Blithe Willy was a foldier brave,

Who fear'd not scars, or death, or wounds, His country or his love to fave,

When Britain's filver trumpet founds.

Now fear is rous'd by war's alarms,
And threat'ning foes each hour arife;
I fcorn young Harry's vocal charms,
And Mafter Jemmy I despise:
I love my Willy bold and brave,

He heeds not fcars, or death, or wounds,
His country or his love to fave,

When Britain's filver Trumpet founds.

In piping times of peace, a beau,
Dear girls, may idle thoughts employ;
But now, while threat'ned by each foe,
Be wife, and throw away the toy.
Take my advice, love him that's brave,
Who fears not scars, or death, or wounds;
So may your fmiles your country fave,
Whilft Britain's filver trumpet founds.

T

SONG

8

CCLXXXVII.

BE MERRY AND WISE.

O be merry and wife is a proverb of old,

But a maxim so good can't too often be told; Then attend to my fong, nor my counsel despise, For I mean to be merry,—but merry and wife.

Ye bucks, who then toping fuch rapture exprefs, And yet find the next day dismal proofs of excefs, Avoid all extremes, and mark well my advice, 'Tis to drink and be merry,-but merry and wife.

In women, all lovely, is center'd each blifs, But let prudence give fanction, 'twill sweeten the kifs?

If not beauty or folly your fenfes furprise,

You may kifs and be merry,-but merry and wife.

Then ye topers and rakes, who would lead happy lives, All excefs avoid, and chufe modest wives;

While prudence prefides, it is thus I advise,

Love and drink, and be merry,-but merry and wife.

WHEN THE HEART IS AT EASE.

WHEN the heart is at ease, how chearful each scene,

How pleafing the toils or the sports of the green,

Now fhunning their paftimes, with tears I deplore,
That Jockey is abfent, and joy is no more.

When he pip'd on the green the laffes wou'd throng, And ftill he chofe me for the theme of his fong; But now he has left me in grief to deplore, That Jockey is absent, and joy is no more.

O come, my dear shepherd, once more chear the plain, O come and relieve my fad heart of its pain;

No longer in forrow thus let me deplore,
That Jockey is abfent, and joy is no more.

Y laffes, do you Jockey ken, the pride of Aberdeen,

Migolden locks hang o'er his brow, love wantons

in his een.

His teeth with fnow-drops may compare, his breath with new mown hay;

He's bonniest where the bonny come, and baith can fing and fay,

Gang down the burn, my Meg, he cry'd,
Gang down the burn wi' me,

I ken'd what he'd be at, and faid, I winna gang wi' thee.

If to the wimpling burnie I, 'ith morn to wash my claiths,

The bonny lad his winfome flute tunes o'er the neighbouring braes;

At e'en, as hame I do return frae milking mither's ky, He'll lack my leglen o'er the bent, and lilt fae blithfomely,

Gang down the burn, my Meg, he cry'd,

Gang down the burn wi' me.

I ken'd what he'd be at, and faid, I winna gang wi' thee.

If ewes shou'd stray, he'll hound his dog, and fetch them frae the glen;

He'll tent the weathers to the trowe, and bring my lambkins ben;

He'll buy me ribbon knots fae fine, and prin them to my breaft;

He'll kifs fae fweet, and fighing vow, I'm bonnier than

the rest.

Gang down the burn, my Meg, he cry'd,

Gang down the burn wi' me.

Hout lad, gang firft afore the Priest, and then I'fe gang wi' thee.

A

SONG CCXc.

TOTTER DOWN HIL L.

T Totterdown hill there dwelt an old pair,
And it may be, they dwell there still;

Much riches indeed didn't fall to their fhare,
They kept a fmall farm and a mill:
But fully content with what they did get,
They knew not of guile or of arts.
Y

One daughter they had, and her name it was Bet,
And she was the pride of their hearts.

Nut-brown were her locks, her shape it was ftraight,
Her eyes were as black as a floe,

Milk-white were her teeth, full smart was her gait,
And fleek was her fkin as a doe:

All thick were the clouds, and the rain it did pour,
No bit of true blue could be spy'd,

A child wet and cold came and knock'd at the door,
Its mamma it had loft, and it cry’d.

Young Bet was as mild as a morning in May,
The babe she hugg'd close to her breast,
She chaf'd him all o'er, and he fmil'd as he lay,
She kifs'd him and lull'd him to reft:

But who do you think he had got for her prize?
Why, Love the fly master of arts:

No fooner he wak'd but he drop'd his disguise,
And fhew'd her his wings and his darts:

Quoth he, I am Love, but oh, be not afraid,
Tho' all I make shake at my will,

So good and fo kind you've been my fair maid,
No harm fhall you feel from my skill;

My mother ne'er dealt with such fondness by me;
A friend you fhall find in me ftill:

Take my quiver and shoot, be greater than she,
The Venus of Totterdown Hill.

SONG

CCXCI.

COLIN AND NEL L.

INCE they trac'd me alone with a fwain to the

grove,

Each tongue in the village proclaims I'm in love,
With a laugh they point at us as paffing along,
And Colin and Nell are their jeft and their fong.

Sufpicion long whisper'd it over the green, But fcandal now tells what fhe never has feen; Wherever we wander yet faster she flies,

What we do, or what we fay, fhe reflects with her lies.

How we trip, all by moon light, to love haunted bow'rs,

How we toy and we kifs at the sweet gilded hours:
All this, and yet more, if the will, fhe may name,
For we meet without crime, and we part without shame.

I own that I love him, he's fo to my mind,
And waits with impatience till fortune's more kind;
I ftill will love on till our fate's to be bleft,

And the talk may be louder, it shan't break our reft.

Let malice her tongue and her eyes all employ,
And envy do all to embitter our joy;

The time that is coming shall soften the past,
And crown the gay nymph with her Colin at last.

SONG

CCXCII.

JEM OF ABERDEEN.

HE tuneful lav'rocks cheer the grove,
And fweetly fmells the fimmer green,

TH

Now o'er the grove I love to rove,
Wi' bonny Jem of Aberdeen.

Whene'er we fit beneath the broom,
Or wander o'er the lee,

He's always wooing, wooing, wooing,
Always wooing me.

He's fresh and fair as flowr's in May,
The blitheft lad of a' the green,
How fweet the time will pafs away,
Wi' bonny Jem of Aberdeen.
Whene'er we fit, &c.