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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!
Yet eager looks, and dying sighs,
My secret soul discover;
While rapture trembling through mine eyes,

Reveals how much I love her.
The tender glance, the reddening cheek,

O'erspread with rising blushes,
A thousand various ways they speak
A thousand various wishes.

For, oh! that form so heavenly fair,
Those languid eyes so sweetly smiling,
That artless blush, and modest air,
So fatally beguiling.
Thy every look, and every grace,

So charm whene'er 1 view thee;
Till death o’ertake me in the chase,

Still will my hopes pursue thee.
Then when my tedious bours are past,

Be this last blessing given,
Low at thy feet to breathe my last,

And die in sight of Heaven.


Loud the trump of war was blowing,

Glory call’d me to the fray;
When my love, with tears o'erflowing

Cried, awhile delay:

Gentle youth, thy steed detaining,
Stay, and hear my fond complaining,
See how tears my cheeks are staining,

Gentle youth, ah stay !
Break not thus your hands with wringing,

Sweetest maid repress that tear;
Soon from the battle laurels bringing,

Shalt thou see me here:
Laurels bought with blood alarm me,
Glory cannot tempt nor charm me,
Ah ! there's nought on earth can harm me,

Art thou safe my dear?
Vain were prayers, vain were sorrow,

Swiftly from her sight I flew,
Crying, If I live to-morrow,

Í'll return to you.
Since that hour which saw us sever,
Ne'er have I beheld her, never,
At that hour I bade for ever,

Peace of mind adieu !


PRAY GOODY. Pray, Goody, please to moderate the rancour of your

Why flash those marks of fury from your eyes,
Remember when the judgment's weak the prejudice
A stranger why will you despise?

Ply me, try me,
Prove e'er you deny me,
If you cast me off, you'll blast me,
Never more to rise.

Pray, Goody, please, &c.

is strong,

As whistling o'er the fallow land,

When rosy day declines,
I view the cot where, hand in hand,

Content and mirth entwines.
The great may boast of wealth secure,

While thousands stand in awe;
But happier is the peasant poor

Beneath his roof of straw.

When toil of day is nearly o’er,

I to my cottage steer;
And, thanks to Heav'n, I have in store

A jug of good brown beer.
This lesson still in charity,

I never will withdraw;
For rich and poor shall welcome be


roof of straw.
No sculptur'd stones adorn my hall,

Nor carpets grace, my.floor;
The ivy shades my clay-built wall,

And decorates my door:
And yet contentment still is found,

The all-prevailing law,
Where honeysuckles blow around

My lowly roof of straw.


TUNE—“ Ere around the huge oak." THE fav'rites of fortune their treasure may boast,

And may tempt us to bow at their shrine;
The gay thoughtless lover his mistress will toast,

And, transported, believe her divine.
Vol. II.


Diana, she points to the joys of the field,

And offers a scene of delight;
But all (say the vot’ries of Bacchus) must yield,

When the charms of the bottle invite.

Yet pleasures, when varied, appear like a dream,

Though her traits are so often espied;
But sons of true mirth, ye may drink of the stream,

If fair virtue-if reason preside.
How few are the minds in this mortal estate,

Who are blest with content's happy score !
Good friends too I've known, when was humble their

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,
My tears are unfeign'd, and this heart-rending sigh.
Tho'true's my sad tale, it's not form’d to deceive,
Oh give a small pittance, an orphan relieve.
No more can I sing, for my heart's fit to break,
Have pity, dear ladies, for sweet mercy's sake.


'Twas near a thicket's calm retreat,

Under a poplar tree,
Maria chose her wretched seat,

To mourn her sorrows free.
Her lovely form was sweet to view,

As dawn at op'ning day,
But, ah! she mourn'd her love not true,

And wept her cares away.
The brook flow'd gently at her feet,

In murmurs smooth along;
Her pipe, which once she tun'd most sweet,

Had now forgot its song.
No more to charm the vale she tries,

For grief has filld her breast,
Those joys which once she us’d to prize,

But love has robb’d her rest.

Poor hapless maid, who can behold

Thy sorrows so severe;
And hear thy love-lorn story told

Without a falling tear?
Maria, luckless maid, adieu,

Thy sorrows soon must cease, For heav'n will take a maid so true To everlasting peace.

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