T Tarry Woo. I. Arry woo, tarry woo, Card it well, card it well, Card it well ere ye begin. When 'tis carded, row'd, and fpun, II. Sing, my bonny harmless sheep, Through the winter's froft and fnow; Frae kings to him that hads the plow, III. Up ye fhepherds, dance and skip, Harmlefs creatures without blame, That clead the back and cram the wame, Keep us warm and hearty fou; Leefe me on the tarry woo. IV. How happy is a fhepherd's life, Of thief or fox he has no fear; 1 รา He V. He lives content, and envies none; ; On HENRIETTA's Recovery. Tune, My deary, if thou die. I. F heaven, its bleffings to augment, IF Call Henny to the skies, Hence from the earth flies all content, II. But now pale fickness leaves her face, And all my fear beguiles: The bounteous powers have heard the pray'rs I daily made for thee, Like them be kind, and cafe my cares, Elfe I myself muft die. HODGE of the Mill and buxome NELL. Oung Roger of the mill, You One morning very soon, Put on his best apparel, New hofe and clouted fhoon; And And he a-wooing came To bonny buxome Nell, Dear lafs, cries he, cou'dft fancy me, I like thee wondrous well. My horfes I have drefs'd, II. And gi'en them corn and hay, Put on my best apparel: And having come this way, Let's fit and chat a while With thee, my bonny Nell. Dear lafs, cries he, cou'dft fancy me, I'fe like thy person well. III. Young Reger, you're mistaken, To be a ploughman's bride IV. Your horfes you have drefs'd, Put on your best apparel; And being come this way, Come fit and chat a while. O no indeed, not I, I'll neither wait, nor fit, nor prate, I've other fifh to fry Go take your farmer's fon, With all my honeft heart: What tho' my name be Roger, That goes at plough and cart I need not tarry long, I foon may gain a wife: There's buxome Joan, it is well known, VI. Pray what of buxome Joan? VII. Within the space of half an hour With which a cow we'll buy ; Snack and perfyte as can be ony, She is fae jimp, fae gamp, fae gay, She wadna hae him except he were bonny, II. Her bonnynefs has been forefeen grows clear ; In ilka town baith far and near, Shame fa' that filthy face of thine, "Tis crish that gars your grunzie glitter. There's There's Dunkyfon, Davyfon, Robie Carniel, The wife Penitent. I.* Apbnis food penfive in the shade; With arms across, and head reclin'd ; Pale looks accus'd the cruel maid, And fighs reliev'd his love-fick mind; Looks, fighs, and actions feem'd to say, II. Why ring the woods with warbling throats! I faintly hear in your foft notes ; My Chloe's voice, that wakes my pains. But why fhould you your fongs forbear? Your mates delight your fongs to hear, But Chloe mine difdains. III. As thus he melancholy stood Dejected, as the lonely dove, Sweet found broke gently thro' the wood. Hark! hark! what fays my love? IV. Oh |