May foftest pleasures careless round her move,
May all her nights be joy, and days be love.
She drew the treafure from her breast,
That breast where love and graces play,
O name beyond expreffion bleft?
Thus lodg'd with all that's fair and gay.
To be fo lodg'd! the thought is ecftafy,
Who would not wish in paradise to lie?
The FAITHFUL SHEPHERD.
To the tune of, Auld lang fyne.
Hen flow'ry meadows deck the year,
And sporting lambkins play,
When fpangl'd fields renew'd
And mufic wak'd the day;
Then did my Chloe leave her bow'r,
To hear my am'rous lay,
Warm'd by my love fhe vow'd no pow'r
Shou'd lead her heart aftray.
The warbling quires from ev'ry bough
Surround our couch in throngs,
And all their tuneful art bestow,
To give us change of fongs :
Scenes of delight my foul poffefs'd,
I blefs'd, then hugg'd my maid;
I robb'd the kiffes from her breast,
Sweet as a noon-day's fhade.
Joy transporting never fails
To fly away as air,
Another fwain with her prevails
To be as falfe as fair.
What can my fatal paffion cure?
I'll never woo again;
All her difdain I must endure,
Adoring her in vain.
What pity 'tis to hear the boy
Thus fighing with his pain!
But time and fcorn may give him joy,
To hear her figh again.
Ah! fickle Chloe, be advis'd,
Do not thyfelf beguile,
A faithful lover fhould be priz'd,
Then cure him with a smile.
To Mrs S. H. on her taking fomething
To the tune of, Hallow ev'n.
HY hangs that cloud upon thy brow?
That beauteous heav'n erewhile ferene ?
Whence do these ftorms and tempefts flow,
Or what this guft of paffion mean?
And must then mankind lose that light,
Which in thine eyes was wont to shine,
And lie obfcure in endless night,
For each poor filly fpeech of mine?
Dear child, how can I wrong thy name,
Since 'tis acknowledg'd at all hands,
That could ill tongues abufe thy fame,
Thy beauty can make large amends:
Or if I durft profanely try.
Thy beauty's pow'rful charms, t' upbraid,
Thy virtue well might give the lie,
Nor call thy beauty to its aid.
For Venus every heart t' enfnare,
With all her charms has deck'd thy face,
And Pallas, with unufual care,
Bids wifdom heighten every grace,"
Who can the double pain endure;
Or who must not refign the field
To thee, celeftial maid, fecure
With Cupid's bow, and Pallas' fhield?
If then to thee fuch pow'r is given,
Let not a wretch in torment live,
But fmile, and learn to copy heaven,
Since we must fin ere it forgive.
Yet pitying heaven not only does
Forgive th' offender and th' offence,
But even itself appeas'd bestows,
As the reward of penitence.
The Broom of Cowdenknows.
Ow blyth ilk morn was I to fee
The fwain come o'er the hill!
He skipt the burn, and flew to me:
I met him with good-will.
O the broom, the bonny bonny broom,
The broom of Cowdenknows;
I wish I were with my dear fwain,
With his pipe and my ewes.
I neither wanted ewe nor lamb,
While his flock near me lay :
He gather'd in my sheep at night,
And cheer'd me a' the day.
the broom, &c.
He tun'd his pipe and reed fae sweet,
The burds flood list'ning by :
E'en the dull cattle ftood and gaz'd,
Charm'd with his melody.
While thus we spent our time by turns,
Betwixt our flocks and play;
I envy'd not the faireft dame,
Tho' ne'er fae rich and gay.
O the broom, &c.
My doggie, and my little kit
That held my wee foup whey,
My plaidy, broach, and crooked stick,
May now lie useless by.
Adieu, ye Corvdenknows, adieu,
Farewell a' pleasures there;
Ye gods, reftore me to my swain,
Is a' I crave or care.
O the broom, the bonny bonny broom,
The broom of Cowdenknows;
I wish I were with my dear fwain,
With his pipe and my eaves.
To the tune of, I wish my love were in a mire.
Lovely maid! how dear's thy pow'r?
At once I love, at once adore :
With wonder are my thoughts possest,
While fofteft love infpires iny breast.
This tender look, thefe eyes of mine,
Confefs their am'rous mafter thine;
Thefe eyes with Strephon's paffion play,
Firft make me love, and then betray.
Yes, charming victor, I am thine;
Poor as it is, this heart of mine
Was never in another's pow'r,
Was never pierc'd by love before.
In thee I've treasur'd up my joy,
Thou canft give blifs, or blifs destroy:
And thus I've bound myself to love,
While blifs or mifery can move.
O fhould I ne'er poffefs thy charms,
Ne'er meet my comfort in thy arms;
Were hopes of dear enjoyment gone,
Still would I love, love thee alone.
But, like fome discontented fhade,
That wanders where its body's laid,
Mournful I'd roam with hollow glare,
For ever exil'd from my fair.
Upon hearing his hearing his picture was in CHLOE'S breaft.
To the tune of, The fourteen of October,
E gods! was Strephon's picture bleft
With the fair heaven of Chloe's breaft?
Move fofter, thou fond Autt'ring heart,
Oh gently throb, too fierce thou art.
Tell me, thou brightest of thy kind,
For Strephon was the blifs defign'd ?
For Strephon's fake, dear charming maid,
Didft thou prefer his wand'ring shade ?
And thou, blefs'd fhade, that sweetly art.
Lodged fo near my Chloe's heart,
For me the tender hour improve,
And foftly tell how dear I love.
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