« EelmineJätka »
Rest to the weary, to the hungry food,
BOY! bring an ounce of Freeman's best,
And bid the vicar be my guest:
Let all be plac'd in manner due;
Of use to light a pipe, or #
This village, unmolested yet
Extol the days of good queen Bess,
When first Tobacco blest our isle,
Then think of other queens--and smile.
Come jovial pipe, and bring along
I ask not what the French are doing,
Where Tobacco loves to grow.
The authors imitated in these poems are, Colley Cibber, Ambrose Philips, Thomson, Young, Pope, and Swift.
And I at ew-milking first sey'd my young skill,
When corn rigs wav'd yellow, and blue hether bells Bloom'd bonny on muirland and sweet rising fells, Nae birns, briers, or breckens gae trouble to me, If I found the berries right ripen'd for thee.
When thou ran, or wrestled, or putted the stane,
Our Jenny sings saftly the Cowden-broom knows,
How easy can lasses trow what they desire!
ID from himself, now by the dawn He starts as fresh as roses blawn, And ranges o'er the heights and lawn, After his bleeting flocks.
Healthful, and innocently gay,
He chants and whistles out the day;
Life happy from ambition free,
When truth and love with joy agree,
Unmov'd with what disturbs the great,
Contented spends his time.
SPEAK on, speak thus, and still my grief,
Hold up a heart that's sinking under These fears, that soon will want relief, When Pate must from his Peggy sunder. A gentler face and silk attire,
A lady rich in beauty's blossom, Alake, poor me! will now conspire,
To steal thee from thy Peggy's bosom.
No more the shepherd who excell'd
The rest, whose wit made them to wonder, Shall now his Peggy's praises tell;
Ah! I can die, but never sunder.
Ye meadows where we often stray'd,
Ye bauks where we were wont to wander ; Sweet scented rucks round which we play'd, You'll lose your sweets when we're asunder.
Again, ah! shall I never creep
Around the know with silent duty, Kindly to watch thee while asleep,
And wonder at thy manly beauty? Hear, heav'n, while solemnly I vow,
Tho' thou shouldst prove a wandering lover, Thro' life to thee I shall prove true, Nor be a wife to any other.
WHEN hope was quite sunk in despair,
My heart it was going to break;
My life appear'd worthless my care,
But now I'll endeavour to rise
To a height that's becoming thy wife.
For beauty that's only skin deep,
If virtue's ingrain'd in the wife,
And the husband ha'e sense to approve.