Графични страници
PDF файл
ePub

SONG 230.

Sung in the WATERMAN. AND

ND did you not hear of a jolly young water.

man, Who at Blackfriars Bridge used for to ply ; And he feather'd his oars with such skill and dex

terity, Winning each heart and delighting each eye: He looked fo neat, and rowed fo steadily, The maidens all flock'd in his boat fo readily, And he eyed the young rouges with so charming

an air, That this Waterman ne'er was in want of a fare.

What Sghts of fine folks he oft row'd in his wherry:

'Twas clean'd out so nice, and painted with all; He was always first oars when the fine city ladies,

In a party to Ranelagh went or Vauxhall. And oftentimes would they be giggling and leering' But 'twas all one to Tom, their gibing and geering, For loving, or liking, he little did care, For this Waterman ne'er was in want of a fare.

And yet but to see how ftrangely things happen;

As he row'd along thinking of nothing at all, He was ply'd by a damsel so lovely and charming,

That she smiled, and so ftraitway in love he did

fall ;

And would this young damsel but banish his forrow,
He'd wed her to night before to-morrow :
And how should this Waterman ever know care,
When he's married, and never in want of a fare?

SONG 231.

The PARSON. Push about the brisk glass, 1 proclaim him an

als, Who at cares of this world wou'd repine ; 'Twas our sorrows to drown, and dispel Fortune's

frown, That Jove sent us, Joye fent us, the juice of the

vine. "Tis this in all feats the true interest protects,

And enlivens the lump of our clayo; The parsons looks teach, tho' against it they preach, Then believe them, believe them, who pleases, I

say.

'Tis not long ago, that a Vicar I know,

Whose name 't were ungodly to tell, Who o'er bottle and bowl sat with many good soul, Full of glee, till ding dong, till ding dong, went

the bell :

Then, having a hic-cup, took the chair with a

kick-up,

I must go, else the church will complain; But, friends, don't think me rude, I swear by my

priesthood, I'll but preach, and be with you, be with you

again.

The parfon went straight, tho'he stagger'd in gait,

With his fermon in mem'ry's large cheft ; To the pulpit he rose, but soon fell, in a dose,

And cries, Excellent, excellent wine, I proteit. The whole congregation, in strange confternation,

Left the church, with a ligh at the cause; But the clerk, more devout, cries, Sir, they're all

out ; Then fill 'em, then fill 'em again, my brave boys.

In law 'twas design’d, Justice ftill hould be blind;

Yet she'll squint if self-int'rest do call; And I'm certain I cou'd, o'er a hogshead that's good. Bribe the council, the council, judge, jury, and

all. If to drink be a fault, for fo we're all taught,

Old Noah could tipple, they say ; And we gather from hence, all mortals of fenfe,

Should be sons of old Noah, old Noah: Huzza!

SONG 233.
WHEN fummer comes, the fwains on Tweed

Sing their successful loves,
Around the ewes and lambkins feed,

And mulick fills the groves.

But my lov'd song is then the broom

So fair on Cowden-knows;
For fure, fo fweet, so soft a bloom,

Elsewhere there never grows.

There Colin tun'd his oaten reed,

And won my yielding heart ;
No fhepherd e'er, that dwelt on Tweed,

Could play with half such heart.

He fung of Tay, of Forth, and Clyde,

The hills and dales all round,
Of Leader haughs, and Leader.fide,

Oh! how I bless'd the found.

Yet more delightful is the broom

So fair on Cowden-knows ;
For sure, so fresh, so bright a bloom,

Elsewhere there never grows.

Not Tiviot braes, so green

and

gay, May with this broom compare ; Not Yarrow banks in flow'ry May,

Nor the bush aboon Traquair.

More pleasing far are Cowden-knows,

My peaceful happy home,
Where I was wont to milk my cwes,

At e'en among the broom.

Ye pow'rs, that haunt the woods and plains

Where I'weed and Tiviot flows, Convey me to the best of swains,

And my lov'd Cowden-knows.

SONG 233.

As.

S on a sun shine summer's day
I to the greenwood bent my way;
The lonely path my fancy took
Was guided by a silver-brook;
And trust me, trust me, all I meant,
Was to be pleas'd and innocent.

Upon its flow'ry banks I sat,
Regardless or of love or hate,
I took my pipe, and 'gan to play
The shepherd's merry roundelay :
And trust me, trust me, all I meant,
Was to be pleas'd and innocent.

All in the self-Same shady grove
Youthful Sylvia chanc'd to rove;

Bb

« ПредишнаНапред »