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Thee, haughty tyrants ne'er fhall tame;

All their attempts to bend thee down
Will but arouse thy gea'rous flame,
But work their woe, and thy renown.

Rule, Britannia, &c.

To thee belongs the rural reign,

Thy cities shall with commerce shine :
All thine shall be the subject main,
And ev'ry shore it circles thine.

Rule, Britannia, &c.

The muses still, with freedom found,

Shall to thy happy coasts repair :
Bleft ille ! with matchless beauty crown'd,
And manly bearts to guard the fair !

Rule, Britannia, &c.

SONG 226.
WITH early horn, falute the morn,

That gilds this charming place ;
With chearful cries, bid echo rise,
And join the jovial chace,
The vocal hills around,

The waving woods,

The chryftal floods,
All return th' enliv’ning sound.

SONG 227

THE LINNET $

As bringing home the other day

.
Two linnets I had ta’en,
The pretty warblers seem'd to pray

For liberty again.
Unheedful of their plaintive notes

I sang across the mead ;
In vain they tan'd their downy throats,

And fluiter'd to be freed.

As. passing through the tufted grove,

Near which my cottage food,
I thought I saw the Queen of Love,

When Chlora's charms. I view'd.
I gaz'd, I lov’d, I press'd her Itay

To hear my, tender tale ; But all in vain the fled

away, Nor could my fighs prevail. Soon through the wound which love had made

Came pity to my breast;
And thus I, as compassion bade,

The feather'd pair address’d :
Ye little warblers, chearful be,

Remember not ye flew;
For I, who thought myself so-free,

Am far more caught than you.

SONG 228.

CONTENTED I am, and contented I'll be ;

What can this vain world more afford,
Than a wife to my mind, that prefers none to me,
And contentment, though small be my ftore,

My brave boys ?
And contentment, though small be my store.

In the morning I rife, and then toil all the day,

And hath happinefs ftill in my view ; I'll never forsake it 'till I overtake it, So cagerly I will it pursue,

My brave boys, &c.

When the evening does come, content I sit down,

Nor e'er do I wish for to roam ;
For, Hymen and Love have firmly decreed,
That true pleasure's found always at hone,

My brave boys, &c.

Then, ye wand'rers! attend, give o'er your perfuits,

They'll ever prove false, you will find ; Seek pleasure at leine, and your wife, if she's wife, Will always be loving and kind,

My brave boys, &c.

SONG 229.

GRAMA C H R E E.
As

S down on Banna's banks I Aray'd,
One evening in May,
The little birds in blytheft notes

Made vocal ev'ry spray :
They fung their little tales of love,

They sung them o'er and o'er,
Al Gramachree, ma Colleeroughe, ma Molly Ashtore!

The daisy pied, and all the sweets

The dawn of nature yields ;
The primrose pale, the vi’let blue,

Lay scatter'd o'er the fields :
Such fragrance in the bosom-lies
Of her whom I adore.

Ab Gramacbrre, &c.

I laid me down upon a bank,

Bewailing my fad fate,
That doom'd me thus the Have of love

And cruel Molly's hate :
How can the break the honeft heart
That wears her in its core ?

Ab Gramachree, &c.

You said you lov'd me, Molly dear ;

Ah!' why did I believe?
Yet who could think fuch tender words

Were meant but to deceive?

That love was all, I ask'd on earth ;
Nay, heav'u could give no more.

Ab Gramachree, & c.

Oh had I all the flocks that

graze On yonder yellow hill, Or low'd for me the num'rous herds

That yon green pasture fill; With her I lote I'd gladly share My kine and fleecy store.

Ah Gramachree, &c.

Two turtle doves above

my

head
Sat courting on a bough;
I envied not their happiness,

To see them bill and coo :
Such fondness once for me she shew'd ;
But now, alas ! 'tis o'er.

Ab Gramachree, &c.

Then fare thee well, my Molly dear,

Thy loss I e'er shall mourn ;
Whilft life remains in Strephon's heart,

'Twill beat for thee alone :
Tho' thou art false, may heav'n on thee
Its choicest blessings pour !

Ab Gramacbree, &c.

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