There is ne'er a laird in all Dumfries,
Tho' many a laird there be,
Can ever say such things to please,
As my dear shepherd to me;
And tho' but little the youth can boast,
Of acres, houses, or gear,
Of all the shepherds I love him most,
And he is my only dear.
Then gang o'er the hills, &c.
Twelve months are gone, and something more,
Since we fix'd on it to wed;
And should we tarry even threescore,
Why something will e'er be said.
Then let us now, while yet 'tis spring,
And sympathy warms each breast,
Twine hands together in Hymen's string,
And love will make up the rest.
Then gang o'er the hills, &c.
NAN OF GLOSTER GREEN.
Sung by Mr. Dignum.
SAY, will you leave your village cot,
And range the fields with me?
My mind to sooth on yon
Intent on nought but thee.
The op'ning spring, that hails the year,
So like thy graceful mien,
My charming girl, to me so dear,
Is Nan of Gloster Green.
Could I but gain your heart, my fair,
How gay the time would pass!
Each day to tend my fleecy care
With you, my lovely lass!
Come then, dear girl, to church with me;
Now smile consent, my queen;
My ev'ry wish is form'd for thee,
Sweet Nan of Gloster Green.
Her lily hand, and willing heart,
A blush o'erspread her face:
Here take me, shepherd, let's depart,
And seek the hallow'd place,
Where love and friendship shall combine,
And union e'er be serene;
Now all assist our hands to join,
The joy of Gloster Green.
HE'S STOLE MY HEART FROM ME.
Sung by Miss Sims.
YOUNG Jemmy is a bonny boy,
And lives not far away;
Ard sweetly does the bonny boy
Upon his bag-pipes play.
Oh! he plays so sweetly all day long,
And then so fond is he,
That he so charm'd me with his song,
He stole my heart from me.
And 'tis oh! ah! my little heart!
He's stole away from me.
The other day this bonny boy,
Thus whisper'd in my ear,
And wilt thou wed a Highland lad,
That loves thee truly, dear?
Shall we to kirk, without delay,
And tie the knot? says he.
Ah! yes, I cry'd: what could I say?
He'd stole my heart from me.
And its oh! ah! &c.
Well, wed I did the bonny boy,
And now I am his wife,
Our time is pass'd in love and joy,
Devoid of care and strife.
And tho' in humble garment clad,
For richer swains there be,
Give me the bonny Highland lad,
That stole my heart from me.
And its oh! ah! &c.
MY HENRY HAS LEFT ME TO MOURN.
LOST, lost, lost, is my quiet for ever,
Since Hen'ry has left me to mourn.
To forget him how vain my endeavour,
Alas! will he never return.
Ah! well a day, well a day, well a day:
Ah! well a day, lost, lost is my quiet for ever,
Since Henry has left me to mourn,
Still memory pictures him near me,
Still loves on his image to dwell,
And kindly attentive to cheer me,
She tells of his tender farewell.
Yet, ah! well a day, &c.
Yet, ah! surely he did not deceive me,
Ah! sure he was loth to depart;
And fondly unwilling to leave me,
His tenderness flow'd from his heart.
Yet, ah! well a day, &c.
But if feign'd were his tears and his anguish,
And he for another can sigh,
Not long I unpitied shall languish,
But pray for his welfare-and die.
For ah! well a day, &c.
1 AM A LAD WELL KNOWN IN TOWN.
TUNE-Jolly Dick the Lamplighter.
I AM a lad well known in town,
For friendship, mirth, and fun,
Among the fair, the black, the brown,,
My daily course I run;
I chat with Bet, I toy with Sall,
I dance with Kate and Sue;
My part I play with ev'ry girl,
So fond of something new.
To kiss and keep it up's my aim,-
For I'm a roving blade;
Tom Bowling is my saucy name,
A rover I by trade;
Shall drowsy watchmen me perplex,
That ramble thro' the town;
I love my bottle and the sex,
They all my sorrows drown,
Then bring me bowls of gen'rous wine,
And pledge me with the same;
Since life's a jest I'll ne'er repine,
Despair's an empty name;
The fav'rite catch, the sprightly glee,.
That pleasing scenes in part;
In flowing numbers welcome me,
And cheer the merry heart.
'SDEATH what fuss land-lubbers make
About their rights and laws,
As if in doubt what part to take,
And jar, as 'twere, for straws ;—
If they wou'd do the thing that's right,
Or cease prevarication,
Like loyal tars they wou'd unite,
To save this envy'd nation.
Much talking argues little good,
For many do remark,
That cur has not the truest blood,
Which is too apt to bark.
True courage ne'er delights in noise;
But when there is occasion,
The loyal tar each nerve employs
To save his envy'd nation.
Let Frenchmen say whate'er they will,
And pass such mad decrees,
That each a brother's blood shall spill,
Or father's if they please;
We are not quite so savage grown,
To ape so strange a fashion,
Each loyal tar will guard the crown,
His king, his friend, and nation!
I SAT out one eve with intention to roam,
To the rock, where the surges wantonly play, When the owl had stol'n out from his secret home, And bright-vested Hesperus clos'd in the day.
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