To the tune of, I loo'd a bonny lady.
Ell me, tell me, charming creature,
Will you never eafe my pain?
Muft I die for ev'ry feature?
Muft I always love in vain ?
The defire of admiration
Is the pleasure you pursue ;
Pray thee try a lasting paffion,
Such a love as mine for you.
Tears and fighing could not move you;
For a lover ought to dare:
When I plainly told I lov'd you,
Then you faid I went too far.
Are fuch giddy ways befeeming ?
Will my dear be fickle ftill?
Conqueft is the joy of women,
Let their flaves be what they will.
Your neglect with torment fills me,
And my defp'rate thoughts increase
Pray confider, if you kill me,
You will have a lover lefs.
If your wand'ring heart is beating,
For new lovers let it be :
But when you have done coquetting,
Name a day, and fix on me.
'N vain, fond youth; thy tears give o'er
What more, alas! can Flavia do? Thy truth I own, thy fate deplore :
All are not happy that are true.
Supprefs thofe fighs, and weep no more; Should heaven and earth with thee combine, 'Twere all in vain, fince any power,
To crown thy love, must alter mine.
But if revenge can eafe thy pain,
I'll footh the ills I cannot cure;
Tell that I drag a hopeless chain,
And all that I inflict endure.
To the tune of, Mary Scot.
Was fummer, and the day was fair,
Refolv'd a while to fly from care,
Beguiling thought, forgetting forrow,
I wander'd o'er the braes of Yarrow;
Till then defpifing beauty's power, "
I kept my heart, my own fecure;
But Cupid's art did there deceive me,
And Mary's charms do now enflave me.
Will cruel love no bribe receive?
No ranfom take for Mary's flave?
Her frowns of rest and hope deprive me;
Her lovely fmiles like light revive me.
No bondage may with mine compare,
Since firit I faw this charming fair:
This beauteous flower, this rofe of Yarrow,
In nature's gardens has no marrow.
Had I of heaven but one request,
I'd ask to lie in Mary's breaft;
There would I live or die with pleasure,
Nor fpare this world one moment's leisure;
Defpifing kings and all that's great,
I'd fmile at courts, and courtiers fate;
VOL. I.
My joy complete on fuch a marrow,
I'd dwell with her, and live on Yarrow.
But tho' fuch blifs I ne'er fhould gain,
Contented ftill I'll wear my chain,
In hopes my faithful heart may move her;
For leaving life I'll always love her.
What doubts diftract a lover's mind?
That breaft, all foftness, muft prove
And the fhall yet become my marrow,
The lovely beauteous rofe of Yarrow.
A SONG.To its ain tune.
A Lovely lafs to a friar came
To confefs in a morning early,
In what my dear, art thou to blame?
Come own it all fincerely.
I've done, Sir, what I dare not name,
With a lad that loves me dearly.
The greatest fault in myself I know,
Is what I now discover.
Then you to Rome for that must go,
Their difcipline to fuffer.
Lake a day, Sir! if it must be so,
Pray with
me fend my lover,
No, no, my dear, you do but dream,
We'll have no double dealing;
But if with me you'll repeat the fame,
I'll pardon your paft failing.
I must own, Sir, tho' I blush for shame,
That your penance is prevailing.
The last time I came o'er the Moor.
HE laft time I came o'er the moor,
I left my love behind me.
Ye powers! what pain do I endure,
When foft ideas mind me ?
Soon as the ruddy morn difplay'd
The beaming day enfuing,
met betimes my lovely maid,
In fit retreats for wooing.
Beneath the cooling fhade we lay,
Gazing and chaftly sporting;
We kiss'd and promis'd time away,
Till night spread her black curtain.
I pitied all beneath the skies,
Ev'n kings when she was nigh me;
In raptures I beheld her eyes,
Which could but ill deny me.
Shou'd I be call'd where cannons roar,
Where mortal fteel may wound me;
Or caft upon fome foreign fhore,
Where dangers may furround me:
Yet hopes again to fee my love,
To feaft on glowing kisses,
Shall make my cares at diftance move,
In profpect of fuch bliffes.
In all my foul there's not one place
To let a rival enter:
Since the excels in every grace,
In her my love shall center.
Sooner the feas fhall ceafe to flow,
Their waves the Alps fhall cover,
On Greenland ice fhall rofes grow,
Before I ceafe to love her.
The next time I go o'er the moor,
She fhall a lover find me;
And that my faith is firm and pure,
Tho' I left her behind me ;
Then Hymen's facred bonds fhall chain
My heart to her fair bosom,
There, while my being does remain,
My love more fresh fhall blotlom
The Lafs of PEATY'S Mill.
So bonny, blyth, and gay,
In fpite of all my skill,
Hath ftole my heart away.
When tedding of the hay,
Bare-headed on the green,
Love 'midft her locks did play,
And wanton'd in her een.
Her arms, white, round, and fmooth,
Breafts rifing in their dawn,
To age it would give youth,.
To prefs 'em with his hand.
Thro' all my fpirits ran
An ecftafy of blifs,
When I fuch fweetness fand
Wrapt in a balmy kiss.
Without the help of art,
Like flowers which grace the wild,.
She did her fweets impart,
When e'er the spoke or fmil'd.
Her looks they were fo mild,
Free from affected pride,
She me to love beguil'd, my bride.
I wish'd her for
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