The fairest flowers to deck her breast
I chose, an infant lover,

I stole the goldfinch from the nest,
To sing to Patty Clover.

Tho' stout, I'll sure be constant still,
Nor ever be a rover;

If means increase, and coffers fill,
'Tis all for Patty Clover.

W

THEN weary Sol gang'd down the west,
And siller Cynthia rose,

The flower enamell'd bank I prest,
Where Chrystal Eden flows:
Young Jockey sat him by my side,
I kenn'd his meaning soon;
He ask'd a kiss, I scornful cry'd,
Ah! hoot awa ye loon.

Dear Peggy diuna flout a youth,
Nor gi' that bosom pain,

Which pants wi' honour, and wi' truth,

To take thee for its ain:
He said Mess John should us unite,
If I to kirk wad gang,
My bosom beat wi' new delight,
With him I went alang;
The bonny lad I found sincere,
Not waining like the moon,
So dear I loo him, I na mair
Will hoot awa the loon.

T

CEASE

CE

EASE to blame my melancholy,
Though with sighs and folded arms,

I muse with silence on her charms,
Censure not, I know 'tis folly;
Yet those mournful thoughts possessing,
Such delights I find in grief,

That could heav'n afford relief,
My fond heart would scorn the blessing.

HID from the sun, and cooling breeze,

In a cavern's dismal gloom;

Mourning child and consort lost,

Frantic Maon courts his tomb,
Speed to his aid, much injur'd fair,
And snatch thy monarch from despair,

In early spring of life forlorn,

Summer suns his breasts ne'er cheer,
Like sable night, his gloomy morn,
And wint'ry sadness chills his year.
Speed to his aid, &c,

THO

NHO' Fauny was not beauty's boast,
Nor fam'd for grace and ease,

Yet well night many a western toast,
From Fanny learn to please:

Good

Good nature smil'd in either eye,
Not affectation vain ;

The artful leer, the mimic sigh,
She never dreamt would gain.

A tear for pity, tho' she had,
And felt the suff'ring pang;

Yet mirth could make her heart as glad,
She'd join in dance and song:
A breast like her's, soft passion mov'd,
Beyond the common strain;

The truth of this poor Fanny prov'd,
And sunk beneath the pain.

Alas! she lov'd a gallant youth,
Yet ev'ry effort try'd

To conquer it, but such a truth,
In conquering love she died:
No more shall Fanny's kind address
The weary traveller cheer;

In clay-cold earth she's now at rest,
I saw her on the bier.

YOUNG Damon was a shepherd boy,

Fa la la la la fa la la la la la la,
And much he lov'd to kiss and toy,
Fa la la la la la la fa la la la la la,
Long time he woo'd a rustic maid,
Who was of love most sore afraid;
For when he sigh'd she only said,
Fa la la la la fa la la la la la.

For when he sigh'd, &c.
T 2

With

With jocund heart one morn he rose,
Fal lal lal lal lal fal lal lal lal lal la,
Clad in his best and Sunday clothes,

Fal lal lal lal lal lal fa lal lal lal lal la,
That he this damsel's heart might gain,
He talk'd of love, he talk'd of pain,
And sung an artless love sick strain.
Fal lal lal lal lal fal lal lal lal lal la.

And sung,

This maiden's heart 'gan to relent,
Fal lal lal lal lal fal lal lal lal lal la,
She gave her hand with free consent,

Fal lal lal lal lal lal fal lal lal lal lal la.
More happy loves were seldom seen,
To trip along the verdant green,
As Damon and his Sylvan queen,
Fal lal lal lal lal fal lal lal lal la.

&c.

As Damon, &c.

IN verity, damsel, thou surely shalt find, That my manners, though simple and plain, That my words and my actions, my deeds and my mind,

By my own good-will never are twain;

For I love thee,

Would move thee

Of love to be partaker;

Relent then,

Consent then,*

And take thine upright Quaker.

Though

Though vain I am not, nor of fopp'ry possess'd, Would'st thou choose to be wedded to me, Thou should'st find, gentle damsel, a heart in this breast,

As joyful, as joyful can be.

COULD you to battle march away,
And leave me here complaining?

I'm sure 'twould break my heart to stay,
When you are gone campaigning.
Ah! non, non, non,

Pauvre Madelon

Could never quit her rover :

Ah! non, non, non,

Pauvre Madelon.

Would go with you all the world over.

Cheer, cheer, my love, you shall not grieve,
A soldier true you'll find me;

I should not have the heart to leave
My little girl behind me;

Ah! non, non, non,

Pauvre Madelon

Should never quit her rover:

Shall

Ah! non, non, non,

Pauvre Madelon

go with me all the world over.

And can you to the battle go,

To woman's fears a stranger? No fear my breast will ever know, But when my love's in danger;

T 3

Ah 1