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IN

N infancy our hopes and fears Were to each other known, And friendship in our riper years Unite our hearts in one,

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Unite, &c.

Release him then from this offence,
Thy love thy duty prove,

Restore him with that innocence,

That first inspir'd his love.

That, &c.

WITH my pipe in one hand, and my jug ir

the other,

I drink to my neighbours and friend,
All my care in a whiff of tobacco I smother,
For life I know shortly must end;

For whilst Ceres most kindly refills my brown jug,
With good liquor I'll make myself mellow,
In an old wicker chair I'll seat myself snug,
Like a jolly and true hearted fellow.

I'll ne'er trouble my head with the cares of the nation,

I've enough of my own for to mind,

For the cares of this life are but grief and vexation, To death we must all be consign'd;

Thea

Then I'll laugh, drink, and smoke, and leave nothing to pay,

But drop like a pear that is mellow, And drop like a pear that is mellow,

And when cold in my coffin, I'll leave them to say,

He's gone, what a hearty good fellow !

DE

EAR Tom, this brown jug, which now foams
with mild ale,

Of which I now drink to sweet Nan of the vale,
Was once Toby Philpot, a thirsty old soul,
As e'er crack'd a bottle, or fathom'd a bowl;
For in boozing about, 'twas his praise to excel,
And amongst jolly topers he bore off the bell.

It chanc'd, as in dog-days he sat at his ease,
In a flower-woven arbour, as gay as you please,
With his pipe and his pot, puffing sorrow away,
And with honest old stingo sat soaking his clay,
When his breath-door of life on a sudden was shut,
And he died full as big as a Dorchester butt.

His body when long in the ground it had lain,
And time into clay had dissolv'd it again,
A potter found out in its covert so snug-
And with part of fat Toby he form'd this brown

jug.

Now sacred to friendship, to mirth, and mild ale, I'll drink to my lovely sweet Nan of the vale.

THE

THE

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HE tuneful lavrocks cheer the grove,
And sweetly smells the simmer green;

Now thro' the grove, I long to rove,
With bonny Jemn of Aberdeen.

Ile's fresh and fair, as flowers in May:
As blithe a lad as o'er the green;
How sweet the time will pass away,
Wi' bonny Jem of Aberdeen.

Wi' joy I leave my father's cot,
Wilka sport, or glen, or green;
Well pleas'd to share the humble lot
Of bonny Jem of Aberdeen.

WHEN first I saw the village maiden,
Like Cymon, motionless I stood;

'Twas Iphigenia's self appearing,
So lovely, virtuous, and good.
Her cheeks outblush'd the rip'ning rose,
Her smiles can banish mortals' woes,
So sweet, so sweet, the village maiden.
So sweet, &c.

Clarissa's eyes, all eyes attracting,
Her breath Arabian spices feign;
For her like ore, wou'd avarice wander,
Adventure all, the prize to gain:

I told my love with many fears,

Which she return'd with speaking tears,
Then sigh'd, then sigh'd, the village maiden.
So sweet, &c.

She

She sigh'd, because she had no riches,
To make her lady-like, and gay,
Tho' virtue was her only portion,

I dar'd to name the wedding day;
The care of wealth, let knaves endure,
I shall be rich, and envied sure,

To gain, to gain, the village maiden.
So sweet, &c.

SAY, simple maid, have you form'd any

notion

Of all the rude dangers in crossing the occan When winds whistle shrilly, ah! won't they remind you,

To sigh, with regret, for the grot left behind you?

Ah! no, I will follow, and sail the world over, Nor think of my grot, when I look at my lover! The winds which blow round us, your arms for my pillow,

Will full us to sleep, while we're rock'd by each billow.

O say, then, my true-love, we never will sunder, Nor shrink from the tempest, nor dread the big thunder;

While constant, we'll laugh at all changes of weather,

And journey all over the world, both together.

ERE

FRE around the huge oak, which o'ershadows

my mill,...

The fond ivy had dar'd to entwine;

Ere the church was a ruin, that stands on the hill, Or the rook built her nest on yon pine.

Or the rook, &c.

Could I trace back the day of a far distant date,
When my forefathers toil'd in this field,
And the farm I now hold on your honour's estate,
Is the same which my grandfather till'd.

Is the same, &c.

He dying bequeath'd to his son a good name,
Which unsullied, descended to me;

For my child I'll preserve it, unblemish'd with

shame,

And it still from a spot shall be free.

And it still, &c.

WHEN little on the village green

We play'd, I learnt to love her,

She seem'd to me some fairy queen,
So light tript Patty Clover.

Patty Clover, Patty Clover, &c.

So light, so light tript Patty Clover.

With ev'ry simple childish art,

I try'd each day to move her,

The cherry pluck'd, the bleeding heart
I gave to Patty Clover.

The

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