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Old England, whose trade

Is not gasconade,
No Buckingham-suit army announces:

But soldiers in shoes,

Will pay France all dues;
So, monsieurs, take care of your sconces.
Ev'ry Briton, &c.

IF the man but goes right who follows his nose,
The Waterman always goes wrong;
For one way he looks, while another he rows,
And yet he keeps stroke with a song j
He gives you ajoke,
At every stroke,
While his wherry glides smoothly along.

How happy a soul might a Waterman be,

Were his cares to his boat but confin'd 1

He never would launch on a troublesome sea,

To disturb the content of his mind!

But when with his bride,'

Each stroke's against tide,

'Tis tugging 'gainst water and wind.

But why should I grieve when I look on my badge:

When I won it, than Dick, who so merry? How it drew the black peepers offah Wandsworth Madge, When I stepp'd from rny boat at the ferry. Ah! bless her black eyes, That stroke won the prize: She was the first fare in my wherry.

WHEN

WHEN Sandy told his tale of love,
I knew na what to do;
For mither did iia him approve,

But I did much him loo.
I told her, but it ga'e me pain,

1 wad hae him, or nane:
And soon at kirk, across the plain,
The parson made us ane.
Ever jocund a' the day,
Now a bonny bride so gay;
Sandy pipes, I dance and sing,
While the merry bells do ring.

My mither did wi' anger burn,

To hear that I was wed;
She vow'd, and did me from her spurn,

She ne'er would gi'e me bread;
For much she doubted Sandy's truth.

But when his worth she knew,
She cry'd,' I will embrace the youth,

'For now I ken he's"true.'

Everjocund a' the day, &c.

Wi' Sandy, in a pleasant cot,

Sae happy now I live;
I would na change my rural spot

For a' that man could give!
The empty show of pride and wealth

We dinna wish to have;
For we are blest with peace and health,

And nothing more we crave.

Everjocund a' the day, &c.

IFF while my passion I impart,
-lL You deem my words untrue,
O place your hand upon tuy heart,

Feel how it throbs For you!
Ah, no, reject the thoughtless claim,

In pity to your Lover;
The thrilling touch would aid the flame

It wishes to discover.

THE broom bloom'd so fresh and so fair,
The lambkins were sporting arounJ,
When I wander'd to breathe the fresh air,
And by chance a rich treasure I found;
A lass sat beneath a green shade,

For whose smiles the whole world I'd forego!
As blooming as May was the maid,
And she lives in the valley below.

Her song struck my ear with surprise,

Her voice like the nightingale sweet; But Love took his seat in her eyes,

Where beauty and innocence meet. From that moment my heart was her own*

For her ev'ry wish I'd forego; She's beauteous as roses just blown,

And she lives in the valley below.

My cottage with woodbine o'ergrown,
The sweet turtle dove cooing round,

My flocks and my herds are my own, •
My pastures with hawthorn abound;

s -v AU AH my riches I'll lay at her feet,

If her heart in return she'll bestow;

For no pastime can cheer mv retreat,
While she lives in the valley below.

AT noon, when my fair one I meet, [shade; Where the chesnut-tree spreads its, cool While nightingales charm the retreat,

Thus 1 question my amiable maid: < Have you thought on the theme I addrest

In the church-way, when no one was by? She answers, with bosom opprest,

"I am thine," and it comes with a sigh.

If the causr> of that sigh could be known,

I would give—but have patience awhile; I have nothing to give that's my own,

Save the profit that springs from my toil. I surely have found out the cause,

When she answers me—Prudence is by; Tho' my manners may meet her applause,

My poverty weakens the Sigh.

Go, Fortune still tend on the great,

On the wretch too important to love;
Go bask on tl»e cushion of state,

Hut leave me in anguish to rove.
Tho'my heart is sincerely her own, .

From her presence for ever I'll fly,
She shall not ho wedded to moan,

Lest I couple a tear with her sigh.

CEASE!

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