I ken right what I then maun do ;
For ask'd to kiss me when you will.
'Twill be, yes, love, and I thank you too.

W

SONG.

Sung by Mrs. Martyr, in Sherwood Foreft.

HEN ruddy Aurora awakens the day,

And bright dew-drops impearl the flowers fo gay,

Sound, found, my ftout archers, found horns, and away,

With arrows fharp pointed we go.

See Sol now arifes in fplendor fo bright;
To Paan, for Phoebus who leads to delight,
All glorious illum'd now rifes to fight;
'Tis he, boys, is god of the bow.

Fresh roles we'll offer at Venus's fhrine;
Libations we'll pour to Bacchus divine;
While mirth, love, and pleasure, injunction combine,
For archers, true fons of the game,

Bid forrow adieu, in foft numbers we'll fing;
Love, friendship, and beauty make the air ring,
Withing health and fuccefs to our country and king;
Encrease to their honour and fame.

SONG..

A Paforal.

The words by Mr. Cunningham.

'ER moorlands and mountains, rude, barren,

and bare,'

As wearied and wilder'd I roam,

XA gentle

A gentle young fhepherdefs fees my defpair,
And leads me o'er lawns to her home.

And leads me, &c.

Yellow fheafs from rich Ceres her cottage had crown'd, Green rushes were ftrew'd on the floor;

Her cafements fweet woodbines crept wantonly round, And deck'd the fod feat at her door.

And de k'd the, &c.

We fat ourselves down to a cooling repast,
Fresh fruits, and the cull'd me the best;
Whilst thrown from my guard by fome glances she caft,
Love flyly stole into my breast.

Love flyly, &c.

I told my foft wishes-fhe fweetly replied,
(Ye virgins, her voice was divine)
I have rich ones rejected, and great ones denied ;
Yet take me, fond fhepherd-I'm thine.

Yet take me, &C.

Her air was fo modeft, her afpect fo meek;
So fimple tho' fweet were her charms;
I kifs'd the ripe rofes that glow'd on her cheek,
And lock'd the lov'd maid in my arms.

And lock d the, &c...

Now jocund together we tend a few fheep;
And if on the banks by the ftream,

Reclin'd on her bofom I fink into fleep,.
Her image ftill foftens my dream.

Her image, &c.

Together we range o'er the flow-rifing hills,
Delighted with paftoral views,

Or reft on the rock whence the streamlet diftills,
And marks out new themes for my mufe.

And marks out, &c.

The

To pomp, or proud titles, the ne'er cou'd aspire;
The dan fel's of humble defcent;

The cottager Peace is wel known for her fire;
The shepherds have nam'd her Content.

The fh pherds, &c,

N°

SONG.

Cupid Triumphant.

OW's the time for mirth, and glee, Sing, and love, and laugh with me: Cupid is my theme of story;

'Tis his godship's fame and glory; How all yield unto his law!

Ha ha ha ha ha! ha ha!

O'er the grave, and o'er the gay
Cupid takes his share of play;
He makes hero's quit their glory:
He's the god most fam'd in ftory;
Bending them unto his law,

Ha! ba! ba! &c.

Sly the urchin deals his darts,
Without pity-piercing hearts:
Cupid triumphs over paffions.
Not regarding modes or fashions:
Firmly fix'd is Cupid's law.

Ha! ba! ha! &c.

Some may think thefe lines not true,
But they're facts-'twixt me and you:
Then ye maids, and men, be wary.
How you meet before you marry.
Cupid's will is folely law,

Ha! ha! ba! &c.

SONG.

DUET.

The Maid of the Mill.

Sung by Mrs. Kennedy and Mrs. Martyr, in Rofina.

I'XE

William.

'VE kifs'd and I've prattled with fifty fair maids, And chang'd them as oft d'ye fee;

But of all the fair maidens that dance on the green, The maid of the mill for me.

Phoebe.

There's fifty young men have told me fine tales,
And call me the fairest fhe;

But of all the gay youths that sport on the green,
Young Harry's the lad for me.

William.

Her eyes are as black as the floe in the edge,
Her face like the bloffoms in May,
Her teeth are as white as the new-fhorn flock.
Her breath like the new-made hay.

Phabe.

He's tall and he's ftraight as the poplar tree,
His cheeks are as fresh as the rose;

He looks like a fquire of high degree
When dreft in his Sunday's clothes.

SONG.

SONG.

The Wedding Day.

Sung by Mrs. Kennedy.

HAT virgin or fhepherd, in valley or grove,

W Will envy my innocent lays,

The fong of the heart, and the offspring of love,
When fung in my Corydon's praise.

O'er brook and 'o'er brake, as he hies to the bow'r,
How lightfome my fhepherd can trip

And fure when of love he defcribes the foft power
The honey-dew drops from his lip..

How fweet is the primrose, the violet how fweet,
And fweet is the eglantine breeze,

But Corydon's kifs, when by moon-light we meet, i
To me is far fweeter than these.

I blush at his raptures, I hear all his vows,
I figh when I offer to speak,

And oh! what delight my fond bofom o'erflows,
When I feel the foft touch of his cheek.

f.

Refponfive and thrill be the notes from the spray,
Let the pipe thro" the village refound,"

Be fmiles in each face, O ve fhepherds to day,
And ring the bells merrily round.

Your favours prepare my companions with speed,
Affift me my blushes to hide,

A twelvemonth ago on this day I agreed

To be my loy'd Corydon's bride.

1

SONG.