Too foon did heav'n affert its claim,

And call'd its own away.

My Anna's worth, my Anna's charms,

Can never more return:

What then shall fill these widow'd arms,
Ah me! my Anna's urn.

Can I forget that blifs refin'd,
Which, bleft with her I knew?
Our hearts in facred bonds entwin'd
Were bound by love too true.
That rural train which once was us'd
In feftive dance to turn,

So pleas'd, when Anna they amus'd,
Now weeping deck her urn.

The foul escaping from its chain,
She clafp'd me to her breast,
To part with thee is all my pain,
She cried, then funk to reft.
While mem'ry fhall her feat retain,
From beauteous Anna torn,
My heart fhall breath its ceaseless strain
Of forrow o'er her urn.

There with the earliest dawn, a dove
Laments her murder'd mate;
There Philomela, loft to love,
Tells the pale moon her fate.
With yew and ivy round me spread,
My Anna there I'll mourn;
For all my foul, now she is dead,
Concentres in her urn.

......

SONG

“2་《》་་《ར་ར ར

CCLXXVII.

THE BONNY SAILOR.

MY bonny failor's won my mind,

Μ

My heart is now with him at fea;

I hope the summer's western breeze
Will bring him fafely back to me:
I wish to hear what glorious toils,
What dangers he has undergone,
What forts he's ftorm'd, how great the spoils
From France and Spain my failor's won.

A thousand terrors chill'd my breast,
When fancy brought the foe in view,
And day and night I've had no reft,
Left ev'ry gale a tempeft blew.
Bring, gentle gales, my failor home;
His fhip at anchor may I see :
Three years are fure enough to roam,
Too long for one that loves like me.

His face by fultry climes is wan,

His eyes by watching shine less bright;
But ftill I'll own my charming man,
And run to meet him when in fight:
His honeft heart is what I prize,

No weather can make that look old;
Tho' alter'd were his face and eyes,
I'll love my jolly failor bold.

L

SONG

CCLXXVIII.

UNDER THE ROSE.

Sung by Mr Vernon at Vauxhall.

AST Midfummer eve, as I pass'd thro' the grove, I met with young Phillis, the goddess of love; My heart was tranfported, you well may fuppofe, gave her a kifs-but 'twas under the rofe.

I

She started and blufh'd, and reply'd, with a frown, "Don't fancy, young fwain, I'll be kifs'd by a clown, "I'm courted by Strephon-fee yonder he goes," Still I gave her a kifs-but 'twas under the rofe.

"Come, come, dearest charmer," I tenderly cry'd, "I care not for Strephon; I'll not be deny'd, "He's falfe to young Phillis; he very well knows,

My heart is right honeft, tho' under the rose.”

"If Strephon be falfe, what has Phillis to do?" (She answer'd in anguish) "No men fure are true," "O yes, my dear girl, (I reply'd) don't fuppofe "But Damon is conftant, tho' under the rose."

"If you love me (the cry'd) here then freely I give "My heart and affection as long as I live." I led her to church, and fhe does not fuppofe But Damon is conftant,-tho' under the rose.

A FAVOURITE HUNTING SONG.

LAST Valentine's day, when bright Phœbus shone

clear,

I had not been hunting for more than a year,

Taleo, taleo, &c.

I mounted black Sloven, o'er the road made him bound, For I heard hounds challenge, and horns fweetly found, Taleo, taleo, &c.

Hallo into covert, Old Anthony cries,

No fooner he spoke but the fox, Sir, he spies,
Taleo, &c.

This being the fignal, he then crack'd his whip,
Taleo was the word, and away he did leap,

Then

Taleo, &c.

up rides Dick Dawson, who car'd not a pin, He sprung at the drain, but his horse tumbled in,

Taleo, &c.

reng

And as he crept out, why he fpy'd the old
With his tongue hanging out ftealing home to his den.
Taleo, &c.

Our hounds and our horfes were always as good
As ever broke covert, or dash'd thro' the wood,
Taleo, &c.

Old Reynard runs hard, but muft certainly die,
Have at you, old Tony, Dick Dawson did cry,
Taleo, &c.

The hounds they had run twenty miles now or more,
Old Anthony fretted, he curs'd too, and fwore,

Taleo, &c.

But Reynard being spent, foon muft give up the ghoft, Which will heighten our joys when we come to each toaft, Taleo, &c.

The day's fport being over, the horns we will found,
To the jolly fox-hunters let echo refound,

Taleo, &c.

So fill up your glaffes, and chearfully drink

To the honeft true sportsman who never will shrink.
Taleo, &c.

HERE was a wife won'd in a glen,
And he had dochters nine or ten,

That fought the house baith but and ben
To find their mam a fnishing.
The auld wife beyont the fire,
The auld wife aneift the fire,
The auld wife aboon the fire,

She died for lack of fnishing *.

Snihing, in its literal meaning, is fnuff made of tobacco, but in this fong it means fometimes contentment, a husband, love, money, &c.

Her mill into fome hole had fa'n,
Whatrecks, quoth fhe, let it be ga'en,
For I maun ha'e a young goodman,
Shall furnish me with fnishing.

Her eldest dochter faid right bauld,
Fy, mother, mind that now ye're auld,
And if ye with a younker wald,

He'll waste away your fnishing.

The youngest dochter ga'e a fhout,
O mother dear! you're teeths a' out,
Befides half blind, you ha'e the gout,
Your mill can ha'd nae fnishing.

Ye lied, ye limmers, cries all mump,
For I ha'e baith a tooth and stump,
And will nae langer live in dump,
By wanting o' my fnishing.

Thole ye, fays Peg, that pauky flut,
Mother, if ye can crack a nut,
Then we will a' confent to it,
That ye fhall have a fnishing.

The auld wife did agree to that,
And they a piftol bullet gat,
She pow'rfully began to crack,
To win herself a fnishing.

Braw fport it was to see her chow't,
And 'tween her gums fae fqueeze and row't,
While frae her jaws the flaver flow't,

And ay fhe curs'd poor ftumpy.

At laft fhe ga'e a defperate fqueeze,
Which brake the auld tooth by the neeze,

And fyne poor ftumpy was at ease,
But the tint hopes o' fnifhing.

She of the task began to tire,
And frae her dochters did retire,