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AH THE SHEPHERD'S MOURNFUL FATE.
An the shepherd's mournful fate,
When doom'd to love, and doom'd to languish, To bear the scornful fair one's hate,
Nor dare disclose his anguish!
Reveals how much I love her.
O'erspread with rising blushes,
For, oh! that form so heavenly fair,
So charm whene'er 1 view thee;
Still will my hopes pursue thee.
Be this last blessing given,
And die in sight of Heaven.
PEACE OF MIND ADIEU.
Loud the trump of war was blowing,
Glory call’d me to the fray;
Cried, awhile delay:
Gentle youth, thy steed detaining,
Gentle youth, ah stay !
Sweetest maid repress that tear;
Shalt thou see me here:
Art thou safe my dear?
Swiftly from her sight I flew,
Í'll return to you.
Peace of mind adieu !
PRAY GOODY. Pray, Goody, please to moderate the rancour of your
Ply me, try me,
Pray, Goody, please, &c.
THE ROOF OF STRAW.
When rosy day declines,
Content and mirth entwines.
While thousands stand in awe;
Beneath his roof of straw.
When toil of day is nearly o’er,
I to my cottage steer;
A jug of good brown beer.
I never will withdraw;
roof of straw.
Nor carpets grace, my.floor;
And decorates my door:
The all-prevailing law,
My lowly roof of straw.
THE SWEET SOCIAL HOUR
TUNE—“ Ere around the huge oak." THE fav'rites of fortune their treasure may boast,
And may tempt us to bow at their shrine;
And, transported, believe her divine.
Diana, she points to the joys of the field,
And offers a scene of delight;
When the charms of the bottle invite.
Yet pleasures, when varied, appear like a dream,
Though her traits are so often espied;
If fair virtue-if reason preside.
Who are blest with content's happy score !
fate, But, exalted, they knew me no more. The beauty of women I feel with a glow,
And of love I have tasted the pow'r; Yet, amid the enjoyments I wish for below,
Gods, give me the sweet social hour!
POOR LITTLE JANE. The wind it blows cold, I'm wet with the rain, Bestow a small trifle on poor little Jane, Dejected I wander throughout this gay city, With sonnets of love, and many a ditty; Tho' I'm singing all day, yet my heart's fit to break, Have pity, dear ladies, for sweet mercy's sake. No father, no mother, depriv’d of a home, Kind friends I have none, unheeded I roam: I sing thro' the streets as I wander along, And tears will obtrude in the midst of my song: Oh, buy then some ballads, my heart's fit to break, Have pity, dear ladies, for sweet mercy's sake.
With hunger I'm fainting and ready to die,
'Twas near a thicket's calm retreat,
Under a poplar tree,
To mourn her sorrows free.
As dawn at op'ning day,
And wept her cares away.
In murmurs smooth along;
Had now forgot its song.
For grief has filld her breast,
But love has robb’d her rest.
Poor hapless maid, who can behold
Thy sorrows so severe;
Without a falling tear?
Thy sorrows soon must cease, For heav'n will take a maid so true To everlasting peace.