III.

Since yours is the province of speaking,
How can you expect it from me?
Our wishes fhou'd be in our keeping,
Till you tell us what they should be.

IV.

Then quickly why don't you discover?
Did your heart feel fuch tortures as mine?

I need not tell over and over
What I in my bofom confine.

COLIN'S Reply.

I.

'OOD Madam, when ladies are willing,

GOOD

A man must needs look like a fool;
For me, I would not give a fhilling
For one that does love without rule.

II.

At least ye fhou'd wait for our offers,
Nor fnatch like old maids in despair;
Had you liv'd to thefe years without proffers,
Your fighs were all spent in the air.

III.

You should leave us to guess by your blushing,

And not tell the matter fo plain;

'Tis ours to be writing and pushing,

And yours to affect a disdain.

IV.

But you're in a terrible taking,
By all the fond oglings I fee;
The fruit that can fall without shaking,
Indeed is too mellow for me.

The Country-lafs's Ambition.

I.

WHAT tho' they call me country lafs?

I read it plainly in my glass,

That for a duchefs I might pass;
Oh! could I see the day!
Wou'd fortune but attend my call,
At park, at play, at ring, and ball,
I'd brave the proudest of them all,
With a ftand-by, Clear the way.

II.

Surrounded by a crowd of beaux,
With smart toupees and powder'd cloaths,
At rivals I'll turn up my nofe,

Oh! could I see the day!

I'll dart fuch glances from these eyes,
Shall make fome duke, or lord, my prize;
And then, oh! how I'll tyrannize,
With a ftand-by, Clear the way.

III.

Oh! then for every new delight,
For equipage and diamonds bright,
Quadrille, and balls, and plays all night :
Oh! could I see the day!
Of love and joy I'd take my fill,
The tedious hours of life to kill,
In every thing I'd have my will,

With a stand-by, Clear the way.

The following Song is faid to be made. in honour of our Sovereign Lady MARY Queen of SCOTS.

You

I.

́OU meaner beauties of the night,
Who poorly fatisfy our eyes,

More by your number than your light,

Ye are but officers of the skies;

What are you when the moon doth rife?

II.

You violets that first appear,

By your fine purple colour known,
Taking poffeffion of the year,

As if the spring were all your own;
What are ye when the rose is blown?

III.

You charming birds, that in the woods
Do warble forth your lively lays,
Making your paffion understood

In foftest notes; what is your praise,
When Philomel her voice does raise,

IV.

You glancing jewels of the east,

Whose estimation fancies raise,

Pearls, rubies, fapphires, and the rest

Of glittering gems; what is your praise,
When the bright diamond fhews his rays?

V.

But, ah! poor light, gem, voice, and smell,
What are ye if my MARY shine?

Moon, diamond, flowers, and Philomel,
Light, luftre, scent, and music tine,
And yield to merit more divine.

VI.

Thus when my mistress you have seen
In beauties of her face and mind,
First, by descent, fhe is a Queen;
Judge then if she be not divine,
And glory of all womankind.

VII.

There rose and lily, the hale spring,
Unto her breath for sweetness speed;
The diamond darkens in the ring :
When she appears, the moon looks dead,
As when Sol lifts his radiant head.

There Gowans are gay.

I.

HERE gowans are gay, my joy,

THE

There gowans are gay;

They gar me wake when I shou'd fleep,
The first morning of May.

II.

About the fields as I did pafs,

There gowans are gay;
I chanc'd to meet a proper lass,
The first morning of May.

III.

Right busy was that bonny maid,

There gowans are gay;

I hass'd her, fyne to her I said,

The first morning of May:

IV.

O lady fair, what do you here?

There gowans are gay;

Gathering the dew, what need ye fpeir? The first morning of May.

V.

The dew, quoth I, what can that mean?

There gowans are gay;

Quoth fhe, to wash my mistress clean,
The first morning of May.

VI.

I asked farther at her fyne,
There gowans are gay,
Gif to my will she wad incline?
The first morning of May.

VII.

She faid, her errand was not there,
Where gowans are gay;
Her maidenhead on me to ware,
The first morning of May.

VIII.

Then, like an arrow frae a bow,
There gowans are gay;
She skift away out o'er the know,
The first morning of May;

IX.

And left me in the garth my lane,

There gowans are gay;
And in my heart a twang of pain,

The first morning of May.