The wandering Beauty. I. THE graces and the wandering loves Are fled to diftant plains, To chase the fawns, or in the groves To wound admiring swains : With their bright miftrefs there they stray, Who turns their careless eyes From daily victories; yet each day And conquers as the flies; II. But fee! implor'd by moving prayers Proud mortals who this maid pursue, Cease, fools, your wishes to renew, Or you, &c. The Sweet Temptation. I. SAW ye the nymph whom I adore? Saw ye the goddess of my heart? And can you bid me love no more? And can you think I feel no smart? II. So many charms around her shine, Bonny BARBARA ALLAN. I. T was in and about the Martinmas time, IT When the green leaves were a-falling, That Sir John Græme in the west country Fell in love with Barbara Allan. II. He fent his man down through the town, To the place where she was dwelling, O haste, and come to my master dear, Gin ye be Barbara Allan. III. O hooly, hooly rose she up, To the place where he was lying, And when the drew the curtain by, Young man, I think you're dying. IV. O it's I'm fick, and very very fick, O the better for me ye's never be, Tho' your heart's blood were a-spilling. V. O dinna ye mind, young man, said she, When ye was in the tavern a-drinking, That ye made the healths gae round and round, And flighted Barbara Allan? VI. He turn'd his face unto the wall, And death was with him dealing; Adieu, adieu, my dear friends all, And be kind to Barbara Allan. VII. And flowly, flowly raise she up, VIII. She had not gane a mile but twa, When she heard the dead-bell ringing, And every jow that the dead-bell gied, It cry'd, Wo to Barbara Allan. IX. O mother, mother, make my bed, The Toper's Petition. I. GRANT me, kind Bacchus, The god of the vine, Not a pipe nor a tun, But an ocean of wine, With a ship that's well-mann'd With fuch rare-hearted fellows, Who ne'er left the tavern For a porterly alehouse. II. Let the ship spring a leak, Or to drink, or to drink, Or to drink, or be drown'd. III. When death does prevail, To be nobly entomb'd In a wave of good wine : The Relief by the Bowl. INCE drinking has power to bring us relief, SINCE Come fill up the bowl, and the pox on all grief: If we find that won't do, we'll have fuch another; Apollo and Bacchus were both merry fouls, On Masonry. I. Y mafon's art, the aspiring dome BY In various columns fhall arife; All climates are their native home, Their godlike actions reach the skies. II. Great, gen'rous, noble, wife, and brave, Which babes unborn fhall loud proclaim; Time fhall their glorious acts inrol, Whilft love and friendship charm the soul. U |