The fea-gods wept,
Nor longer kept

Her from her lover's fide.

When join'd at last,

She grafp'd him fast,
Then figh'd, embrac'd, and died.

Rare WILLY drown'd in YARROW.

I.

WILLY'S rare, and Willy's fair,

And Willy's wondrous bonny;

And Willy height to marry me,
Gin e'er he married ony.

II.

Yeftreen I made my bed fu' braid,
This night I'll make it narrow;
For a' the live-lang winter night
I lie twin'd of my marrow.

III.

O came you by yon water-fide,

Pou'd you the rose or lily?

Or came you by yon meadow green
Or faw you my sweet Willy?

IV.

?

She fought him east, she sought him west,
She fought him braid and narrow;

Syne in the cleaving of a craig

She found him drown'd in Yarrow.

The King and the Miller.

I.

OW happy a ftate does the miller poffefs!

Who wou'd be no greater, nor fears to be less; On his mill and himself he depends for fupport, Which is better than fervilely cringing at court. What tho' he all dusty and whiten'd does go?

The more he's bepowder'd, the more like a beau ; A clown in his drefs may be honester far,

Than a courtier who struts in his garter and star.

II.

Tho' his hands are so daub'd, they're not fit to be seen, The hands of his betters are not very clean;

A palm more polite may as dirtily deal,

Gold in handling will stick to the fingers like meal. What if, when a pudding for dinner he lacks,

He cribs without scruple from other men's facks;

In this of right noble example he brags,

Who borrow as freely from other men's bags.

III.

Or fhou'd he endeavour to heap an estate,

In this too he mimicks the tools of the state, Whose aim is alone their coffers to fill,

And all his concern's to bring grift to his mill; He eats when he's hungry, and drinks when he's dry, And down when he's weary contented does ly, Then rifes up chearful to work and to fing :

If fo happy a miller, then who'd be a king?

Tamo Tanto.

I.

So much I love thee, O my treasure!

That my flame no bound does know : Oh! look upon your swain with pleasure, For his pain fome pity show.

II.

Oh my charmer, though I leave you,
Yet my heart with you remains;
Let not then my absence grieve you,
Since with pride I wear your chains.

The beautiful Singer.

SINGIN

I.

INGING charms the bless'd above,
Angels fing, and faints approve ;
All we below

Of heaven can show,

Is that they both fing and love.

II.

Anna, with an angel's air,
Sweet her notes, her face as fair:
Vaffals and kings

Feel, when she fings,

Charms of warbling beauty near.

III.

Savage nature conquer'd lies, All is wonder and surprise; Souls expiring,

Hearts a-firing,

By her charming notes and eyes.

IV.

Let the violin and harp

Hang and moulder till they warp;
Let the flute and lyre

In duft expire,
Shatter'd by a vocal sharp.

Sweet WILLIAM'S Ghoft.

I.

HERE came a ghost to Margret's door,

THER

With many a grievous groan,

And ay he tirled at the pin,

But answer made fhe none.

II.

Is that my father Philip,

Or is't my brother John?

Or is't my true love Willy

From Scotland new come home?

III.

'Tis not thy father Philip,

Nor yet thy brother John;

But 'tis thy true love Willy

From Scotland new come home.

IV.

O fweet Marg❜ret! O dear Marg❜ret! I pray thee speak to me?

Give me my faith and troth, Margret, As I gave it to thee.

V.

Thy faith and troth thou's never get, Nor yet will I thee lend,

Till that thou come within my bower, And kiss my cheek and chin.

VI.

If I shou'd come within thy bower,
I am no earthly man;
And shou'd I kifs thy rofy lips,

Thy days will not be lang.

VII.

O fweet Marg❜ret! O dear Marg❜ret! I pray thee speak to me?

Give me my faith and troth, Marg❜ret, As I gave it to thee.

VIII.

Thy faith and troth thou's never get, Nor yet will I thee lend,

Till you take me to yon kirk-yard,

And wed me with a ring.

IX.

My bones are buried in yon kirk-yard,

Afar beyond the fea;

And it is but my spirit, Marg❜ret,

That's now speaking to thee.