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To oblige him, and 'cause that I would not be cross,
I presently quitted my pails ;
moss And kiss’d me I should not tell tales.
I ftrove to get up, but he still kept me down ;
I begg’d to go home with my pails :
He'd wed-but I must not tell tales.
So gently he woo'd, and so warmly he preft,
That Í little more thought of my pails, Till beyond all escaping, † found him poflest Of heart-but I must not tell tales.
He folemnly swore that he'd make me his wife,
And ease me of carrying pails; If he don't
, why, as sure as a muscle has life, If I'm filent, there is one will tell tales.
FRIENDSHIP AND WINE. By Mr. Gilson.
My pleasures their pleasures surpass;
If I have but my friend and my glass.
lie, And Croesús his treasure amass ; All the joys are but vain that are blended with pain ; So I'l Atand by my
friend and my glass.
And oft wins the lover his lass,
The earth fucks the rain, the sun draws the main,
With the earth we are all in a class;
And I'll stand by my friend and my glass.
'Tis friendship and wine only life can refine :
We care not whate'er comes to pass With courtiers or great men, there's none of us ftatesmen:
Come-Here's to our friend and our glass.
THROUGH THE WOOD LASSIE.
Nelly ! no longer thy Sandy now mourn,
Let music and pleasure, &c.
Thro' the wood, laflie, thro' the wood, laflie,
Thro' the wood, lassie;
Since I have been absent from thee, my dear Nell, No content, no delight have I known day or night ; The murmuring stream, and the hill's echo, tell How thro' the wood, laffie, I breath'd my fad knell.
Thro' the wood, &c.
And now to all forrow I'll bid full adieu, And, with joy, like a dove, I'll return to my love: The maxim of loving in truth let us know, Then thro' the wood, laffie, we'll bonnily go. Thro' &c.
Come lads, and come lasses, be blithfome and gay, Let
your hearts merry be, and both full of glee: The Highlands shall reign with the joy of the day, When thro' the wood, happy, we'll dance, fing, and play.
Thro' the wood, &c.
On her eyes my eyes
RITONS, loyal and bold,
Who would never be controul'd
British Wolfe, stout and good,
Made the rivers run with blood,
Brave Wolfe was our commander,
was their defender, Their numbers did us sorely dismay:
But brave Wolfe, stout and bold,
He would never be contrould, And his last dying word was,--Huzza!
Contented I die,
Since we've gain'd the victory,
tell me the battle is our own;
soul depart in peace, And the wars for ever cease, Since
life for fair Britain is gone.
The Highlanders, in hot blood,
And failors, stout and rude, Like madmen did clash them away :
When the French began to run,
We advanced on their ground;
Then the city it surrender'd,
The gates straight we enter'd; Our ships in the harbour lay thick.
We thanked the Most High
For this fignal victory,
All mortals enjoy the calm blessings of reft, Cupid knock'd at my door, I awoke with the noise, And who is it, I call'd, that my feep thus deftroys ?
You need not be frighten'd, he answer'd fo mild,
I was mov'd with compaffion; and, striking a light, I open’d the door, when a boy stood in fight,
Who had wings on his shoulders ; the rain from him
dropp'd, With a bow and arrows too he was equipp'd.
I stirr'd up my fire, and close by its fide,
with my hands, the wet out of his hair.
He from wet and from cold was no sooner at ease,
Forthwith from his quiver an arrow he drew, To the string he apply'd it, and twang went the yew ; The arrow was gone : in my bosom it cen r'd, No sting of a hornet more sharp ever enter'd.
Away skipp'd the urchin, as brisk as a bee, And laughing, I wish you much joy, friend, quoth he ; My bow is undamag'd, for true went the dart ; But you will have trouble enough with your
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S O N G
TI E HAPPY FRE E DO M.
HOME all you young lovers, who, wan with despair,
Compofe idle fonnets, and figh for the fair,