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His prison broke, he seeks the diftant plain;
Yet e'er he flies, tunes forth this parting strain.

Whilst to the distant vale I wing,
Nor wait the flow return of spring,
Rather in leafless groves to dwell,
Than in my Chloe's warmer cell.
Forgive me, mistress, fince by thee
I first was taught sweet liberty.

Soon as the welcome spring shall chear
With genial warmth the drooping year,
I'll tell upon the topmost spray,
Thy sweeter notes improv'd my lay,
And in my prison learn’d from thee
To warble forth sweet liberty.

Waste not on me an useless care,
That kind concern let Strephon share ;
Slight are my forrows, flight my ills,
To those which he poor captive feels,
Who kept in hopeless bonds by thee,
Yet strives not for his liberty,






TOW'S the time for mirth and glee,

Sing and love, and laugh with me;
Cupid is my theme of story,
'Tis his godship’s praise and glory,
How all yield into his law.

Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.

O'er the grave, and o'er the gay, Cupi takes his share of play:

He makes heroes quit their glory,
He's the god most fam'd in story;
Bending them into his law.

Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.

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, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.


doubt these things are true ;
But they're facts 'twixt me and you :
Then ye men and maids be wary

meet before

you marry. Cupid's will is folely law.

Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.


S 0




OUNG Jockey he courted sweet Maggy so fair ;

They hugg’d, and they cuddled, and talk'd with their eyes, And look’d, as all lovers do, wonderful wife.

A fortnight was spent 'ere dear Maggy came too; For maidens a decency keep when they woo : At length she consented, and made him a vow, And Jockey he gave, for her jointure, his cow.

They pannelld their dobbins, and rode to the fair, Still kissing and fondling until they came there : They call'd on the Parson, and by him were wed, And Maggy she took her dear Jockey to bed.

They staid there a week, as the neighbours all say; And none was so happy and gamesome as they: Then home they return’d, but return'd most unkind; For Jockey rode on, and left Maggy behind.

Surpris'd at this treatment, she cry'd, Gaffer Jock, Pray what is the reason that Maggy you mock'd ; Quoth he, Goose, come on! why you now are my bride ; And when volk are wed, they set fooling aside.

He took home his Maggy good conduct to learn, Who brush'd up the house, while he thatch'd the old barn: They laid in a stock for the cares that ensue, And now live as man and wife usually do.



HE wand'ring failor plows the main,

Undaunted braves the stormy seas,
To find at last content and ease.
In hopes, when toil and danger's o'er,
To anchor on his native shore.

In hopes, &c.
When winds blow hard, and mountains roll,
And thunder shakes from pole to pole,
When dreadful waves surrounding foam,
Still fatt'ring fancy wafts him home;

In hopes, when toil, &c.

When round the bowl the jovial crew,
The early scenes of youth renew,
Tho' each his fav’rite fair will boast,
This is their universal toast :
May we, when toil and danger's o'er,
Caft anchor on our native shore.

May we, &c.




Sung by Mrs Lowe at Marybone Gardens. E dull thinking fouls, who by troubles are preft, YE

That are strangers alike both to joy and to rest, Adhere to my maxims, I'll teach you


To be ever contented, good-humour'd, and gay;
No remedy's surer to drive away pain,
Than a bumper of claret, or sparkling champaigne ;

Or sparkling champaigne ;
Than a bumper of claret, or sparkling, &c.

Ye lovers, who live by the smiles of the fair, Whom a frown from your mistress can drive to despair, Should she chance to prove peevish, ill natur’d, or shy, Why, leave her alone, and ne'er flatter or figh; Despise all her arts, and forget her disdain In a bumper of claret, or sparkling champaigne ;

Or sparkling champaigne, In a bumper of claret, &c.

When the husband is jealous, or dull, or unkind, Let his spouse give him this, and she'll speedily find, His mind 'twill enliven, his care 'twill remove, And awake in his bofom the transports of love ; At a change fo inviting, what wife can repine ? From bleflings, the virtue of sparkling champaigne ;

Of sparkling champaigne, From blessings, the virtue, &c.



BLITHE SANDY. By Mr Hawkins.

Y Sandy is the sweetest swain
That ever pip'd on Tay;

He tends his sheep on verdant plain,
And chears me all the day :
For, oh! he is fo blithe a lad,

A blither canna be,
Whene'er he's nigh, my heart is glad,

For dearly he loves me.

As on a mossy bank we sat,

Beneath a fragrant shade,
The youth he charm’d me with his chat,
And on his bagpipes play'd:

For, oh! he is so blithe, &c.

He calls me his dear life and care,

And his own Maggy too;
He vows, by all that's good and fair,
To me he will prove true :

For, oh! he is so blithe, &c.

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Winna marry ony man but Sandy o'er the lee;

I winna ha'e the dominie, for geud he canna be ;
But I will ha'e my Sandy lad, my Sandy o'er the lee :
For he’s aye a kissing, kissing, kissing, aye a kisfing me,
He's aye a kifling, kissing, kiffing, aye a kiffing me.

I winna ha’e the minister, for a' his godly looks, Nor yet will I the lawyer ha'e, for a' his wily crooks ;

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