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Come jovial pipe, and bring along
Britons, if undone, can go,
Where Tobacco loves to grow. The authors imitated in these poems are, Colley Cibber, Ambrose Philips, Thomson, Young, Pope, and Swift.
9 A N G.
PEGGY. When thou ran, or wrestled, or putted the stane, And came aff the victor, my heart was ay fain; Thy ilka sport manly gave pleasure to me; For nane can putt, wrestle, or run swift as thee,
S A N 6 HD
from himself, now by the dawn
He starts as fresh as roses blawn,
After his bleeting flocks.
Like courtly weathercocks.
Unsully'd with a crime:
Contented spends his time.
$ A N G. SPEAK on, speak thus, and still my grief,
Hold up a heart that's sinking under These fears, that soon will want relief,
Wh Pate must from his Peggy sunder. A gentler face and silk attire,
A lady rich in beauty's blossom, Alake, poor me! will now conspire,
To steal thee from thy Peggy's bosom. No more the shepherd who excell'd
The rest, whose wit made them to wonder, Shall now his Peggy's praises tell;
Ah! I can die, but never sunder. Ye meadows, where we often stray'd,
Ye bauks where we were wont to wander; Sweet scented rucks round which we play'd,
You'll lose your sweets when we're asunder. Again, ah! shall I never creep
Around the know with silent duty, Kindly to watch thee while asleep,
And wonder at thy manly beauty? Hear, heav'n, while solemnly I vow,
Tho' thou shouldst prove a wandering lover, Thro' life to thee I shall prove true,
Nor be a wife to any other.
S À N G.
My heart it was going to break;
But now I will sav't for thy sake. Where'er my love travels by day,
Wherever he lodges by night, Wi' me his dear image shall stay,
And any soul keep him ever in siglt. Wi' patience I'll wait the lang year,
And study the gentlest charms; Hope time away till thou appear,
To lock thee for ay in these arms. Whilst thou wast a shepherd, I priz'd
No higher degree in this life; But now I'll endeavour to rise
To a height that's becoming thy wife. For beauty that's only skin deep,
Must fade like the gowans in May.
For ever, without a decay.
Can quench the fair fire of love,
And the husband ha'e sense to approve.
S À N G.
Wi' soul that still shall love thee,
Wi' a' that can improve thee. I'll visit aft the birken bush,
Where first thou kindly tald me Sweet tales of love, and hid my blush,
Wbilst round thou didst enfald me. To a' our haunts I will repair,
By greenwood shaw or fountain;
Wi' thee upon yon mountain.
From thoughts unfeign's and tender,
A heart which cannot wander.
S AN G. THE bonny grey-ey'd morning begins to peep,
And darkness flies before the rising ray, The hearty hynd starts from his lazy sleep,
To follow healthful labours of the day, Without guilty sting to wrinkle his brow,
The lark and the linnet 'tend his levee, And he joins their concert, driving the plow,
From toil of grimace and pageantry free. While fluster'd with wine, or madden'd with loss
of half an estate, the prey of a main, The drunkard and gamester tumble and toss,
Wishing for calmness and slumber in vain. Be my portion health and quietness of mind,
Plac'd at a due distance from parties and state, Where neither ambition nor avarice blind, Reach him who has happiness link'd to his fate.