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And for an hour she'll scarcely speak;

Who'd not call her a gawkie?
But fure my Maggy has mair fenfe,
She'll gi'e a score without offence;
Now gi'e me ane unto the mense,
And

ye
shall be

my

dawtie.

O Jamie, ye ha’e mony ta’en,
But I will never stand for ane,
Or twa, when we do meet again,

Sae ne'er think me a gawkie.
Ah na, lass, that ne'er can be,
Sic thoughts as these are far frae me,
Or ony thy sweet face that fee,

E’er to think thee a gawkie.

But, whisht, nae mair of this we'll speak,
For yonder Jamie does us meet ;
Instead of Meg he kiss'd sae sweet,

I trow he likes the gawkie.
O dear Bess, I hardly knew,
When I came by, your gown's fae new,
I think you've got it wet wi' dew,

Quoth she, that's like a gawkie.
It’s wat wi' dew, and 'twill get rain,
And I'll get gowns when it is gane,
Sae ye may gang the gate you came,
And tell it to your

dawtie.
The guilt appear'd in Jamie's cheek,
He cried, o cruel maid! but sweet,
If I should gang another gate,
I ne'er cou'd meet

my

dawtie.

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Why look with insolent disdain

On those undeck”d with wealth or state ? Can costly robes, or beds of down,

Or all the gems that deck the fair ; Can all the glories of a crown

Give health, or ease the brow of Care ?

The fcepter'd king, the burden'd slave,

The humble and the haughty die ;
The rich, the poor, the base, the brave,

In duft, without distinction lie.
Go search the tombs where monarchs reít,

Who once the greatest titles wore,
Of wealth and glory they're bereft,

And all their honours are no more.

So fies the meteor thro' the skies,

And spreads along a gilded train ; When shot-'tis gone ; its beauty dies,

Diffolves to common air again. So 'tis with us, my jovial souls,—

Let friendfhip reign, while here we stay: Let's crown our joy with flowing bowls ;

When Jove commands we must obey.

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By a Brother of the Lodge of St Luke, Edinburgh.

TuneIn the garb of old Gaul.

IN
N the dress of Free Mafons, fit garments for Jove,

With the strongest attachment, true brotherly love,
We now are assembi'd, all jovial and free,
For who are so wife, and so happy as we?

And since we're bound by secrecy to unity and love, Let us, like brethren, faithful to ev'ry brother prove : Thus, hand in hand, let’s firmly stand,

All Masons in a ring, Protectors of our native land,

The Craft, and the King.

Tho' fome, with ambition, for glory contend, And when they've attain'd it, despise each poor friend, Yet a Mason, tho' noble, his fame to insure, Counts each Mason his brother tho' ever fo

poor. And since we're bound, &c.

But not to our brethren alone we confine
That brotherly love, that affection divine ;
For our kind-hearted sisters in that bear a share,
And, as we admire, we're belov'd by the fair.

And since we're bound by fecrecy to unity and love,
Let us, like brethren, faithful ftill to ev'ry fifter

prove, &c.

With justice, with candour, our bofoms are warm’d, Our tongues are with truth and sincerity arm’d; We're loyal, we're trusty, we're faithful to those, Who treat us as friends, and we smile at our foes.

And since we're bound, &c.

We bend to the King, to our Mafter we bend ;
For these are the rulers we're bound to defend :
And when such a King, such a Master arise,
As Britons, as Masons, we've cause to rejoice.

And since we're bound, &c.

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. TERN winter has left us, the trees are in

bloom, And cowslips and vi'lets the meadows perfumes

ST

While kids are disporting, and birds fill the spray,
I wait but for Jockey to hail the new May.

Jockey. Among the young lilies, my Jenny, I've stray'd,

Pinks, daisies, and woodbines I bring to my maid ;
Here's thyme sweetly smelling, and lavender gay,
A pofy to form for my Queen of the May.

Jenny. Ah! Jockey, I fear you intend to beguile,

When feated with Molly last night on the ftile,
You swore that you'd love her for ever and ay,

Forgetting poor Jenny, your Queen of the May. Fockey. Young Willy is handsome, in shepherd's green

drest, He gave you

these ribbons that hang at your breaft, Besides three sweet kisses upon the new hay ;

Was that done like Jenny, the Queen of the May? Jenny. This garland of roses no longer I prize,

Since Jockey, false-hearted, his passion denies :
Ye flowers, fo blooming, this instant decay,

For Jenny's no longer the Queen of the May.
Jockey. Believe me, dear maiden, your lover you

wrong, Your name is for ever the theme of my song ; From the dews of pale eve’ to the dawning of day, I fing but of Jenny, my Queen of the May.

Jenny. Again, balmy comfort with transport I view,

My fears are all vanish'd since Jockey is true :
Then to our blithe shepherds the news

I'll

convey, That Jenny alone you've crown'd Queen of the May.

Jockey. Come all you young lovers, I pray you

draw

near, Avoid all suspicion, whate'er may appear ; Believe not your eyes,

left

your peace they betray : Then come, my

dear Jenny, and hail the new May. Come all young lovers, &c.

S O N G

LXIV.

HIGHL AND QUEE N.

O more my song shall be, ye fwains,

Of purling Itreams, or fow'ry plains ;
More pleasing beauties me inspire,
And Phæbus tunes the warbling lyre :
Divinely aided, thus I mean
To celebrate my Highland Queen.

In her, sweet innocence you'll find,
With freedom, truth, and beauty join'd;
From pride and affectation free,
Alike she smiles on you and me.
The brightest nymph that trips the green,
I do pronounce my Highland Queen.

No sordid wish, or trifling joy,
Her fettled calm of mind destroy ;
Strict honour fills her spotless foul,
And adds a lustre to the whole ;
A matchless shape, a graceful mein,
All centre in my Highland Queen.

How blest that youth, whom gentle Fate
Has destin'd for so fair a mate;
Has all these wond'rous gifts in store,
And each returning day brings more:
No youth so happy can be seen,
Possessing thee, my Highland Queen.

S O N G

LXV.

HIGHLAND KIN G.

V/E muses nine, O lend your aid,

Inspire a tender bashful maid,

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