What strains, Oh! goddess, must he find,

To melt her frozen heart,

Since words can ne'er exprefs his mind,
Nor e'er his pain impart ;
Unless thy fon fhall aid his lays,
And love in her inftil,

In vain will prove his artless praise
Of Patty of the hill.

Her cheek with rofe and lilies vies,
Her breath with fweet woodbine ;
Inferior far unto her eyes

The fparkling di'monds fhine:
Her voice excells the linnet's notes,
Exceeds the thrufh's thrill;

In vain they ftrive to raise their throats Like Patty's of the hill.

How fhall I paint her tender mind,.
The charm I most admire;

In her is ev'ry virtue join'd,
That paffion can infpire:
Her foul the graces all refine,

She ftoops to reafon's will;
I'd Venus, all the world refign
For Patty of the hill.

SONG 24.

DOWN THE BURN DAVIE, LOVE.

WHEN trees did bud, and fields were green,

And broom bloom'd fair to fee;
When Mary was complete fifteen,
And love laugh'd in her ee';
Blyth Davy's blinks her heart did move
To speak her mind thus free:
Gang down the burn Davie, love,
Down the burn Davie, love,
Down the burn Davie, love,
And foon I'll follow thee;
Gang down the burn Davie, love,
Down the burn Davie, love,
Down the burn Davie, love,
Gang down the burn Davie, love,

And I'll foon follow thee.

Now Davie did each lad furpafs

That dwelt on this burn- fide;

And Mary was the bonieft lafs,

Juft meet to be a bride.

Blyth Davie's blinks, &c.

Her cheeks were rofy, red and white,
Her een were bonny blue,

Her looks were like Aurora bright,

Her lips like dropping dew.

Blyth Davie's blinks, &c.

As Fate had dealt to him a routh,
Straight to the kirk he led her,
There plighted her his faith and troth,
And a bonny bride he made her :
No more afham'd to own her love,
Or fpeak her mind thus free;
Gang down the burn Davie, love,
Down the burn Davie, love,

Down the burn Davie, love,

And I'll foon follow thee;
Gang down the burn Davie, love,
Down the burn Davie, love,
Down the burn Davie, love,

Gang down the burn Davie, love,
And I'll foon follow thee.

SONG 25.

Sung in the DUENNA.

HAD I a heart for falfhood fram'd,

I ne'er could injure you:

For tho' your tongue no promife claim'd,
Your charms would make me true.
Το you no foul fhall bear deceit,

No ftranger offer wrong;

But friends in all the ag'd you'll meet,

And lovers in the young.

But when they learnt that you have bleft
Another with your heart,

They'll bid afpiring paffion reft,

And act a brother's part.

Then lady, dread not here deceit,

Nor fear to fuffer wrong :

For friends in all the ag'd you'll meet,
And brother's in the young.

SONG 26.

GROG.-TUNE, Why Should we quarrel for Riches.

YE jolly true blues on the main,
Well skilled in heaving the log,
Attend to a failor's rough ftrain,
Who fings of his favourite Grog.
For Grog is the liquor of life,

The delight of each bold British tar,
It banishes forrow and firife,

And foftens the hardships of war.

Brave Vernon, to Britain ftill dear,

O long may'ft-thou live, though IN COG,

Some deity whifper'd thine ear,

And hinted the liquor call'd Grog.

For Grog, &c.

Of vineyards the Monfieurs may boast,
Or delight in the foup of a frog,
But foon they will find to their coaft,
That claret muft yield to good Grog.

I heard an Hibernian declare

For Grog, &c.

By St Patrick, tho' born in a bog, That while he could fee with one ear, No liquor he'd drink except Grog.

No danger our hearts can dismay,
No terror we feel from a flog,

For what is a dozen a day,

To a double allowance of Grog.

For Grog, &c.

For Grog, &c.

Each Saturday night that revolves,
My meffmate he tips me a jog,
To the wife or the sweetheart we love,
We take off a cann of good Grog.

Now war is declar'd let's advance,

For Grog, &c.

May the flincher be hang'd like a dog ;
Who cowardly yields to proud France,

Is a ftranger to freedom and Grog.
For Grog is the liquor of life,
The delight of each bold British tar,

It banishes forrow and ftrife,

And foftens the hardships of war.