Each nymph a thoufand hearts may take,

For who's to beauty blind?

But to what end a pris'ner make,

Unless we've ftrength to bind ?

Attend the counsel often told-
Too often told in vain-
Learn that beft art, the art to hold,
And lock the lover's chain.
Gamefters to little purpose win,
Who lofe again as fast;

Though beauty may the charm begin,
'Tis fweetnefs makes it laft.

SONG 188.

THE BROOM OF COWDEN KNOW s.

How blyth, ilk' morn, was I to see

He

My fwain come o'er the hill!

le skipt the burn, and flew to me;

I met him wi' good will.

O the broom, the bonny, bonny broom,

The broom 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 sheep at night,

And chear'd me a' the day.

O the broom, &c.

He tun'd his pipe and reed fae fweet,
The birds ftood lift'ning by ;

Ev'n the dull cattle flood and gaz'd,

Charm'd wi' his melody.

O the broom, &c.

While thus we fpent our time, by turns

Betwixt our flocks and play,

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

O the broom, &c.

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

Gang heavily and mourn,

Because I lov'd the kindeft fwain

That ever yet was born!

He did oblige me ev'ry hour;
Cou'd I but faithfu' be?

O the broom, &c.

He ftaw my heart; cou'd I refuse

Whate'er he afk'd of me?

My doggie, and my little kit,
That held my wee foup whey,

O the broom, &c.

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

Adieu, ye Cowdenknows, adieu,
Farewel a' pleasures there;

Ye gods, reftore me to my fwain,

O the broom, &c.

Is a' I crave, or care

O the broom, &c.

SONG 289

By Mr GAY.

THUS I ftand, like a Turk, with my doxies around;

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

SONG 190.

ALLAN WATER.

WHAT numbers fhall the mufe repeat? What verse be found to praife my Annie? On her ten thousand graces wait,

Each fwain admires, and owns fhe's bonny. Since firft the trod the happy plain,

She fet each youthfu' heart on fire ; Each nymph does to her fwain complain, That Annie kindles new defire.

This lovely darling, dearest care,
This new delight, this charming Annie,
Like fummer's dawn, fhe's fresh and fair,
When Flora's fragrant breezes fan ye.
A' day the am'rous youths conveen,
Joyous they fport and play before her;
A' night, when she nae mair is feen,

In blissful dreams they ftill adore her.

Amang the crowd Amyntor came,

He look'd, he lov'd, he bow'd to Annie;

His rifing fighs exprefs his flame,

His words were few, his wishes many.

Wi' fmiles the lovely maid reply'd,

Kind Shepherd, Why fhou'd 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 fmiles, his charms beguiling,
He ftaw awa' my virgin heart;

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

On yonder plain the nymphs are many; Then chufe fome heart that's unconfin'd, And leave to Damon his own Annie.

SONG 191.

JAMIE GAY.

As Jamie gay gang'd byth his way,

S

Alang the river Tweed,

A bonny lafs as e'er was feen,

Came tripping o'er the mead.
The hearty fwain, untaught to feign,
The buxom nymph furvey'd,
And full of glee as lad could be,
Bespoke the pretty maid.

Dear laffie tell, why by thinefell
Thou haft'ly wand'reft here.
My ewes, fhe cry'd are ftraying wide,
Canft tell me, laddie, where ?

To town I'll hie, he made reply,
Some meikle fport to fee,