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With success crown'd, I'll not envy The folks who dwell above the sky; When Mary Scott's become my marrow, We'll make a paradise in Yarrow.

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"WAS summer and the day was fair,

Resolv'd a while to fly from care, Beguiling thought, forgetting forrow, I wander o'er the braes of Yarrow; Till then despising beauty's power, I kept my heart my own secure, But Cupid's art did there deceive me, And Mary's charms do now enllave me.

Will cruel love no bribe receive ? No ransom take for Mary's slave? Her frowns of rest and hope deprive me, Her lovely smiles like light revive me. No bondage may with mine compare Since first I saw this charming fair, This beauteous flower, this rose of Yarrow In nature's garden has no marrow.

Had I of Heaven but one request, I'd ask to lie in Mary's breast; There would I live or die with pleasure, Nor spare this world one moment's leisure : Despising Kings and all that's great, I'd smile at courts and courtiers fate; My joy complete on such a marrow, I'd dwell with her, and live on Yarrow.

But tho' such bliss I ne'er should gain, Contented still I'll wear my chain, In hopes my faithful heart may move her, For, leaving life, I'll always love her.

What doubts distract a lover's mind ?
That breaft, all softness, must prove kind;

l And she shall yet become my marrow, The lovely beauteous rose of Yarrow.






EAR Tom, this brown jug that now foams with

mild ale,
In which I will drink to sweet Nan of the vale,
Was once Toby Fillpot, a thirsty old soul
As e'er drank a bottle, or fathom'd a bowl ;
In bouzing about 'twas his praise to excel,
And among jolly topers he bore off the bell.

It chanc'd that in dog-days he sat at his ease,
In his flower-woven arbour, as gay as you please,
With a friend and a pipe puffing sorrow away,
And with honest old ftingo was soaking his clay,
His breath-doors of life on a sudden were shut,
And he died full as big as a Dorchester butt.

His body, when long in the ground it had lain, And time into clay had resolv'd it again, A potter found out in its covert so snug, And with part of fat Toby he form’d this brown jug, Now facred to friendship, to mirth, and mild ale, So here's to my lovely sweet Nan of the vale.

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Y smooth winding Tay a swain was reclining,

Aft cry'd he, oh hey! maun I still live pining
Mysell thus awa', and darena discover
To my bonny Hay that I am her lover?

Nae mair it will hide, the flame waxes stronger;
If she's not my bride, my days are no longer ;
Then I'll take a heart, and try at a venture,
May be, 'ere we part, my vows may content her.

She's fresh as the spring, and sweet as Aurora, When birds mount and fing, bidding day a good morrow; The swaird of the mead, enamelld with daisies, Looks wither'd and dead when twin’d of her graces.

But if she appears where verdure invites her, The fountains run clear, and flowers smell the sweeter; 'Tis heaven to be by when her wit is a flowing, Her smiles and sweet eye fet my fpirits a glowing.

The mair that I gaze, the deeper I'm wounded,
Struck dumb with amaze, my mind is confounded,
I'm all in a fire, dear maid, to caress ye,
For a' my desire is Hay's bonny laflie.

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O Bonny lass will

you lie in a barrack, marry a foger and


his wallet?
Yes I will go, and think no more on it,
I'll marry my Harry and carry his wallit;
I'll neither ask leave of


minnie nor daddie, But off and away with my soger laddie.


O bonny lass will you go a campaigning ?

you suffer the hardships of battle and famine? When fainting and bleeding, O cou'd you draw near me ? And kindly support me, and tenderly chear me?

O yes I will go, tho' these evils you mention, And twenty times more if you had the invention ;


Neither hunger, nor cold, nor dangers alarm me,
While I have my foldier, my dearest, to charm me.




LAST TIME I CAME O ER THE MUIR. THE last time I came o'er the muir, Ye powers ! what pain do I endure,

When soft ideas mind me?
Soon as the ruddy morn display'd

The beaming day ensuing,
I met betimes my lovely maid,

In fit retreats for wooing.

Beneath the cooling shade we lay,

Gazing and chastely sporting ; We kiss’d and promis'd time away,

Till night spread her black curtain. I pitied all beneath the skies,

Even Kings, when she was nigh me ; In raptures I beheld her eyes,

Which cou'd but ill deny me.

Shou'd I be call'd where cannons roar,

Where mortal steel may wound me ; Or cast upon some foreign fhore,

Where dangers may surround me;
Yet hopes again to see my love,

To feast on glowing kisses,
Shall make my care at distance move,

In prospect of such bliffes.

In all my foul there's not one place

To let a rival enter;
Since she excels in every grace,

In her my love shall center.
Sooner the feas fhall ceafe to flow,

Their waves the Alps shall cover ;

On Greenland-ice shall roses

grow, Before I cease to love her.

The next time I gang o’er the muir,

She shall a lover find me; And that


faith is firm and pure,
Tho' I left her behind me :
Then Hymen's facred bonds shall chain

My heart to her fair bosom ;
There, while my being does remain,

My love more fresh shall blossom.





N April when primroses paint the sweet plain,
The yellow-hair’d laddie would often times go
To wilds and deep glens where the hawthorn trees grow.

There, under the shade of an old facred thorn,
With freedom he sung his love ev’ning and morn;
He fang with so faft and enchanting a found,
That fylvans and fairies unseen danc'd around.

The shepherd thus sung, Tho' young Maya be fair, Her beauty is dalh'd with a scornfu' proud air ; But Susie was handsome, and sweetly.cou'd ling; Her breath like the breezes perfum'd in the spring.

That Madie in all the gay bloom of her youth, Like the moon was inconftant, and never spoke truth; But Sufie was faithful, good-humour'd and free, And fair as the goddess that sprung from the sea.

That mamma's fine daughter, with all her great dow'r, Was aukwardly airy, and frequently fowr;

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