The fatal cause all kindly feek:
He mingled his concern with theirs,
He gave them back their friendly tears,
He figh'd; but could not speak.

Clarinda came among the rest,
And she too kind concern exprest,
And afk'd the reason of his wo:
She afk'd; but with an air and mien,
As made it easily foreseen,

She fear'd too much to know.

The fhepherd rais'd his mournful head,
And will you pardon me he said,

While I the cruel truth reveal;

Which nothing from my breast should tear,
Which never should offend your ear,
But that you bid me tell?

'Tis thus I rove, 'tis thus complain,
Since you appear'd upon the plain;
You are the cause of all my care:
Your eyes ten thousand dangers dart;
Ten thousand torments vex my heart;
I love, and I despair.

Too much, Alexis, I have heard,
'Tis what I thought, 'tis what I fear'd;
And yet I pardon you, fhe cry'd;
But you shall promise, ne'er again
To breathe your vows, or speak your pain.
He bow'd, obey'd, and dy'd.

SONG XXV.

WHY fo pale and wan, fond lover?

Prithee, why fo pale?

Will, when looking well can't move her, Looking ill prevail?

Prithee, why so pale?

Why fo dull and mute, young finner?
Prithee, why fo mute?

Will, when speaking well can't win her,
Saying nothing do't?

Prithee, why fo mute?

Quit, quit for fhame; this will not move,
This cannot take her;

If of herself she will not love,
Nothing can make her:
The devil take her.

SONG XXVI.

Y friend and I,

MY

We drank whole piss-pots
Full of fack up to the brim:

I drank to my friend,

And he drank his pot,

So we put about the whim :

Three bottles and a quart

We swallow'd down our throat,

(But hang fuch puny fips as these ;)

We laid us all along,

With our mouths unto the bung,

And tipt whole hogfheads off with ease.

I heard of a fop,

That drank whole tankards,

Styl'd himself the prince of fots:

But I fay now, Hang

Such filly drunkards,

Melt their flaggons, break their pots.

My friend and I did join

For a cellar full of wine,

And we drank the vintner out of door;

We drank it all up

In a morning, at a sup,

And greedily rov'd about for more.

My friend to me

Did make this motion,

Let us to the vintage skip :

Then we imbark'd

Upon the ocean,

Where we found a Spanish ship

Deep laden with wine,

Which was fuperfine,

The failors fwore five hundred tun;

We drank it all at sea,

Ere we came unto the key,

And the merchant swore he was quite undone.

My friend, not having

Quench'd his thirst,

Said, let's to the vineyards haste :

Straight then we fail'd

To the Canaries,

Which afforded just a taste ;

From thence unto the Rhine,

Where we drank up all the wine,

Till Bacchus cry'd, Hold ye fots, or you die,

And fwore he never found,

In his univerfal round,

Such thirsty fouls as my friend and I.

Out fie! cries one,

What a beast he makes him!

He can neither ftand nor go: Out you beast, you,

You're much mistaken,

Whene'er knew you a beast drink so? 'Tis when we drink the least,

That we drink most like a beast ;

But when we carouse it six in hand,

'Tis then, and only then,

That we drink the most like men,

When we drink till we can neither go nor stand.

SONG XXVII.

LET foldiers fight for prey or praise,

And money be the miser's wish,
Poor scholars ftudy all their days,
And gluttons glory in their dish:
'Tis wine, pure wine revives fad fouls ;
Therefore fill us the chearing bowls.

Let minions marshal every hair,
And in a lover's lock delight,
And artificial colours wear :

Pure wine is native red and white : 'Tis wine, &c.

The backward spirit it makes brave,
That lively which before was dull;
Opens the heart that loves to fave,

And kindness flows from cups brim-full: 'Tis wine, &c.

Some men want youth, and others health,
Some want a wife, and some a punk,

Some men want wit, and others wealth,
But they want nothing that are drunk:
'Tis wine, pure wine revives fad fouls;
Therefore give us the chearing bowls.

SONG XXVIII.

FAREWELL, my bonny, bonny, witty, pretty Maggy,

And a' the rofy laffes milking on the down: Adieu the flowery meadows, aft fae dear to Jocky, The sports and merry glee of Edinborrow town; Since French and Spanish lowns stand at bay, And valiant lads of Britain hold 'em play, My reap-hook I maun cast quite away,

And fight too like a man,

Among 'em for our royal Queen Anne.

Each carle of Irish mettle battles like a dragon:

The Germans waddle, and straddle to the drum ; The Italians, and the butter bowzy Hogan Mogan: Good-faith then, Scottish Jocky mauna lie at hame: For fince they are ganging to hunt renown,

And swear they'll quickly ding auld Monfieur down, I'll follow for a pluck at his crown,

To fhew that Scotland can

Excel 'em for our royal Queen Anne.

Then welcome from Vigo,
And cudgelling Don Diego,
With ftrutting rascallions,
And plundering the galleons:
Each brisk valiant fellow
Fought at Rondondellow,
And those who did meet
With the Newfoundland fleet;