Infifted to hand me along the green mead,
And there fwore he lov'd me indeed and indeed;
And that he'd be conftant and true to me ftill,
So fince that time I've lov'd him, and love him I will.

I often fay, Mother, the miller I'll huff,

She laughs and cries, Go, girl, I plague him enough;
But scarce a day paffes, but by her defire,

I fteal a fly kifs from the youth I admire.
If wedlock he wishes, his wish I'll fulfil,
And I'll anfwer, O yes, with a hearty good will.

A

S Damon and Phillis were feeding their sheep,
The fwain on a cock of new hay fell asleep;
The nymph for a frolic ftept behind a green oak,
To hear what her Damon would say when he 'woke.

Not long fhe'd been there when the fwain op'd his eyes,

And miffing his Phillis was ftruck with surprise;
He fnatch'd up his crook, and ran wild o'er the plain,
And thus he inquir'd of each nymph and each fwain :

Have you e'er feen a fhepherdefs paffing this way,
As blyth as the morn, and as bright as the day?
In ruffet apparel, yet grand in her mein,
Refembling in beauty the fair Cypress queen.

Two lambkins milk white unto you I will give,
Let me but fome tidings of Phillis receive;
And if you will be but fo gen'rous, ye fwains,
As return me my Phillis, take a kifs for your pains.

Thus he spoke, but no tidings of Phillis could hear,
Then back to his flocks he return'd in despair;
The nymph, when she saw him, ftep'd out and cry'd, Bo,
And, laughing at his care, cried, Go, Damon, Go.

Both joy and furprise at once ftruck the poor fwain, With raptures he gaz'd on his Phillis again; He chided a little, fhe blufh'd at his care, And each gave a kiss and made up the affair.

IN my dear Pweets in the funthine of May

N Spring, my dear Shepherds, your flowrets are gay,

But hang down their heads when December draws near, The Winter of life is like that of the year.

The larks and the linnets that chant o'er the plains, All, all are in love while the Summer remains ; Their fweet hearts in Autumn no longer are dear, "The Winter of life is like that of the year."

The feafon for love is when youth's in its prime;
Ye lads and ye laffes make use of your time;
The froft of old age will too quickly appear,
The Winter of life is like that of the year.

Y laddie is

far gone

MY

away o'er the plain, While in forrow behind I am forc'd to remain ; Though blue bells and vi'lets the hedges adorn, Tho' trees are in bloffom, and sweet blows the thorn; No pleasure they give me, in vain they look gay, There's nothing can please now, my Jockey's away; Forlorn I fit finging, and this is my ftrain, Hafte, hafte, my dear Jockey, to me back again.

When lads and their laffes are on the green met,
They dance and they fing, they laugh and they chat,
Contented and happy, with hearts full of glee,
I can't without envy their merriment fee;

Those paftimes offend me, my fhepherd's not there,
No pleasure I relish that Jockey don't share,
It makes me to figh, I from tears scarce refrain,
I wish my dear Jockey return'd back again.

But hope fhall fuftain me, nor will I despair,
He promis'd he would in a fortnight be here;
On fond expectation my wishes I'll feaft,

For love my dear Jockey to Jenny will hafte,
Then farewel each care, and adieu each vain figh,
Who'll then be so bleft and so happy as I,
I'll fing on the meadows, and alter my strain,
When Jockey returns to my arms back again.

SONG

XIV.

YOUNG JOCKEY.

OUNG Jockey is the blytheft lad
That ever maiden woo'd,

YOU

When he appears my heart is glad,

For he is kind and good:

He talks of love where'er we meet,
His words in rapture flow,

Then tunes his pipes, and fings fo fweet,

I have no power to go.

All other laffes he forfakes,

And flies to me alone ;

At every fair, and all our wakes

To me he makes his moan:
He buys me toys and fweetmeats too,
And ribbons for my hair,

No fwain was ever half fo good,

Nor half fo kind and fair.

Where'er I go I nothing fear
If Jockey is but by ;
For I alone am all his care,
When ever danger's nigh.
He vows to wed next Whitfunday,
And make me bleft for life,
Can I refuse, ye maidens say,
To be young Jockey's wife.

T

SONG XV.

THE BIRD.

HE bird that hears her neftlings cry,
And flies abroad for food,

Returns impatient thro' the sky,
To nurfe the callow brood:
The tender mother knows no joy,
But bodes a thousand harms:
And fickens for the darling boy,
When abfent from her arins.

Such fondness with impatience join'd
My faithful bofom fires;

Now forc'd to leave my fair behind,

The queen of my defires:

The pow'rs of verfe too languid prove,

All fimiles are vain,

To fhew how ardently I love,

Or to relieve my pain.

The faint with fervent zeal infpir'd,
For heav'n and joy divine;

The faint is not with raptur'd fir'd,
More pure, more warm than mine:
I take what liberty I dare,
'Twere impious to fay more;
Convey my longings to the fair,
The goddefs I adore.

B

T

SONG

XVI.

All I ask of MORTAL MAN.

HE wanton god who pierces hearts
Dips in gall his pointed darts,

But the nymph difdains to pine,
Who bathes the wound with rofy wine.
Rofy wine, rofy wine,

Who bathes the wound with rofy wine.

Farewel, lovers, when they're cloy'd;
If I am scorn'd because enjoy'd,
Sure the fqueamish fops are free

To rid me of dull company.

Sure they're free, fure they're free,
To rid me of dull company.

They have their charms while mine can please,
I love them much, but more my ease;
Jealous fears me ne'er moleft,

Nor faithlefs vows fhall break my reft.
Break my reft, break my reft,

Nor faithlefs vows fhall break my

Why should they ever give me pain,
Who to give me joy disdain?
All I hope of mortal man,

Is to love me while he can.

While he can, while he can,
Is to love me while he can.

reft.