SONG 247.

DEIL TAK' THE WARS.

DEIL tak the wars that hurried Billy from me,

Who to love me just had sworn ;

They made him captain fure to undo me :

Woe's me, he'll ne'er return.

A thousand louns abroad will fight him,
He from thousands ne'er will run ;
Day and night I did invite him,

To stay at home from fword and gun.
I us'd alluring graces,

With muckle kind embraces,

Now fighing, then crying, tears dropping fall

Preferr'd to war's alarms,

By love grown mad, without the man of God,
I fear in my fit I had granted all.

I wash'd and patch'd, to mak' me look provoking; Snares that they told me would catch the men, And on my head a huge commode fat poking, Which made me fhew as tall again;

For a new gown too I paid muckle money,
Which with golden flow'rs did fhine;
My love weil might think me gay and bonny,
No Scots lafs was e'er fo fine.

My petticoat spotted,

Fringe too with thread I knotted,

Lace fhoes, and filk hofe, garter full over knee

;

But oh the fatal thought,

To Billy thefe are nought;.

Who rode to town, and riffed with dragoons,. When he, filly loon, might have plunder'd me..

SONG 248..

Sung in the GENTLE SHEPHERD...

MY Peggy is a young thing,

Juft enter'd in her teens,

Fair as the day, and fweet as May,

Fair as the day, and always gay.

My Peggy is a young thing,.
And I'm not very auld,
Yet well. I like to meet her at,,
The wauking of the fauld..

My Peggy fpeaks fae fweetly,.
Whene'er we meet alane.

I with nae mair to lay my care,
I with nae mair of a' that's rare,.
My, Peggy fpeaks fae fweetly,,
To a' the leave I'm cauld;.
But the gars a' my fpirits glow,.
At wauking of the fauld..

My Peggy fmiles fae kindly,
Whene'er I whisper love,

That I look down on a' the town,
That I look down upon a crown,
My Peggy fmiles fae kindly,

It makes me blyth and bauld,
And naething gi'es me fick delight,
As wauking of the fauld.

My Peggy fings fae faftly,
When on my pipe I play;
By a' the reft it is confeft,

By a' the reft, that fhe fings beft ::
My Peggy fings fae faftly,

And in her fangs are tald,

With innocence the wale of fenfe,
At wauking of the fauld..

SONG 249.

JOCKEY..

My

Y laddie is gane far awa' o'er the plain, While in forrow behind I'm forc❜d ́ to remain ; Tho' blue bells and vi'lets the hedges adorn, Tho' trees are in bloffom, and fweet blows the thorn, No pleasure they give me, in vain they look gay; There's nothing can pleafe now, my Jockey's away; Forlorn I fit finging, and this is my ftrain, Hafte, hafte, my dear Jockey to me back again.

When lads and their laffes are on the green met, They dance and they fing, they laugh and they chat, Contented and happy, with hearts full of glee, I can't without envy their merriment fee ; Thofe paftimes offend me, my shepherd's not there, No pleasure I relish that Jockey don't share ; It makes me to figh, I from tears scarce refrain ; I wish my dear Jockey return'd back again.

But hope shall sustain me, nor will I despair,
He promis'd he wou'd in a fortnight be here ;
On fond expectation my wishes I'll feaft,

For love, my dear Jockey, to Jenny will hafte :
Then, farewell, each care, and adieu, each vain figh,
Who'll then be so bleft or so happy as I;
I'll fing on the meadows, and alter my ftrain,
When Jockey returns to my arms back again.

SONG 250.

My lodging it is on the cold ground,

And very hard is my fare;
But that which troubles me moft, is
The unkindness of my dear:

Yet ftill I cry, Oh, turn, love!

And I pr'ythee, love, turn to me; For thou art the man that I long for; And, alack! what remedy?

I'll crown thee with a garland of ftraw then,
And I'll marry thee with a rufh-ring;
My frozen hopes fhall thaw then,

And merrily we will fing.

O turn to me, my dear love!

And I pr'ythee, love, turn to me ;
For thou art the man that alone canft
Procure my liberty.

But if thou wilt harden thy heart ftill,
And be deaf to my pitiful moan,
Then I must endure the fmart ftill,
And tumble in ftraw all alone:
Yet ftill I cry, Oh, turn, love!

And I pr'ythee, love, turn to me ;
For thou art the man that alone art
The caufe of my mifery.

“་ནར་ང

SONG 251.

FOR ever, O merciless fair!

Will that cruel indifference endure?
Can thofe eyes look me into defpair,
And that heart be unwilling to cure?

If I love, will you doom me to die?
Or, if I adore you, upbraid?
Can that breast the leaft pity deny

To the wretch which your beauty has made?