SONG 89. THE fpring newly dawning invites ev'ry flow'r To blofom again on the mead or the bow'r, Though fports on each plain the young shepherds prepare, To me they're unpleafing if Jo cky's not there. Let winter its horrors fpread wide o'er the fcene, SONG. 90. Sung in Love IN A VILLAGE. YOUNG I am, and fore afraid : Men too often we believe; Sure my tender heart wou'd break. SONG 91. THE PERFECTIONS OF TRUE LOVE. THERE liv'd, long ago, in a country place, A clever young lad who lov'd a young lafs ; She lov'd him again, and, oh! wonder to hear, He told her, he'd make her as fine as a queen, Her gown fhould be filk, and her cap colberteen; But the faid, Linfey-woolfy and bone-laced would ferve, And rather than please him she'd venture to starve. He told her, he'd give her a pad to ride out, Or a coach, if the lik'd it, to travel about; She thank'd him, but faid, fhe could very well walk, And fhou'd fhe have a coach, how the neighbours' wou'd talk. He faid, For the neighbours, he'd make it his care, That not even the parfon on Sundays fhould dare To cenfure her conduct or offer to blame Her manner of living, or blast her good name. She told him, In fhort, he muft e'en be content, For jewels or gold fhou'd ne'er bribe her confent; Her heart was another's, and fo fhou'd remain, And the feorn'd to be falfe for the lucre of gain. SONG 92. DEAR Colin, prevent my warm blushes, Since yours is the province of fpeaking, What I in my bofom confine.. SONG 93. HIS ANSWER. DEAR Madam, when ladies are willing, A man must needs look like a fool; Nor fnatch like old maids in defpair ; You should leave us to guefs at your meaning, SONG 94 THE WANDERER, by Mr RAE. Tune, The maid that's made for love and me: GENTLE fhepherds, faw ye pass, As tripping o'er the flow'ry grafs, A beauteous maid as fair as fnow, As nimble as the winds that blow. Whofe looks are fweet, and gay her mein, All graceful as the Cyprian queen, Black as the floes her fparkling eyes, Where little Cupid basking lyes. Whofe fprightly wit's beyond compare Her graceful turns of thought declare ; Whofe face and breaft ftill more combine, To tell mankind that she's divine. The t'other morn the rogue furpris'd In vain, ye fwains, fhall I perfue And ye, bright Nymphs, too, lend your aid To punish an unconftant maid; Ah! feize the little wand'ring toy, The fource of envy, fource of joy. |