Give thanks to the Dairy then every Lad, That from good-natur'd Women fuch Fools may be had.

When the Damfel has got the Cow's Teat in her Hand,

How the merrily fings, while fmiling I ftand; Then with a Pleasure I rub,

Yet impatient I fcrub,

When I think of the Bleffing of a Syllabub; Oh Dairy-Maids, Milk-Maids, fuch Blifs ne'er oppofe,

If e'er you'll be happy, I fpeak under the Rose. This Rofe was a Maiden once of your Profeffion, Till the Rake and the Spade had taken Possesfion;

At length it was faid,

That one Mr. Edmond

Did both dig and fow in her Parfley-Bed:
But the Fool for his Labour deferves not a Ruf,
For grafting a Thiftle upon a Rose-Bush.

Now Milk-Maids take warning by this Maiden's
Fall,

Keep what is your own, and then you keep all :
Mind well your Milk-pan,
And ne'er touch a Man,

And you'll ftill be a Maid, let him do what he

can:

I am your well-wisher, then liften to my Word, And give no more Milk than the Cow can afford.

SONG LXXV. There lately, &c.

Here lately was a Maiden fair,

TH

With ruddy Cheeks and Nut-brown hair, Who up to Town did trudge, Sir; This pretty Maid, whofe Name was Kate, Met here a hard unlucky Fate,

As you anon hall judge, Sir.

A little ere it did grow dark,
She needs muft walk into the Park,
The Gentry for to fee, Sir;
Where foon fhe met a Footman gay,
That ftopp'd her short, and made her stay,
To fit down under Tree, Sir.
This Footman fwore he was a Lord,
Which foon made Katy to accord,

And grant him his full Will, Sir;
She kifs'd his Lordship o'er and o'er,
And open'd all her Country Store,
And let him take his Fill, Sir.

But when she heard one call out, John,
Up rofe her Spark, and ftrait was gone
To trot before the Chair, Sir;
Which made this Damfel all alone
To figh and fob, and make great Moan,
And fhed full many a Tear, Sir.
Quoth the, if these be London Tricks,
God fend me down amongst my Dicks,
That live on Dunfmore Heath, Sir;
If ever I come here again,

Or e'er believe one Man in ten,

May the De'll come ftop my Breath,Sir.

SONG LXXVI. In the pleasant, &c.

I

IN the pleasant Month of May,

When the merry, merry Birds began to fing: And the Bloffoms fresh and gay

Ufher'd in the welcome Spring;

When the long cold Winter's gone,

And the bright enticing Moon,
In the Evening fweetly fhone:

When the bonny Men and Maids tript it on the
Grafs;

At a jolly Country Fair,

When the Nymphs in the best appear;

We refolv'd to be free, with a Fiddle and a She, E'ery Shepherd and his Lafs.

In the middle of the Sport,

When the Fiddle went brifk, and the Glafs
went round,

And the pretty gay Nymphs for Court,
With their merry Feet beat the Ground;
Little Cupid arm'd unfeen,

With a Bow and Dart ftole in,

With a conq'ring Air and Mien,

And empty'd his Bow thro' the Nymphs and the Swains ;

E'ery Shepherd and his Mate

Soon felt their pleasing Fate

And longing to try in Enjoyment to
Love reign'd o'er all the Plains.

Now the fighing Swain gave o'er,

die,

And the weary'd Nymphs could dance no more,
There were other Thoughts that mov'd,
E'ery pretty kind Pair that lov'd:

In the Woods the Shepherds lay,

And mourn'd the Time away, And the Nymphs as well as they Long'd to tafte what it is that their Senfes cloys Till at last by Confent of Eyes,

E'ery Swain with his pretty Nymph flies,

F'ery buxom She retires with her He,
To act Love's folid Joys,

SONG LXXVII, One Night, &c.

ONE Night in my Ramble I chanced t9

A Thing like a Spirit, it frightned me;
I cock'd up my Hat, and refolv'd to look big,
And frait fell a tuning the Irish Fig.

The Devil drew nearer and nearer in fhort,
I found it was one of the Petticoat Sort;
My Fears being over, I car'd not a Fig,
But ftill I kept tuning the Irish Fig.
And then I went to her, refolving to try her;
I put her agog of a longing Defire;

I told her I'd give her a Whip for her Gig,
And a Scourge to the Tune of the Irish Fig.
Then nothing but dancing our Fancy could
pleafe,

We lay on the Grass, and danc'd at our Ease;
I down'd with my B-s, and off with my
Wig,

And we fell a dancing the Irish Jig.

I thank you, kind Sir, for your Kindness faid

fhe,

T

The Scholar's as wife as the Mafter can be ;
For if you should chance to get me with Kid,
I'll lay the poor Brat to the Irish Fig.

The Dance being ended as you may fee,
We rofe by Confent, and we both went away;
I put on my Cloaths, and left her to grow big,
And fo I went roaring the Irish Jig.

SONG LXXVIII. My dear Heart,&c.

M

Yeafy Heart,

With fingle Dart,

Has no Imall Anguish found
But Love has now..
Two Strings to's Bow;
Both Wit and Beauty wound,

Such Guns of Spears
Who fees or hears,

Of Death may take his Choice,

For tho' he flies

Her piercing Eyes,

She'll reach him with her Voice

When Wit perfuades,

And Beauty leads

Dur Senfes all to Joy,
Not Dido's Guest
Cqu'd' guard his Breaft
Against the Cyprian Boy,

SONG LXXIX. To the Brook, &c. O..the Brook, and the Willow, that heard him complain,

Ab willow! willow!

[Thefe words to be fung between each Line.] Poor Collin went weeping, and told them his

Pain

Sweet Stream, he cry'd, fadly I'll teach thee to

flow,

And the Waters shall rife to the Brink with my Woe :

All reftlefs and painful, my Calia now lies, And counts the fad Moments of Time as it flies; To the Nymph, my Heart's Love, ye foft Slumbers repair,

Spread your downy Wings o'er her, and make her your Care;

Let me be left reftlefs, my Eyes never close,
So the Sleep that I lofe give my Dear one Re-

pofe;

Dear Stream! if you chance by her Pillow to creep,

Pet haps your foft Murmurs may lull her to Sleep:
But if I am doom'd to be wretched indeed,
And the lofs of my Charmer the Fates have de-

creed,

Believe me, thou fair one, thou dear one, believe;

Few Sighs to thy Lofs, and few Tears will

give;

One Fate to thy Collin and thee shall betide'; And foon lay thy Shepherd down by thy cold

Side: