JAMES. Then, my Sue, tell me who; SUSAN. Jamie, no, if you fhou'd know, JAMES. Why then, my Sue, it is for you, SUSAN. Say you fo, then, Jamie, know, Quoth he, then join thy hand with mine, I do agree, here 'tis, quoth fhe, SONG LXXXIV. W Nought but raptures fills my 7Hen, lovely Phillis, thou art kind, mind: 'Tis then I think thee so divine," When When pity in thy looks I fee, I freely quit my friends for thee; But when thou art cruel, and heeds not my care, YOU SONG LXXXV. OU that love mirth, attend to my fong, A bonny Scots lad, and an Irish dear-fhoy; 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, 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: He was my relashion, And had a great kindnesh for honeft рост Teague. Wherefore, Wherefore, fays Teague, I will, by my fhoul, And fhay Pater Nofter, and fome of our creeds, So Teague began with humble devotion, To kneel down before St Patrick's cross ; 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, The crofs of our fhaint that has croíht me fo fore? 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, 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 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, Her eyes can give much brighter days, Her arms much fofter nights. CEL SONG LXXXVIL Elia, too late you wou'd repent $ Is now but like a pardon fent, While at the firft you cruel prov'd, I thought you innocent as fair, Your bounty of these favours fhown, O! fince the thing we beg's a toy, Y ES, all the world will fure agree, Will be entirely bleft; But 'twere in me too great a wrong, VOL III. * C c Nor ought these things to be confin'd Let not the thoughts of parting, fright SONG LXXXIX. Y goddefs Lydia, heavenly fair, Let loose thy treffes, fpread thy charms, O! let me gaze on these bright eyes, Give me ambrofia in a kifs, That I may rival Jove in bliss, O! hide thy bofom's killing white, Why draw'st thou from the purple flood SONG |