But as the tender blushes rife,
Soft innocence doth warm,
The foul in blissful extafies
Diffolveth in the charm.

D.

TWEED-SIDE.

HAT beauties does Flora difclofe?

WH

How fweet are her fimiles upon Tweed?

Yet Mary's ftill fweeter than those ;
Both nature and fancy exceed.
Nor daify, nor fweet blushing rofe,
Not all the gay flowers of the field,
Not Tweed gliding gently thro' those,
Such beauty and pleasure does yield.

The warblers are heard in the grove,
The linnet, the lark, and the thrush,
The blackbird, and fweet cooing dove,
With mufick enchant ev'ry bush.
Come, let us go forth to the mead,
Let us fee how the primrofes fpring,
We'll lodge in fome village on Tweed,
And love while the feather'd folks fing.

How does my love país the long day?
Does Mary not 'tend a few sheep?
Do they never carelesly stray,

While happily fhe lyes afleep?
Tweed's murmurs fhould lull her to reft;
Kind nature indulging my blifs,
To relieve the foft pains of my breast,
I'd steal an ambrofial kiss.

'Tis fhe does the virgins excell,

No beauty with her may compare ; Love's graces all round her do dwell,

She's faireft, where thousands are fair.

Say,

Say, charmer, where do thy flocks ftray?
Oh! tell me at noon where they feed;
Shall I feek them on fweet winding Tay,
Or the pleasanter banks of the Tweed?

SONG.

To the Tune of, Woe's my heart that we should funder.

S Hamilla then my own?

Is

O! the dear, the charming treafure :

Fortune now in vain fhall frown

All my future life is pleasure.

See how rich with youthful grace,
Beauty warms her ev'ry feature ;

Smiling heaven is in her face,

All is gay, and all is nature.

See what mingling charms arife,
Rofy fmiles, and kindling blushes ;
Love fits laughing in her eyes,
And betrays her fecret wishes.

Hafte then from th' Idalian grove,
Infant fmiles, and sports, and graces;
Spread the downy couch for love,
And lull us in your fweet embraces.

Softeft raptures, pure from noife,

This fair happy night furround us; While a thousand fp'ritly joys

Silent flutter all around us.

Thus unfowr'd with care or ftrife,

Heaven ftill guard this deareft bleffing!

While we tread the path of life,
Loving ftill, and still poffeffing.

B 3

S.

A SON G.

L

Α

SONG.

ET's be jovial, fill our glaffes,
Madness 'tis for us to think,

How the warld is rui'd by affes,
And the wife are fway'd by chink.
Fa, la, ra, &c.

Then never let vain cares opprefs us,
Riches are to them a fnare,
We're ev'ry one as rich as Crafus,
While our bottle drowns our care.
Fa, la, ra, &c.

Wine will make us as red as rofes,
And our forrows quite forget:
Come, let us fuddle all our noses,
Drink ourselves quite out of debt.
Fa, la, ra, &c.

When grim death is looking for us,
We are toping at our bowls,

Bacchus joining in the chorus:

Death be gone, here's none but fouls.

Fa, la, ra, &c.

Godlike Bacchus thus commanding,

Trembling death away fhall fly,

Ever after understanding

Drinking fouls can never dy. Fa, la, ra, &c.

Muirland

Muirland Willie.

ARKEN and I will tell you how

H Young Muirland Willie came to woo,

Tho' he could neither fay nor do ;
The truth I tell to you.

But ay he crys, whate'er betide,
Maggy, I'fe ha'e her to be my bride,
With a fal, dal, &c.

On his gray yade as he did ride,
With durk and piftol by his fide,
He prick'd her on wi' meikle pride,
Wi' meikle mirth and glee.

Out o'er yon mofs, out o'er
yon muir,
Till he came to her dady's door,

With a fal, dal, &c.

Goodman, quoth he, be ye within, I'm come your doughter's love to win, I care no for making meikle din ;

What answer gi' ye me?

Now, wooer, quoth he, wou'd ye light down,
I'll gie ye my Doughter's love to win,
With a fal, dal, &c.

Now, wooer, fin ye are lighted down,
Where do ye win, or in what town?
I think my doghter winna gloom
On fic a lad as ye.

The wooer he ftep'd up the house,
And wow but he was wond'rous crouse,
With a fal, dal, &c.

I have three owfen in a plough,

Twa good ga'en yads, and gear enough,
The place they ca' it Cadeneugh;

I fcorn to tell a lie:

Befides, I had frae the great laird,
A peat pat, and a lang kail-yard,
With a fal, &c.

The maid put on her kirtle brown,
She was the braweft in a' the town;
I wat on him he did na gloom,
But blinkit bonnilie.

The lover he tended up in haste,
And gript her hard about the wafte,
With a fal, &c.

To win your love, maid, I'm come here,
I'm young, and hae enough o' gear;
And for my fell you need na fear,
Troth try me whan ye like.

He took aff his bonnet, and spat in his chew,
He dighted his gab, and he pri'd her mou',
With a fal, &c.

The maiden blush'd and bing'd fu law, She had na will to fay him na,

But to her dady fhe left it a',

As they twa cou'd agree.

The lover he ga'e her the tither kifs,
Syne ran to her dady, and tell'd him this,
With a fal, &c.

Your doghter wad na fay me na,
But to your fell fhe has left it a',
As we cou'd gree between us twa;
Say what'll ye gi' me wi' her?

Now, wooer, quo' he, I ha'e no meikle,
But fic's I ha'e ye's get a pickle,
With a fal, &c.

A kilnfu of corn I'll gi'e to thee,

Three foums of sheep, twa good milk ky,
Ye's ha'e the wadding dinner free ;

Troth I dow do no mair.

Content,