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Each nymph a thousand hearts may take,

For who's to beauty blind ?
But to what end a pris'ner make,

Unless we've strength to bind ?

Attend the counsel often told

Too often told in vain
Learn that best art, the art to hold,

And lock the lover's chain.
Gameters to little purpose win,

Who lose again as fast ;
Though beauty may the charm begin,

'Tis sweetness makes it last.

SONG 188.

How blyth, ilk’ morn, was I to see

My swain come o'er the bill !
He skipt the burn, and flew to me ;
I met him wi' good will.
O the broom, the bonny, bonny broom,

The broon o' Cowdenknows ;
I wish I were wi' my dear fwain,

Wi' his pipe and my ewes.

I neither wanted ew nor lamb,

While his flock near me lay ;

He gather'd in my leep at night,
And chear'd me a' the day.

O the broom, &c.

He tun'd his pipe and reed fae sweet,

The birds stood lift'ning by ;
Ev'n the dull cattle stood and gaz'd,
Charın'd wi' his melody.

O the broom, &c.

While thus we spent our time, by turne

Betwixt our Aocks and play, I envy'd not the fairest dame, Tho' ne'er fo rich and gay.

O the broom, &c.

Hard fate! that I shou'd banish'd be,

Gang heavily and mourn, Because I lov'd the kindeft swain That ever yet was born!

O the broom, &c.

He did oblige me ev'ry hour ;

Cou'd I but faithfu’ be? He itaw


heart ; cou'd I refuse Whate'er he ask'd of me?

o the broom, &c.

My doggie, and my little kit,

That held my wee soup whey,

My plaidy, broach, and crooked stick,
May now ly useless by.

O the broom, &c.

Adieu, ye Cowdenknows, adieu,

Farewel a' pleasures there ;
Ye gods, reftore me to my swain,
Is a' I crave, or care

O the broom, &c.

SONG 289

By Mr Gay. THUS I stand, like a Turk, with my doxies

around; From all fides their glances his passion confound ! For black, brown, and fair, his inconftancy burns, And different beauties subdue him by turns : Each-calls forth her charms to provoke his desires, Though willing to all, with but one he retires ; But think of this maxim and put off all sorrow, The wretch of to-day may be happy to-morrow.

But think of this maxim, &c.

SONG 190.

ALLAN WATER. WHAT numbers shall the muse repeat ?

What verse be found to praise my Annie? On her ten thousand

graces wait, Each swain admires, and owns Ihe's bonny. Since first she trod the happy plain,

She set each youthfu' heart on fire ; Each nymph does to her fwain complain,

That Annie kindles new desire,

This lovely darling, deareft care,

This new delight, this charming Annie, Like summer's dawn, she's fresh and fair,

When Flora's fragrant breezes fan ye. A' day the am'rous youths conveen,

Joyous they sport and play before her; A' night, when she nae mair is seen,

In blissful dreams they ftill adore her.

Amang the crowd Amyntor came,

He look’d, he lov'd, he bow'd to Annie ; His rising sighs express his flame,

His words were few, his wishes many. Wi' smiles the lovely maid reply'd,

Kind Shepherd, Why should I deceive ye? Alas ! your love maun be deny’d,

This destin'd breast can ne'er relieve ye.

Young Damon came, with Cupid's art,

His wiles, his smiles, his charms beguiling, He itaw awa' my virgin.heart ;

Cease, poor Amyntor, ceafe bewailing. Some brighter beauty you may find,

On yonder plain the nymphs are many; Then chuse some heart that's unconfin'd,

And leave to Damon his own Annie.

SONG 191.



S Jamie gay gang'd byth his way,
Alang the river Tweed,
A honny lass as 'e'er was seen,

Came tripping o'er the mead.
The hearty (wain, untaught to feign,

The buxom nymph survey'd,
And full of glee as lad could be,

Bespoke the pretty maid.

Dear laflie tell, why by thinesell

Thou haft’ly wand'rest here.
My ewes, she cry'd are straying wide,

Canft tell me, laddie, where?
To town I'll hie, he made reply,

Some meikle sport to see,

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