Shall now his Peggy's Praifes tell,
Ah! I can die, but never funder.
Ye Meadows where we often ftray'd,

Ye Banks where we were wont to wander. Sweet-fcented Rucks round which we play'd, You'll lofs your Sweets when we're afunder.

Again ah! fhall I never creep

Around the Know with filent Duty, Kindly to watch the while afleep,

And wonder at thy manly Beauty? Hear, Heaven, while folemnly I vow, Tho' thou fhouldst prove a wand'ring Lover, Throw Life to thee I fhall prove true, Nor be a Wife to any other.

SONG CCCXCVI. Tweed-fide. Sung by Peggy, p. 68.

Hen Hope was quite funk in Despair,

W My Heart it was going to break ;

My Life appear'd worthless my Care,
But now I will fav't for thy Sake.
Where'er my Love travels by Day,
Wherever he lodges by Night,
With me his dear Image fhail stay,
And my Soul keep him ever in Sight.
With Patience I'll wait the long Year
And ftudy the gentleft Charms;
Hope Time away till thou appear,

To lock thee for ay in those Arms.
Whilft thou waft a Shepherd, I priz'd
No higher Degree in this Life;
But now I'll endeavour to rife

To a Height is becoming thy Wife,
For Beauty that's only Skin-deep,
Muft fade like the Gowans of May,
But inwardly rooted, will keep
For ever, without a Decay.
Nor Age, nor the Changes of Life,
Can quench the fair Fire of Love,

If Virtue's ingrain'd in the Wife,
And the Hufband have Sehfe to approve.

SONG CCCXCVII. Bub aboon
Traquair. Sung by Peggy, p. 70.

Tfetting Day and rifing Morn,

A With Soul that fill fhall love thee,

I'll afk of Heaven thy fafe Return,
With all that can improve thee
I'll vifit oft the Birken-Bush,

Where first thou kindly told me
Sweet Tales of Loves, and hid my Blush,
Whilft round thou didft enfold me.
To all our Haunts I will repair,

By Greenwood-fhaw or Fountain ;
Or where the Summer-day I'd fhare
With thee, upon yon Mountain.
There will I tell the Trees and Flowers,
From Thoughts unfeign'd and tender.
By Vows you're mine, by Love is yours
A Heart which cannot wander.

SONG CCCXCVIII. Bony grey-ey'd
Morn. Sang by Sir William, p.74-

THE

HE bony gray-ey'd Morning begins to
peep,

And Darkness flies before the rifing Ray,
The hearty Hynd ftarts from his lazy Sleep,

To follow healthful Labours of the Day,
Without a guilty Sting to wrinkle his Brow,

The Lark and the Linnet tend his Levee, And he joins their Concert, driving his Plough, From Toil of Grimace and Pageantry free. While flufter'd with Wine, or madden'd with Lofs,

Of half an Eftate, the Prey of a Main, The Drunkard and Gamefter tumble and toss, Wishing for Calmness and Slumber in vain.

Be my Portion Health, and Quietness of Mind, Plac'd at due Diftance from Parties and State, Where neither Ambition or Avarice blind, Reach him who has Happiness link'd to his Fate.

The End of the Songs in the Gentle Shepherd.

SONG CCCXCIX. There's my Thumb.

Oaft no more, fond Swain, of Pleafure

BThat the fickle Fair can give thee:

Believe me, 'tis a Fairy Treasure,

And all thy Hopes will foon deceive thee. Sweet's the Morn, but quickly flying; Her Smiles I've known, and her Disdaining : The Flow'r is fair, but quickly dying; And Chloe still will be complaining,

ΟΙ

SONG CCCC. Old Saturn, &c, LD Saturn, that Drone of a God, And Father of all the Divine, Still govern'd the World with a Nod, Yet fancy'd brifk Women and Wine; And when he was whimsical grown, By fipping his plentiful Bowl, Then frankly the Truth he would own, That a Wench was the Joy of his Soul, Great Jupiter, like his old Dad, To Love and a Bottle inclin'd, When mellow, was conftantly glad To find a plump Girl to his Mind; And then, as the Story is told,

He'd conjure himself in her Arms, As once in a Shower of Gold

He rifled fair Danae's Charms.

Stern Mars, the great God of the Field,
All Day tho' delighting in Blood,
At Night his fierce Godship would yield
To Beauty and Wine that was good;
T

With Nectar he'd cherish his Heart, AL
And raise up his wanton Defires,
Then to Venus, his Darling impart
The Warmth of his amorous Fires.
Apollo, the Patron of Bays,

Full Goblets would merrily drein,
And fing forth poetical Lays,

When the Fumes had got into his Brain! But ftill as he whimfical grew,

By toping the Juice of the Vine, To Parnaffus daily he flew,

To kifs all the Mufical Nine.

Sly Mercury too, like the reft,

Made Wenching and Wine his Delight,
And thought himself perfectly bleft"
With a Bottle and Miftrefs at Night i
No Wonder Debauches he lov'd,

And Cheating his Pleasure he made,
For the Gods have ev'ry one prov'd
That Pimping was always his Trade.
Plump Bacchus, that tun-belly'd Sot,
His Thirst could but feldom allay,.
Till aftride o'er a Hogfhead he got,

And drank all the Liquor away
As long as upright he could fit, omonat
He'd ftrenuous bellow for more;
When drunk, then the Veffel would quit,
And reel to fome Bacchanal Whore.

SONG CCCCI. Here's to thee, &c.

H

Ere's to thee, my Damon, let's drink and be merry,

And drown all our Cares in full Bumpers of Sherry;

Commit ev'ry Care to the Guardians above, And we'll live like Immortals in Pleafure and

Love.

Here's Phillis's Health: Lol the Liquor flows higher,

Tis Phillis's Name that awakens that Fire:

Since the Liquor is clear, let our Eloquenee

fhine,

And Fancy be brifk, as the fparkling Wine,
Ye Nymphs, and ye Graces, ye Cupids, ye
Swains,

Go pluck the fweet Rofes, the Pride of the
Plains;

Pluck only fuch Rofes, as worthy the Fair, And weave her a Chaplet, with diligent Care; While to yon cool Poplar's kind Shade we re tire,

To melt in Embraces, and mingle our Fire; In languifhing Bliffes, we'll live, and we'll die,

She'll melt in the Flames, that I catch at her Eye.

SONG CCCCII Tho' bootlefs, &c.

HO' bootlefs I must needs complain,
My Fate
is fo extream;

TH

1 lov'd, and was bélov'd again,

Yet all was but a Dreamd

For as that Love was quickly got,
So it was quickly gone;fodr.
I'll touch no more a Flame fa hot,ye

I'd rather lie

No Create

Shall any r

ne er fo fair beguilent me

My Fancy with a feigned Tear,

Nor tempt me with a Smile:

I'll never think Affection feign'd,

That is fo fairly fhewn;

I'll touch no more a Flame fo hot,

I'd rather lie alone.

Should now

the little God confpire

Again t'entrap my Mind;

And ftrive to fet my Heart on Fire,

Alas! the Boy's too blind