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?
To the Tune of, Woe's my heart that we should funder.
O! the dear, the charming treasure :
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 ftill poffeffing.
ET's be jovial, fill our glaffes,
Madness 'tis for us to think,
How the warld is rul'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 Cræfus,
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 nofes,
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;
Godlike Bacchus thus commanding,
Trembling death away fhall fly, Ever after understanding
Drinking fouls can never dy. Fa, la, ra, &c.
Muirland Willie.
HARREN and I will tell you how
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
The wooer he step'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;
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 she did na gloom,
But blinkit bonnilie.
The lover he stended up in hafte,
And gript her hard about the waste,
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 blufh'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.
I'm far frae hame, make hafte let's do't,
With a fal, &c.
The bridal day it came to pafs,
With mony a blythsome lad and lass;
But ficken a day there never was,
Sic mirth was never feen.
This winfome couple ftraked hands,
Mefs John ty'd up the marriage bands,
With a fal, &c.
And our bride's maidens were na few,
Wi' tap knots, lug-knots, a' in blew,
Frae tap to tae they were braw new,
And blinkit bonnilie.
Their toys and mutches were fae clean,
They glanced in our ladfes' een,
With a fal, &c.
Sic hirdum, dirdum, and fic din,
Wi' he o'er her, and the o'er him;
The minstrels they did never blin,
Wi' meikle mirth and glee.
And ay they bobit, and ay they beckt,
And ay their wames together met,
With a fal, &c.
The promis'd Joy.
To the Tune of, Carle and the King come.
HEN we meet again, Phely,
When we meet again, Phely,
Raptures will reward our pain, -
And lofs refult in gain, Phely,
|