JAMES.

Then, my Sue, tell me who;
I'll give thee beads of pearl,
And eafe thy heart of all this fmart;
Alas, poor girl!

SUSAN.

Jamie, no, if you fhou'd know,
I fear 'twou'd make you fad,
And pine away both night and day;
Alas, poor lad !

JAMES.

Why then, my Sue, it is for you,
That I burn in thefe flames.
And when I die, I know you'll cry,
Alas, poor James!

SUSAN.

Say you fo, then, Jamie, know,
If you fhou'd prove untrue,
Then must I likewife cry,
Alas, poor Sue!

Quoth he, then join thy hand with mine,
And we will wed to-day.

I do agree, here 'tis, quoth fhe,
Come, let's away.

SONG LXXXIV.

W Nought but raptures fills my

7Hen, lovely Phillis, thou art kind,

mind:

'Tis then I think thee so divine,"
T'excel the mighty power of wine :
But when thou infult it, and laugh'ft at my pain,
I wash thee away with sparkling champaign;
So bravely contemn both the boy and his mother,
And drive out one god by the power of another.

When

When pity in thy looks I fee,

I freely quit my friends for thee;
Perfuafive love fo charms me then,
My freedom I'd not wish again.

But when thou art cruel, and heeds not my care,
Then ftraight with a bumper I banish despair;
So bravely contemn both the boy and his mother,
And drive out one god by the power of another."

YOU

SONG LXXXV.

OU that love mirth, attend to my fong,
A moment you never can better employ ;
Sa-way and Teague were trudging along,

A bonny Scots lad, and an Irish dear-fhoy;
They neither before had seen a wind-mill,
Nor had they heard ever of any fuch name;
As they were a-walking,

And merrily talking,

At laft, by mere chance, to a wind-mill they came.

Haha! cries Sawny, What do ye ca' that?

To tell the right name o't I am at a loss, Teague very readily answer'd the Scot,

Indeed I believe itfh Shaint Patrick's crofs. Says Sawny, ye'll find yourfell meikle mistaken, For it is Saint Andrew's cross, I can fwear; For there is his bonnet,

And tartans hang on it,

The plaid and the trews our apoftle did wear.

Nay, o' my fhoul joy, thou tellefht all lees,
For that I will fhwear is Shaint Patrick's coat;
I fhee't him in Ireland buying the frieze,

And that I am fhure ifh the fhame that he bought; And he ifh a fhaint much better than ever

Made either the covenanth fholemn or league:
For o' my fhalwafhion,

He was my relashion,

And had a great kindnesh for honeft рост Teague.

Wherefore,

Wherefore, fays Teague, I will, by my fhoul,
Lay down my napfhack, and take out my beads,
And under this holy cross feet I will fall,

And fhay Pater Nofter, and fome of our creeds, So Teague began with humble devotion,

To kneel down before St Patrick's cross ;
The wind fell a-blowing,

And fet it a-going,

And gave our dear-fhoy a terrible tofs.

Saruny tehee'd, to fee how poor Teague

Lay fcratching his ears, and roll on the grafs,
Swearing, it was furely the de'il's whirlygig,
And none (he roar'd out) of St Patrick's cross;
But ifh it indeed, cries he in a paffion,

The crofs of our fhaint that has croíht me fo fore?
Upo' my falwafhion,

This fhall be a cawshion,

To traft to St Patrick's kindness no more.

Sawny to Teague then merrily cry'd,

This patron of yours is a very fad loun,
To hit you fic a fair thump on the hide,
For kneeling before him, and feeking a boon :
Let me advife you to serve our St Andrew,
He, by my faul, was a fpecial gude man :
For fince your St Patrick

Has ferv'd you fic a trick,

I'd fee him hung up ere I ferv'd him again.

SONG LXXXVI.

AY the ambitious ever find

M Success in crouds and noife,

While gentle love does fill my mind
With filent real joys.

May knaves and fools grow

rich and great,

And all the world think them wife,

While I lie at my Nanny's feet,

And all the world defpife.

Let

Let conquering kings new triumphs raife,
And melt in court-delights:

Her eyes can give much brighter days,

Her arms much fofter nights.

CEL

SONG LXXXVIL

Elia, too late you wou'd repent $
The offering all your store,

Is now but like a pardon fent,
To one that's dead before.

While at the firft you cruel prov'd,
And grant the bliss too late,
You hind'red me of one I lov'd,
To give me one I hate.

I thought you innocent as fair,
When first my court I made;
But when your falfehoods plain appear,
My love no longer stay'd.

Your bounty of these favours fhown,
Whofe worth you first deface,
Is melting valu'd medals down,
And giving us the brass.

O! fince the thing we beg's a toy,
That's priz'd by love alone,
Why cannot women grant the joy,
Before the love is gone?

Y

ES, all the world will fure agree,
He who's fecur'd of having thee,

Will be entirely bleft;

But 'twere in me too great a wrong,
To make one who has been fo long
My queen, my flave at laft.

VOL III.

* C c

Nor ought these things to be confin'd
That were for public good defign'd':
Cou'd we, in foolish pride,
Make the fun always with us stay,
'Twou'd burn our corn and grafs away,
To ftarve the world befide.

Let not the thoughts of parting, fright
Two fouls which paffion does unite;
For while our love does last,
Neither will strive to go away,
And why the devil should we stay,
When once that love is past ?

SONG LXXXIX.

Y goddefs Lydia, heavenly fair,
As lily fweet, as foft as air,

Let loose thy treffes, fpread thy charms,
And to my love give fresh alarms.

O! let me gaze on these bright eyes,
Tho' facred lightning from them flies;
Shew me that foft, that modest grace,
Which paints with charming red thy face.

Give me ambrofia in a kifs,

That I may rival Jove in bliss,
That I may mix my foul with thine,
And make the pleasure all divine.

O! hide thy bofom's killing white,
(The milky way is not fo bright);
Left you my ravish'd foul opprefs,
With beauty's pomp, and fweet excess.

Why draw'st thou from the purple flood
Of my kind heart the vital bood?
Thou art all over endless charms;
O! take me dying to thy arms,

SONG