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.
Though ports. &c.

Let winter its horrors fpread wide o'er the fcene,
And nought but its gloom on each object be feen,
To me e'en a defert feems lovely and fair,
If fortune decrees that my Jocky is there.
Though sports, &c.

SONG. 90.

Sung in Love IN A VILLAGE.

YOUNG I am, and fore afraid :
Wou'd you hurt a harmlefs maid ?
Lead an innocent aftray!
Tempt me not, kind Sir, I pray.

Men too often we believe;
And fhou'd you my faith deceive,
Ruin firft, and then forfake,

Sure my tender heart wou'd break.

SONG 91.

THE PERFECTIONS OF TRUE LOVE.
Tune, Alloa-Houfe.

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,
No offers could move her, she lov'd him fo dear :
The lord of the manor took it in his head,
To tempt her to leave him, and come to his bed;
He offer'd her jewels, and baubles, and rings;
But the flighted his offers, refus'd his gay things.

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 how can I fpeak without pain;
My eyes have oft told you my wishes,.
Oh! can't you their meaning explain :
My paffion would lofe by expreffion,
And you too might cruelly blame ;;
Then don't you expect, a confeffion
Of what is too tender to name.

Since yours is the province of fpeaking,
Why should you expect it from me?"
Our wishes fhould be in our keeping,
'Till you tell us what they fhould be ::
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..

SONG 93.

HIS ANSWER.

DEAR Madam, when ladies are willing,

A man must needs look like a fool;
For me, I would not give a fhilling,
For one that can love out of rule:
At least you should wait for our offers,

Nor fnatch like old maids in defpair ;
If you've liv'd to thefe years without proffers,
Your fighs are now loft in the air.

You should leave us to guefs at your meaning,
And not fpeak the matter too plain ;
'Tis ours to be forward and pushing,
And yours to affect a disdain :
That you're in a terrible taking,
By all your fond oglings I fee:
The fruit that will fall without fhaking,
Indeed, is too mellow for me.

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
My heart, of danger unadvis'd;
Now, confcious of my fate, fhe roves
In queft of other sportive loves.

In vain, ye fwains, fhall I perfue
The fair, if uninform'd by you;
Then ye, whofe breafts compaffion move,
O tell me where to find my love.

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.