Her glancy een like comets sheen,
The morning fun outshining,
Have caught my heart in CUPID's net,
And make me die with pining,
Durft I complain, Nature's to blame,
So curiously to frame her,
Whose beauties rare make me, with care,
Cry, omnia vincit amor.
Ye crystal streams that swiftly glide,
Be partners of my mourning,
Ye fragrant fields and meadows wide,
Condemn her for her fcorning;
Let every tree a witness be,
How justly I may blame her;
Ye chanting birds, note these my words,
Ah! omnia vincit amor.
Had fhe been kind as she was fair,
She long had been admired,
And been ador'd for virtues rare,
Wh' of life now makes me tired.
Thus faid, his breath began to fail,
He could not speak, but stammer;
He figh'd full fore, and said no more,
But omnia vincit amor.
When I obferv'd him near to death,
I run in hafte to fave him,
But quickly he refign'd his breath,
So deep the wound love gave him.
Now for her fake this vow I'll make,
My tongue shall ay defame her,
While on his herse I'll write this verse,
Ah! omnia vincit amor.
Straight I confider'd in my mind
Upon the matter rightly,
And found, though CUPID he be blind,
He proves in pith most mighty.
For warlike MARS, and thund'ring Jove,
And VULCAN with his hammer,
Did ever prove the flaves of love;
For omnia vincit amor.
Hence we may fee th' effects of love,
Which gods and men keep under,
That nothing can his bonds remove,
Or torments break afunder:
Nor wife nor fool need go to school
To learn this from his grammar;
His heart's the book where he's to look
For omnia vincit amor.
I WILL awa' wi' my love,
I will awa' wi' her,
Tho' a' my kin had fworn and faid,
I'll o'er Bogie wi' her.
If I can get but her confent,
I dinna care a ftrae ;
Though ilka ane be discontent,
Awa' wi' her I'll gae.
I will awa', &c.
For now, she's mistress of my heart,
And wordy of my hand,
And well I wat we shanna part
For filler or for land.
Let rakes delyte to swear and drink,
And beaus admire fine lace, But my chief pleasure is to blink On BETTY'S bonny face,
There a' the beauties do combine,
Of colour, treats, and air,
The faul that sparkles in her een
Makes her a jewel rare ;
Her flowing wit gives shining life
To a' her other charms;
How blefs'd I'll be when she's my wife, And lock'd up in my arms!
There blythly will I rant and fing,
While o'er her sweets I range,
I'll cry, Your humble fervant, king,
Shame fa' them that wad change.
A kifs of BETTY and a smile,
Abeit ye wad lay down
The right ye hae to Britain's isle
And offer me your crown.
OY Pinky House oft let me walk,
While circled in my arms,
I hear my NELLY fweetly talk;
And gaze o'er all her charms;
O let me ever fond behold
Those graces void of art!
Those chearful smiles that fweetly hold
In willing chains my heart!
O come, my Love! and bring a-new
That gentle turn of mind;
That gracefulness of air, in you,
By Nature's hand design'd;
What beauty, like the blushing rose,
First lighted up this flame;
Which, like the fun, for ever glows
Within my breast the same !
Ye light coquets! ye airy things!
How vain is all your art!
How feldom it a lover brings!
How rarely keeps a heart!
O gather from my NELLY'S charms,
That sweet, that graceful ease;
That blushing modesty that warms;
That native art to please!
Come then, my love! O come along!
And feed me with thy charms;
Come, fair infpirer of my song!
O fill my longing arms!
A flame like mine can never die,
While charms, fo bright as thine,
So heav'nly fair, both please the eye,
And fill the foul divine!
S SYLVIA in a forest lay,
To vent her woe alone;
Her fwain SYLVANDER came that way,
And heard her dying moan.
Ah! is my love, she said, to you
So worthless and so vain?
Why is your wonted fondness now
Converted to disdain?
You vow'd the light shou'd darkness turn,
E'er you'd exchange your love;
In fhades now may creation mourn,
Since you unfaithful prove.
Was it for this I credit gave
To ev'ry oath you swore?
But ah! it seems they moft deceive,
Who most our charms adore.
'Tis plain your drift was all deceit,
The practice of mankind:
Alas! I fee it, but too late,
My love had made me blind.
For you delighted, I could die ;
But oh! with grief I'm fill'd,
To think that credulous constant I
Shou'd by yourself be kill'd.
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