The t'ane to had the Grots,
The ither to had the Meal:
With ane auld Kift made of Wands,
And that fall be your
Wi' aiken Woody-bands,
And that may had your Tocher.
Confider well, Guidman,
We hae but borrow'd Gear,
The Horfe that I ride on
Is Sandy Wilfon's Mare:
The Sadle 's nane of my ain,
An thae's but borrow'd Boots,
And whan that I gae hame,
I maun tak to my Coots :
The Cloak is Geordy Watt's,
That gars me look fae croufe ;
Come fill us a Cogue of Swats,
We'll make nae mair toom rufe.
I like you well, young Lad,
For telling me fae plain,
I married when little I had
O'Gear that was my ain.
But fin that Things are fae,
The Bride the maun come furth,
Tho' a' the Gear she'll ha'e,
It'll be but little worth.
A Bargain it maun be,
Fy cry on Giles the Mither:
Content am I, quo' fhe,
E'en gar the Hiffie come hither.
The Bride fhe gade till her Bed,
The Bridegroom he came till her ;
The Fidler crap in at the fit,
An they cudl'd it a' the gither.
SONG CXVIII. Vain, Belinda, &r.
Vain are all your artful Smiles,
While, like a Bully, you invite,
And decline th' approaching Fight.
Various are the little Arts
Which you use to conquer Hearts!
By empty Threats he would affright,
And you by empty Hopes invite.
Cowards may by him be brav'd,
Fops may be by you enflav'd:
Then, would he vanquish, or you bind,'
He must be brave, and you be kind.
SONG CXIX. Bleft with, &c.
Left with my Sylvia, Life proves a Pleafure,
But from my Treafure 'tis nought but Pain:
Fondly loving,
Conftant moving,
Sweetly flowing,
Smiles beftowing,
With Joy then, Sylvia, fly to your Lover,
You'll there difcover
How much you reign.
you find my Scul fincere,
Why should you fly me, what can you fear?
SONG CXX. Oh! Cælia, &e. H! Calia, recal thy loft Hours,
OH And Duty and Reafon obey;
Defpife Love, and all thofe falfe Pow'rs,
That first gave young Strephen the Sway.
Believe me, the Swain is a Rover,
Nor conftant to any can be ;
Then prithee difcard fuch a Lover,
And once more refolve to be free.
S.ONG CXXI. What can, &c.
"Hat can affuage the Pain Man feels, When bufy Cares difturb his Breaft;
And modeft Senfe his Want conceals,
With thousand Thoughts that bar his Reft.
Can Wine one gloomy Thought remove?
Can Titles, Wealth, or Mirth give Eafe?
Can Womens Charms, or Thoughts of Love
Recal his Soul, or Mind to Peace?
No, no, they're trifling Pleasures all,
The Rich enjoy them but a Day;
Within their Breaft they deign to call,
Ne'er reft, but vanish foon away.
Content alone can make us fing,
When wanton Fortune is unkind;
That fets a Wretch above a King,
And quiets ev'ry ruffied Mind.
SONG CXXII. Chafte Lucretia, &c.
Hafte Lucretia, when you left me,
You of all Things dear bereft me;
Tho' I fhew'd no Difcontent.
Grief is ftrongest,
And the longest,
When too great to find a Vent.
How much fiercer is the Anguish,
When we moft in Secret languifh! -
Silent Streams are deepeft found:
Noify Grieving
Empty Veffels make most Sound.
Had I Words that could reveal it,
Yet I wifely would conceal it ;
Tho' the Question be but fair:
Grief and Merits
Love and Spirits,
Always lofe by taking Air.
Guardian Angels ftill defend you,
And furprizing Joys attend you;
Whilft I'm like the Winter Sun :
Faintly shining,
Till thy charming Spring return.
SONG CXXIII. Gentle God, &c.
Entle God of pleafing Pains,
God of Love and foothing Joys,
Fly where Flora matchlefs reigns:
Tell her Strephon loving dies.
On her cold and fnowy Breaft
Let thy filken Pinions reft.
In melting Whispers, moving Sounds,
Softeft Wishes, gentle Sighs,
Tell her, the refiftless wounds
With the Lightning of her Eyes:
Sweetly pleading, Pity move,
Pleafing, painful God of Love!
Whilft for me you're fondly fuing,
Gentle God of Love beware,
Left you meet your own Undoing,
Flora's fo divinely fair.
What, if the thyself difarms?
She has more than Pfyche's Charms!
SONG CXXIV. Cupid, God, &c,
UPID, God of gay Defires,
Hymen, with thy facred Fires
Smiling Zephyrs hafte away,
Grace this happy, happy Day.
Loves and Graces all attend
All ye Nuptial Pow'rs befriend,
Make them your peculiar Care,
Bless the Hero, bless the Fair.
SONG CXXV. In Alcina, &
Warble an Air
Till the Fair
Speaks a Paffion with her Eyes,
But if my Grief
Finds no Relief,
Whisper her, that Thyrfis dies,
Bird of May,
Keep the Spray,
Keep the Spray;
Bird of May,
Chloe fmiles, my Soul's all gay,
bloe fmiles, &c.
SONG CXXVI. Too long, &c.
100 long, thou Tyrant, Love,
I've borne Belinda's unrelenting Scorp
Who boafts her guarded Breaft.
Oh! level now thy keenest Dart,
That, in her cold obdurate Heart
Thy Pow'r may be confeft.
The Pray'r's too juft to be depy'd,
Behold, 'tis done, the God reply'd
The Shaft has pierc'd her home,
Thy Pain now feeling in her own,
She fighing cries, in piteous Moan,
Come, Philander, come,
SONG CXXVII. When Chloe, Est,
Hen Chloe fair begins her Song,
WH In Raptures motionless I gaze
Thus cou'd I ftand, thus all Day long
Loft in a giddy, fweet Amaze.
So when th' inchanting Syren fings,
Th'allured Mariner is wreck'd:
Thus whirling Gulphs Attention bring,
And overwhelm what they attract.
Thofe very Sounds, that fweetly flow,
That foft, that lovely, tender Breath,
Do Pity, Joy, Compaffion fhow;
And who cou'd e'er believe it? Death!
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