Say, charmer, where do thy flocks ftray? SONG. To the Tune of, Woe's my heart that we should funder. S Hamilla then my own? O! the dear, the charming treasure : See how rich with youthful grace, See what mingling charms arife, Hafte then from th' Idalian grove, Infant fmiles, and sports, and graces; Spread the downy couch for love, 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, B 3 S. A SONG. L A SONG. ET's be jovial, fill our glaffes, How the warld is rul'd by affes, Then never let vain cares opprefs us, Wine will make us as red as rofes, When grim death is looking for us, 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. HARREN and I will tell you how Young Muirland Willie came to woo, But ay he crys, whate'er betide, On his gray yade as he did ride,. Out o'er yon mofs, out o'er yon muir, Goodman, quoth he, be ye within, Now, wooer, quoth he, wou'd ye light down, With a fal, dal, &c. Now, wooer, fin ye are lighted down, On fic a lad as ye. The wooer he step'd up the house, I have three owfen in a plough, I fcorn to tell a lie : Befides, I had frae the great laird, The maid put on her kirtle brown, The lover he stended up in hafte, To win your love, maid, I'm come here, He took aff his bonnet, and spat in his chew, The maiden blufh'd and bing'd fu law, But to her dady fhe left it a', As they twa cou'd agree. The lover he ga'e her the tither kifs, Your doghter wad na fay me na, Now, wooer, quo' he, I ha'e no meikle, A kilnfu of corn I'll gi'e to thee, Troth I dow do no mair. Content, Content, quo' he, a bargain be't, I'm far frae hame, make hafte let's do't, The bridal day it came to pafs, This winfome couple ftraked hands, And our bride's maidens were na few, Their toys and mutches were fae clean, Sic hirdum, dirdum, and fic din, And ay they bobit, and ay they beckt, Z. The promis'd Joy. To the Tune of, Carle and the King come. W HEN we meet again, Phely, B 5 Long |