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Infifted to hand me along the green mead,
And there swore he lov'd me indeed and indeed;
And that he'd be constant and true to me still,
So fince that time I've lov'd him, and love him I will.

I often fay, .Mother, the miller I'll huff, She laughs and cries, Go, girl, I plague him enough; But scarce a day passes, but by her defire, I steal a sly kiss from the youth I admire. If wedlock he wishes, his wish I'll fulfil, And I'll answer, O yes, with a hearty good will.

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S Damon and Phillis were feeding their sheep,
The nymph for a frolic stept behind a green oak,
To hear what her Damon would say when he 'woke.

Not long she'd been there when the swain op'd his

And missing his Phillis was struck with surprise ;
He snatch'd up his crook, and ran wild o'er the plain,
And thus he inquir'd of each nymph and each swain:

Have you e'er seen a shepherdess pasfing this way,
As blyth as the morn, and as bright as the day?
In russet apparel, yet grand in her mein,
Resembling in beauty the fair Cypress queen.

Two lambkins milk white unto you I will give,
Let me but some tidings of Phillis receive ;
And if you will be but so gen'rous, ye swains,
As return me my Phillis, take a kiss for your pains.

Thus he spoke, but no tidings of Phillis could hear, Then back to his flocks he return’d in despair; The nymph, when she saw him, itep'd out and cry'd, Bo, And, laughing at his care, cried, Go, Damon, Go.

Both joy and surprise at once struck the poor fwain, With raptures he gaz'd on his Phillis again ; He chided a little, she blush'd at his care, And each gave a kiss and made up the affair.

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IN 'N Spring, my dear Shepherds, your flowrets are gay,

They breathe all their sweets in the sunshine of May; But hang down their heads when December draws near, The Winter of life is like that of the year.

The larks and the linnets that chant o'er the plains, All, all are in love while the Summer remains ; Their sweet hearts in Autumn no longer are dear, “ The Winter of life is like that of the year.”

The season for love is when youth's in its prime; Ye lads and ye lasses make use of

your The froft of old age will too quickly appear, The Winter of life is like that of the year.


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Maddie is

Y laddie is

o'er the plain,
While in forrow behind I am forc'd to remain ;
Though blue bells and vi'lets the hedges adorn,
Tho' trees are in blossom, and sweet blows the thorn;
No pleasure they give me, in vain they look gay,
There's nothing can please now, my Jockey's away;
Forlorn I fit singing, and this is my strain,
Hafte, haste, my dear Jockey, to me back again.


far away

When lads and their laffes are on the green met, They dance and they fing, they laugh and they chat, Contented and happy, with hearts full of glee, I can't without envy their merriment fee ; Those pastimes offend me, my shepherd's not there, No pleasure I relish that Jockey don't share, It makes me to figh, I from tears scarce refrain, I wish my dear Jockey return’d back again.

But hope shall sustain me, nor will I despair,
He promis'd he would in a fortnight be here;
On fond expectation my wishes I'll feast,
For love my dear Jockey to Jenny will hafte,
Then farewel each care, and adieu each vain sigh,
Who'll then be so bleft and so happy as I,
I'll fing on the meadows, and alter my strain,
When Jockey returns to my arms back again.

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VOUNG Jockey is the blytheft lad

That ever maiden woo'd,
When he appears my heart is glad,

For he is kind and good :
He talks of love where'er we meet,

His words in rapture flow,
Then tunes his pipes, and sings so sweet,

I have no power to go.

All other lasses he forsakes,

And flies to me alone;
At every fair, and all our wakes

To me he makes his moan :
He buys me toys and sweetmeats too,

And ribbons for my hair,
No swain was ever half so good,

Nor half so kind and fair.

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HE bird that hears her nestlings cry, , Returns impatient thro' the sky,

To nurfe the callow brood :
The tender mother knows no joy,

But bodes a thousand harms :
And fickens for the darling boy,

When absent from her arins.

queen of

Such fondness with impatience join'd

My faithful bosom fires ;
Now forc'd to leave my fair behind,


desires :
The pow’rs of verse too languid prove,

All fimiles are vain,
To lhew how ardently I love,

Or to relieve my pain.
The faint with fervent zeal inspir'd,

For heav'n and joy divine ;
The faint is not with raptur'd fir'd,

More pure, more warm than mine :
I take what liberty I dare,

'Twere impious to say more ; Convey my longings to the fair, The goddess I adore.




All I ask of MORTAL MA N.

HE wanton god who pierces hearts

Dips in gall his pointed darts,
But the nymph disdains to pine,
Who bathes the wound with rosy wine.

Rofy wine, rosy wine,
Who bathes the wound with rosy wine.

Farewel, lovers, when they're cloy'd;
If I am scorn'd because enjoy'd,
Sure the squeamish fops are free
To rid me of dull company.

Sure they're free, sure they're free,
To rid me of dull company.

They have their charms while mine can please, I love them much, but more my ease; Jealous fears me ne'er moleit, Nor faithless vows shall break


reft. Break my rest, break my reft, Nor faithless vows shall break



Why should they ever give me pain,
Who to give me joy disdain ?
All I hope of mortal man,
Is to love me while he can.

While he can, while he can,
Is to love me while he can.

XX ***



To like a bird hierome grove to grove,


To wander like the bee ;
To sip of sweets, and taste of love,

Is not enough for me :

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