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The Return of Peace.

ARK! hark! it is peace who revifits the plain;
Let us welcome her coming, and loud be the ftrain;
For peace, like the fun, makes the shepherds more gay,
Difperfes the gloom, and reflores the bright day.
Battles o'er,

We fight no more,

Now we have leifure,
Yield to pleasure.

Fame's a bubble,

War is trouble:

Hufb'd be difcord's hideous roar !

THE wars are all over, no longer we roam,
How oft, jolly comrades! we've languifh'd for home !!
In our dear native cots we again fhall be bleft,

Where the thunder of cannon will ne'er break our reft.

Battles der, &c.

What fighs and what forrows have been on our plains,
When the drum beat for war, and enlisted our swains!
The fields and the meadows no longer were gay ;
Each plough-fhare a fword, and the crook thrown away,.
Battles o'er, &c.

But now hostile fury is lull'd into Peace,

And mifchiefs on land and the ocean will ceafe;
The pipe fhall be heard, 'stead of trumpet and fife;
And the breaft chill'd with age, fhall awake to new life.
Battles o'er, &c,

Now plenty fhall lift up her head, and good cheer;
No lafs can be fad, for her fweetheart is here;
Love, love, honeft love, o'er all hearts fhall prevail,
nd a young blooming race fhall foon people the vale..
Battles o'er, &c.

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IN DE

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Arife fweet meffenger of morn
At St Ofythe, by the mill

Ah! Chloris, could I now but fit
At Polwart on the green

As charming Clara walk'd alone

At the filent ev'ning hour

E X.

A cobler there was, and he liv'd in a stall

B

Blow, blow ye winter's wind.

Blythe Colin's bleft art

Bleft as the immortal gods is he

By the delicious warmnefs of thy mouth

By a murmuring stream a fair fhepherdess lay

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Bright Phoebus has mounted the chariot of day 122

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Come all ye young lovers who wan with despair
Come, chear up, my lads, 'tis to honour we fteer
Can love be controul'd by advice
Can lawlefs defire be call'd love

Calm was the e'en, and clear was the sky
Come, my faireft, learn of me

Celia, by these smiling graces

D

Down in yon meadow a couple did tarry

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Forth from my fad and darksome cell
From the man that I love, though my heart I dif-

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guise

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God profper long our noble king

Gay Damon long ftudied my heart to obtain

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How dare you, bold Strephon, prefume thus to

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Have you any pots or pans

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Honeft man John Ochiltree

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He that will not merry, merry be

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How happy's the man that like you, Sir,

ib.

How pleasant a failor's life paffes

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Hail, facred mufe, and vocal shell

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Hail, Masonry! thou craft divine

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Hark! away! 'tis the merry-ton'd horn
How happy a ftate does the miller poffefs

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How bleft has my time been! What joys have I known

Hark! hark! it is peace who revifits the plain

I

In good king Charles's golden days

If love's a fweet paffion why does it torment ?
I'll fing you a fong was never in print ;

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I have a green purse and a wee pickle gowd
I will awa' wi' my love

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Love bids me go, but reafon bids me ftay

Life is chequer'd-toil and pleasure

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Let Masonry be now my theme

Let matters of ftate difquiet the great:

Let me fly into thy arms

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Once more I'll tune the vocal fhell

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O Bell, thy looks have kill'd my heart

On, on, my dear brethren, purfue the great lec

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ture

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O fay! what is that thing call'd light:

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O how Peggy charms me

On the banks of the fweet flowing Tay

One morning young Roger accofted me thus
On Thames's fair bank a gentle youth.

P

Polly, when your lips you join ›

R

Rob's Jock came to woo our Jenny

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118 122

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S

Stella, darling of the mufes
See I languifh fee I faint
Some fay kifling's a fin

Sound, found the mufic, found it

Some love a woman for her wit

Shall I wasting in despair

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So blythe as the linnet fings in the. Greenwood

T

The pawkey auld carle came o'er the lee

To markets and fairs I do repair

The meal was dear short fyne

Thursday in the morn, the nineteenth of May

The Chevalier, being void of fear.

'Twas Pope firft in vogue

'Twas fummer, and the day was fair

The fweet rofy morning peeps over the hills

The man that's contented is void of all care 'Twas at the fearful midnight hour

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The globe of earth on which we dwell

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The night her filent fable wore

Thou rifing fun, whofe gladfome tay

Twas paft twelve o'clock in a fine fummer morn

ing

There was a jolly beggar

The fool that is wealthy is fure of a bride
Tedious moments fpeed your flying

To the wood Robin red breaft is flown

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ΤΟΥ

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Tarrie woo, tarrie woo

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There was a fair maiden, her name it was Gil

lian

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Unhappy is the man

W

Wha wou'd na be in love

We're gaily yet, and we're gaily yet

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