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Whene'er he trips the meads along, He sweetly joins the woodlark's song ; And when he dances on the green, There's none so blithe as Colin seen ; If he's but nigh, I nothing fear, For I alone am all his care. Then, spite of all my friends can say, He's stole my tender heart away!

My mother chides whene'er I roam, And seems surpris'd I quit my home; But she'd not wonder that I rove, Did she but feel how much I love ; Full well I know the gen'rous swain, Will never give my bosom pain : Then, spite of all my friends can fay, He's stole my tender heart away!

SONG 196.

BLITHE JOCKEY. My Jockey is the blitheft lad

That e'er young maid did woo ;
When he appears, my heart is glad,

For he is kind and true.
He talks of love whene'er we meet,

His words in rapture flow;
Then tunes his pipe and fings so sweety

I have not pow'r to go.

All other lasses he forsakes,

And Alies to me alone ;
At ev'ry fair, or other wakes,

I hear the maiden's moan.
He buys me toys and sweetmeats too,

And ribbands for my hair :
What swain was ever half so true,

Or half so kind and fair ?

Where'er I go, I nothing fear,

If Jockey is but by ;
For I alone am all his care,

Whenever danger's nigh.
He vows to wed next Whitsunday,

And make me blett for life ;
Can I refuse, ye maidens, say,

To be young Jockey's wife?

SONG 197

COME jolly Bacchus, god of wine,

Crown this night with pleasure ;
Let none at cares of life repine,
To destroy our pleasure ;

Fill up the mighty sparkling bowl,
That every true and loyal soul,

May drink and sing without controul
To support our pleasure.

Thus, mighty Bacchus, shalt thou be

Guardian of our pleasure,
That, under thy protection, we
May enjoy our pleasure ;

And, as the hours glide away,
We'll in thy name invoke their stay,

And fing thy praises, that we may
Live and die in pleasure.

SONG 198.

To the Tune of, God save the King. HAIL, MASONRY divine; Glory of ages shine,

Long may’it thou reign : Where'er thy Lodges ftand, May they have great command, And always grace the land,

Thou art divine !

Great fabrics still arise,

grace the azure skies,
Great are thy schemes :
Thy noble orders are
Matchless beyond compare ;
No Art with thee can share,

Thou Art divine !

Hiram the architect,
Did all the Craft direct

How they should build;
Sol'mon, great Isr'el's king,
Did mighty blessings bring,
And left us room to fing,

Hail, royal Art.

Chorus 3 times.

SONG 199.

No more my fong shall be, ye fwains,
Of purling streams, or flow'ry plains;
More pleasing beauties me inspire,
And Phæbus tunes the war bling lyre:
Divinely aided, thus I mean
To celebrate my Highland Queen.

In her, fweet innocence you'll find,
With freedom, truth, and beauty join'd;
From pride and affectation free,
Alike she smiles on you and me :
The brightest nymph that trips the green,
I do pronounce my Highland Queen.

No fordid with or trifling joy, Her fettled calm of mind dettroy ;

Strict honour fills her spotless soul,
And adds a lustre to the whole :
A matchless shape, a graceful mien,
All center in my Highland Queen.

How bleft that youth, whom gentle fate Has deftin'd for so fair a mate ; Has all these wond'ring gifts in store, And each returning day brings more. No youth so happy can be seen, Poffefling thee, my Highland Queen.

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Ye Muses nine, Olend

your aid,
Inspire a tender bashful maid,
That's lately yielded up her heart,
A conqueft to love's pow’rful dart ;
And now would fain attempt to sing
The praises of my Highland King.

Jamie, the pride of all the green,
Is just my age, e'en gay

fifteen :
When first I saw him, 'twas the day
That whers in the sprightly May ;
When first I felt Love's pow'rful fting,
And figh'd for my dear Highland King.

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