, kissing, aye a kissing me.

I will not have the minister, for all his godly looks;
Nor yet will I the lawyer have, for all his wily crooks;
I will not have the ploughman lad, nor yet will I the miller;
But I will have my Sandy lad, without one penny filler.
For he's aye a kissing, &c.
I will not have the soldier lad, for he gangs to the war;
I will not have the sailor lad, because he smells of tar:
I will not have the lord nor laird, for all their mickle gear;
But I will have my Sandy lad, my Sandy o'er the meir.
For he's aye a kissing, &c.

[Page 81]

SONG 93.

LOVELY nymph, assuage my anguish.
At your feet a tender swain
Prays you will not let him languish;
One kind look wou'd ease his pain.

Did you know the lad that courts
You, he not long need sue in vain;
Prince of song, of dance, of sports,
You scarce will meet his like again.

SONG 94.

MY Sandy is the sweetest swain,
That ever pip'd on Tay,
He tends his sheep on verdant plains.
And chears me all the day:
For oh! he is so blithe a lad,
A blither canna be;
Whene'er he's nigh, my heart is glad,
For dearly he loves me.

As on a mossy bank we sat,
Beneath a fragrant shade,
The youth he charm'd me with his chat,
And on his bagpipe play'd:
For oh! he is, &c.

He calls me his dear life and care,
And calls me his Peggy too;
He vows by all that's good and fair,
To me he will prove true.
For oh! he is, &c.

So I will prize my lovely swain.
And yield to be his wife;

[Page 82]Then bid adieu to care and pain,
And so be bless'd for life.
For oh! he is, &c.

SONG 95.

VOWS of love should ever bind
Men who are to honour true;
The must have a savage mind,
Who refuse the fair their due.

Scorn'd and hated may they be,
Who from constancy do swerve!
So may ev'ry nymph agree
All such faithless swains to serve!

SONG 96.

WATER parted from the sea,
May increase the river's tide,
To the bubbling fount may flee,
Or thro' fertile valleys glide.

Though, in search of lost repose,
Through the land 'tis free to roam,
Still it murmurs as it flows,
Till it reach its native home.

SONG 97.

IN love should there meet a fond pair,
Untutor'd by fashion or art,
Whose wishes are warm and sincere,
Whose words are th' excess of the heart;

If aught of substantial delight
On this side the stars can be found,

[Page 83]'Tis sure, when that couple unite,
And Cupid by Hymen is crown'd.

SONG 98.

RAIL no more, ye learned asses,
'Gainst the joys the bowl supplies;
Sound its depth, and fill your glasses,
Wisdom at the bottom lies:
Fill'em higher still, 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.

SONG 99.

TO heal the smart a bee had made
Upon my Chloe's face,
Honey upon her cheek she laid,
And bid me kiss the place.

Pleas'd I obey'd, and from the wound
Imbib'd both sweet and smart;
Honey on my lips I found,
The sting within my heart.

[Page 84]

SONG 100.

WAS I a shepherd's maid, to keep
On yonder plains a flock of sheep.
Well pleas'd I'd watch, the live long day,
My ewes at feed, my lambs at play.

Or wou'd some bird, that pity brings,
But for a moment lend its wings,
My parents then might rave and scold.
My guardian strive my will to hold:
Their words are harsh, his walls are high,
But spite of all, away I'd fly.

SONG 101.

WHEN innocent pastime our pleasure did crown,
Upon a green meadow or under a tree,
Ere Nanny became a fine lady in town,
How lovely and loving and bonny was she!
Rouse up thy reason, my beautiful Nanny,
Let no new whim take thy fancy from me,
Oh! as thou art bonny, be faithful as any,
Favour thy Jemmy, favour thy Jemmy,
Favour thy Jemmy, who doats upon thee.

Can the death of a linnet give Nanny the spleen,
Can losing of thifles a heart aching be,
Can lap dogs and monkies draw tears from those e'en,
That look with indiff'rence on poor dying me?
Rouse up thy reason, my beautiful Nanny,
Scorn to prefer a vile parrot to me,
Oh! as thou art bonny, be faithful as any,
Think on thy Jemmy, think on thy Jemmy,
Think on thy Jemmy, who doats upon thee.

[Page 85]
Oh! think, my dear charmer on ev'ry sweet hour
That slid away softly between thee and me;
Ere squirrels and beaux and their fopp'ry had pow'r
To rival my love and impose upon thee.
Rouse up thy reason, my beautiful Nanny,
Let thy desires be all center'd in me.
Oh! as thou art bonny, be prudent as any,
Love thy own Jemmy, love thy own Jemmy,
Love thy own Jemmy who doats upon thee.

SONG 102.

MY Nancy quits the rural train,
A camp distress to prove;
All other ill she can sustain,
But living from her love.
But, dearest, tho' your soldier's there,
Will not your spirits fail,
To mark the hardships you must share,
Dear Nancy of the dale?

Or should your love each danger scorn,
Ah! how shall I secure
Your health, 'midst toils which you were born
To sooth, but not endure?
A thousand perils I mnst view,
A thousand ills assail,
Nor must I tremble e'en for you,
Dear Nancy of the dale.

SONG 103.

AS down on Banna's banks I stray'd, one ev'ning May,

[Page 86]The little birds, in blithest notes, made vocal ev'ry spray:
They sung their little tales of love, they sung them o'er and o'er,
Ah! gramachree, ma cholleenouge, ma Molly as­thore!

The daisy py'd, and all the sweets the dawn of nature yields,
The primrose pale, and vi'let blue, lay scatter'd o'er the fields;
Such fragrance in the bosom lies of her whom I adore
Ah! gramachree, &c.

I laid me down upon a bank, bewailing my sad fate,
That doom'd me thus the slave of love, and cruel Molly's hate;
How can she break the honest heart that wears her in its core?
Ah! gramachree, &c.

You said you lov'd me, Molly dear: ah! why did I believe?
Yet who could think such tender words were meant but to deceive?
That love was all I ask'd on earth, may, heav'n could give no more.
Ah! gramachree, &c.

O! had I all the flocks that graze on yonder yellow hill,
Or low'd for me the nun'rous herds that yon green pasture fill;
With her I love, I'd gladly share my kine and fleecy store,
Ah! gramachree, &c.

[Page 87]

Two turtle-doves, above my head, fat courting on a bough,

I envy'd them their happiness, to see them bill and coo;

Such fondness once for me was shew'd, but now, alas! 'tis o'er.

Ah! gramachree, &c.

Then fare thee well, my Molly dear, thy loss I e'er shall moan;
While life remains in Strephon's heart, 'twill beat for thee alone;
Tho' thou art false, may heav'n no thee its choicest blessings pour.
Ah! gramachree, ma cholleenouge, ma Molly as­thore

SONG 104.

DEAR Chloe, come give me sweet kisses,
For sweeter no girl ever gave;
But why, in the midst of my blisses,
Do you ask me how many I'd have?
I am not to be stinted in pleasure,
Then prithee, dear Chloe be kind;
For since I love thee beyond measure,
To numbers I'll ne'er be confin'd.

Count the bees that on Hybla are playing,
Count the flow'rs that enamel the fields;
Count the flocks that on Tempe are straying,
Or the grain that rich Sicily yields;
Count how many stars are in heaven,
Go number the sands on the shore,
And when so many kisses you've given,
I still shall be asking for more.

[Page 88]
To a heart full love let me hold thee,
A heart which, dear Chloe, is thine;
In my arms I'd for ever enfold thee,
And twist round thy neck like a vine:
What joy can be greater than this is!
My life on thy lips shall be spent:
But the wretch who can number his kisses,
Will always with few be content.

SONG 105

THE fun from the east tips the mountains with gold,
And the meadows all spangled with dew-drops behold;
How the lark's early matin proclaims the new day,
And the horn's chearful summons rebukes our delay!
With the sports of the field there's no pleasure can vie,

While jocund we follow, follow, follow, follow,
follow, follow, follow, follow, follow, follow,
follow, follow, follow, follow, follow, follow,
follow, follow, follow, the hounds in full cry.

Let the drudge of the town make riches his sport,
And the slave of the state hunt the smiles of the court;
No care nor ambition our patience annoy,
But innocence still gives a zest to our joy.
With the sports of the field, &c.

Mankind are all hunters in various degree,
The priest hunts a living, the lawyer a fee;
The doctor a patient, the courtier a place,
Tho' often, like us, they're slung out with disgrace.
With the sports of the field, &c.

[Page 89]
The 
 [...]it hents a plumb, the soldier honts fame,
The poet a dinner, the patriot a name;
And the artful coquette, tho' she seems to refuse,
Yet, in spite of her airs, she her lover pursues.
With the sports of the field, &c.

Let the hold and the busy hunt glory and wealth,
All the blessings we ask is the blessing of health;
With hounds and with horns through the woodlands to roam,
And when tir'd abroad, find contentment at home.
With the sports of the field there's no pleasure can vie,
While jocund we follow, follow, follow, follow,
follow, follow, follow, &c.

SONG 106.

IF o'er the cruel tyrant, love,
A conquest I believ'd,
The flatt'ring error cease to prove;
O! let me be deceiv'd!

Forbear to fan the gentle flame,
Which love did first create;
What was my pride, is now my shame,
And must be turn'd to hate.

And call not to my wav'ring mind
The weakness of my heart,
Which, ah! I feel too much inclin'd
To take a traitor's part.

[Page 90]

SONG 107.

IN the social amusements of life let me live,
Prove ev'ry delight love and friendship can give;
Where easy good-nature gives converse a zest,
Where sense in the light robe of humour is drest;
Where harmony, beauty, and reason combine,
Our souls to improve, and our tempers resine.

At the festival board, where my Phoebe can share
The jest —which her pureness unsully'd may hear,
Unblathing enjoy, unrepining approve,
While Damon toasts freely to friendship and love;
While harmony, beauty, and reason combine
Our souls to improve, and our tempers resine.

Time was meant for a blessing, not dealt for a curse;
The troubles of life are by pining made worse;
The sullen recluse may disrelish my plan,
But I'll live, and I'll love, and I'll laugh while I can.
While harmony, beauty, and reason combine,
Our souls to improve, and our tempers refine.

SONG 108.

SINCE wedlock's in vogue, and stale virgins de­spis'd,
To all bachelors greeting, these lines are premis'd:
I'm a maid that would marry—ah! could I but find
(I care not for fortune) a man to my mind,
(I care not for fortune) a man to my mind.

[Page 91]Not the fair weather'd sop, fond of fashion and dress;
Nor the squire who can relish no joys but the chace;
Nor the free-thinking rake whom no morals can bind;
Neither this, that, nor t'ohter's the man to my mind,
Neither this, &c.

Not the ruby-fac'd sot, who topes, world without end;
Nor the drone who can't relish his bottle and friend;
Nor the fool that's too fond, nor the churl that'unkind;
Neither this, that, nor t'other's the man to my mind,
Neither this, &c.

Not the rich, with full bags, without breeding on merit;
Nor the flash, that's all fury, without any spirit;
Nor the fine master Fribble, the scorn of mankind;
Neither this, that, nor t'other's the man to my mind,
Neither this, &c.

But the youth whom good sense and good-nature in­spire,
Whom the brave must esteem, and the fair should ad­mire;
In whose heart love and truth are with honour con­joined;
This, this, and no other's the man to my mind,
This, this, and no other's the man to mv mind.

[Page 92]

SONG 109.

HOW blithe was I each morn to see
My swain come o'er the hill!
He leap'd the brook, and flew to me;
I met him with good will:
I neither wanted ewe nor lamb,
When his flocks near me lay;
He gather'd in my sheep at night,
And cheer'd me all the day.
Oh! the broom, the bonny broom,
Where lost was my repose
I wish I was with my dear swain,
With his pipe and my ewes.

He tun'd his pipe and reed so sweet,
The birds stood list'ning by;
The fleecy flock stood still and gaz'd,
Charm'd with his melody:
While thus we spent our time, by turns,
Betwixt our flocks and play,
I envy'd not the fairest dame,
Though e'er so rich and gay.
Oh! the broom, &c.

He did oblige me ev'ry hour:
Could I but faithful be?
He stole my heart—could I refuse
Whate'er he ask'd of me?
Hard fate! that I must banish'd be
Gang heavily and mourn,
Because I lov'd the kindest swain
That ever yet was born.
Oh! the broom, &c.

[Page 93]

SONG 110

HOW bles has my time been! what days have I known,
Since wedlock's fost bondage made Jessy my own!
So joyful my heart is, so easy my chain,
That freedom is tasteless, and roving a pain,
That freedom, &c.

Through walks grown with woodbines, as often we stray,
Around us our boys and girls frolic and play;
How pleasing their sport is, the wanton ones see,
And borrow their looks form my jessy and me:
And borrow, &c.

To try her sweet temper oft' times am I seen
In revels all day with the nymphs of the green;
Tho' painful my absence, my doubts she beguiles,
And meets me at night with compliance and smiles;
And meets, &c.

What though on her cheeks the rose loses its hue,
Her case and good-humour bloom all the year thro':
Time still, as he flies, adds increase to her truth,
And gives to her mind what he steals from her youth,
And gives, &c.

Ye shepherds so gay, who make love to ensnare.
And cheat with false vows the too credulous fair,
In search of true pleasure, how vainly you roam!
To hold it for life, you must find it at home,
To hold it. &c.

[Page 94]

SONG 111.

WHEN late I wander'd o'er the plain,
From nymph to nymph, I strove in vain,
My wild desires to rally;
But now they're of themselves come home,
And, strange! no longer seek to roam,
They center all in Sally.

Yet sne, unkind one, damps my joy,
And cries, I court but to destroy:
Can love with ruin tally?
By those dear lips, those eyes, I swear,
I would all deaths, all torments bear,
Rather than injure Sally.

Can the weak taper's seeble rays,
Or lamps, transmit the fun's bright blaze;
Oh! no—then say how shall I
In words, be able to express
My love?—it burns to such excess
I almost die for Sally.

Come then, oh! come, thou sweeter far
Than jessamine and roses are,
Or lillies of the valley;
O follow love, and quit your fear,
He'll guide you to these arms, my dear,
And make me blest in Sally.

SONG 112.

YE sportsmen draw near, and ye sportswomen too,
Who delight in the joys of die field;

[Page 95]Mankind, tho' they blame, are all eager as you,
And no one the contest will yield:
His lordship, his worship, his honour, his grace,
A hunting continua'ly go;
All ranks and degrees are engag'd in the chace,
With hark forward! huzza! tally-ho!

The lawyer will rise with the first of the morn,
To hunt for a mortgage or deed;
The husband gets up, to the sound of the horn,
And rides to the commons full speed;
The patriot is thrown in pursuit of his game,
The poet, too, often lies low,
Who, mounted on Pegasus, flies after fame,
With hark forward! huzza! tally-ho!

While fearless o'er hills and o'er woodlands we sweep,
Though prudes on our pastime may srown;
How oft do they decency's bounds overleap,
And the fences of virtue break down?
Thus public, or private, for pension, for place,
For amusement, for passion, for show;
All ranks and degrees are engag'd in the chace,
With hark forward! huzza! tally-ho!

SONG 113.

YOU tell me I'm handsome, (I know not how true)
And easy, and chatty, and good-humour'd too;
That my lips are as red as the rose-bud in June,
And my voice, like the nightingale's, sweetly in tune:

[Page 96]All this has been told me by twenty before;
But he that would win me, must flatter me more,
But he that would win me, must flatter me more,

If beauty from virtue receive no supply,
Or prattle from prudence, how wanting am I!
My ease and good-humour short raptures will bring;
My voice, like the nightingale's, knows but a spring:
For charms such as these, then, your praises give o'er;
To love me for life, you must love me still more,
To love me, &c.

Then talk not to me of a shape, or an air;
For Chloe the wanton can rival me there:
'Tis virtue alone that makes beauty look gay,
And brightens good-humour, as sunshine the day.
For that, if you love me, your flame may be true.
And I, in my turn, may be taught to love, too,
And I, in my turn, may be taught to love, too.

SONG 114.

SINCE laws are made for ev'ry degree,
To curb vice in others, as well as in me,
I wonder we han't better company
Upon Tyburn tree!
But gold from law can take out the sting;
And if rich men like us were to swing.
'Twould thin the land, such numbers to string
Upon Tyburn tree!

FINIS

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The Charms of melody: or, A choice collection of the most approved songs, catches, duets, &c.

2009-04

SONG 1. Poor Soldier.

SONG 2. Poor Soldier.

SONG 3. Poor Soldier. DUET.

SONG 4. Poor Soldier.

SONG 5. The Country Wedding.

SONG 6. Thro' the Wood, Laddie.

SONG 7.

SONG 8. The wandering sailor.

SONG 9. Anna's urn.

SONG 10. A favourite mad song.

SONG 11. From the Duenna.

SONG 12. On free masonry

SONG 13. Duenna.

SONG 14.

SONG 15.

SONG 16. The union of love and wine.

SONG 17.

SONG 18. The jolly miller.

SONG 19.

SONG 20.

SONG 21.

SONG 22.

SONG 23.

SONG 24. Quaker.

SONG 25.

SONG 26. Duenna.

SONG 27. Johnny and Mary.

SONG 28.

SONG 30

SONG 31.

SONG 33.

SONG 34.

SONG 35.

SONG 36.

SONG 37. DUET.

SONG 38.

SONG 39.

SONG 40.

SONG 41.

SONG 42.

SONG 43.

SONG 44. DUET.

SONG 45.

SONG 46.

SONG 47.

SONG 48.

SONG 50.

SONG 53.

SONG 54.

SONG 55.

SONG 56.

SONG 57.

SONG 58.

SONG 59.

SONG 60. Banks of the Dee.

SONG 61.

SONG 62.

SONG 63.

SONG 64.

SONG 65.

SONG 66.

SONG 67.

SONG 68.

SONG 69.

SONG 70.

SONG 71.

SONG 72.

SONG 73.

SONG 74.

SONG 73.

SONG 76.

SONG 76.

SONG 76

SONG 77.

SONG 78.

SONG 79.

SONG 80.

SONG 81.

SONG 3. Poor Soldier.
DUET.

SONG 11.
From the Duenna.

SONG 13.
Duenna.

SONG 26.
Duenna.

SONG 37.
DUET.

SONG 44.
DUET.