Quoth he, my dear P Philli, I'll give unto thee did fee.

Such a Pudding you never

Said I, honeft Man, I thank thee moft kind,
And as he
I did find ;

He gave me me indeede lo agree,

a Lump

One Bit was worth all my Mother gave me.. SONG CCLXXXVIII. A Taylor, &c.

A in the of

When Cabbage was fcarce, and when
Pocket was lows

For the Sale of good Liquor pretended a Paffion
To one that fold Ale in a Cuckoldly Row:
Now a Loufe made him itch,

Here a Scratch, there a Stitch,

And fing Cucumber, Cucumber bo. medi na

One Day the came up, when at Work in his Garret yollarda

To tell what he ow'd, that his Score he might

know

Says he, it is all very right I declare it ; . Says the, then I hope you will pay ere I go? Now a Loufe, &c.

Says Prick-Loufe, my Jewel, I love you moft dearly,

My Breaft every Minute ftill hotter does glow, Ay, only says she, for the Juice of my Barley, And other good Drink in my Cellar below. Now a Loufe, &c. Y'I

Says he, you miftake, 'tis for fomething that's

better,

Which I dare not name, and you care not to

fhow;

Says fhe, I'm afraid you are given to flatter, What is it you mean, and pray where does i grow?

Now a Loufe, &c.

ཅ།

Says he, 'tis a Thing that has never a Handle 'Tis hid in the dark, and it lies pretty low

Said the, then I fear that you must have á Candle,

Or elfe the wrong Way you may happen to go: Now a Loufe, &c.

Says he, was it darker than ever was Charcoal, Tho' I never was there, yet the Way do I know...

Says fhe, if it be fuch a terrible dark Hole,
Don't offer to grope out your Way to it fo:
Now a Loufe, &c.

Says he, you fhall fee I will quickly be at it,
For this is, oh this is the Way that I'll go ;
Says he, do not touzle me fo, for I hate it,
I vow by and by you will make me cry oh :
So they both went to work,

Now a Kifs, then a Firk,

And fing Cucumber, Cucumber bo.

The Taylor arofe when the Bufiness was over, Says he, you will rub out the Score ere you go Says the, I fhall not pay fo dear for a Lover, I'm not fuch a Fool I would have you know: Now a Loufe made him Itch

Here a Scratch, there a Stitch,

ng Cucumber, Cucumber ho..

And fing

SONG CCLXXXIX. Dear Catholick, &c.

D

Ear Catbolick Brother, are you come from the Wars,

So lame &

of your Face, and your Foots full of

Scars;

To fee your poor Shela, who with great Grief was fill'd,

For you my dear Joy, when I think you were kill'd.

With a Fa, la, la.

my Shoul, my dear Shela! I'm glad you fee

me,

1

For if I were dead now, I could not fee thee;

The Cuts in my Body, and the Scars in my Face,
I got them in Fighting for Her Majefty's Grace.
But oh my dear Shela! doft thou now love me?
So well as you did, ere I went to the Sea P
By Cri-and St. Pa-my dear Toy I do,

And we shall be marry'd to morrow just now,
I'll make a Cabin for my Dearest to keep off the
Cold,

And I have a Guinea of yellow red Gold;
To make three halfs of it I think will be beft.
Give two to my Sheld, and the tird to the Prich.
Old Philemy my Father was Fourfcore Years
old,

And tho' he be dead, he'll be glad to be told,
That we two are married, my Dear, fpare ho

Coft,

But fend him fome Letter upon the laft Poft.

SONG CCXC. Poor Sawney, &
Oor Sawney had marry'd a Wife, -

And he knew not what to do with her

For fhe'd eat more Barley-bread,

Than he knew how to give her :

We'll all fup together, we'll all fap togethery
We'll make no more Beds than one
'Till Jove fends warmer Weather.

We'll all lig together, we'll all lig together,
We'll make no more Beds than one,
'Till Jove fends warmer Weather.
We'll put the Sheep's-head in the Pot,
The Wool and the Horns together;

And we will make Broth of that,
And we'll all fup together,

We'll all fup together, &c.

The Wool hall thicken the Broth,
The Horns fhail ferve for Bread,"

By this you may understand

The Vertue that's in a Sheep's-head :
And we'll all fup together, Sec.

T

Some fhall lig at the

e Head,

And fome fhall lig at the Feet, vir bed 37

Mifs Cuddy wou'd lig in the middle,
Because she'd have all the Sheet;

We'll all lig together, &c.

Mifs Cuddy got up in the Loft,

And Sawney wou'd fain have been at her, Mifs Cuddy fell down in her Smock, 1975 And made the Glafs Windows to clatter to We'll all lig together, &c.

The Bride

The Bridegroom followed after, Loos went adī The Fidler crept in at the Feet,

And they all ligg'd together,

We'll all lig together,

&C.

SONG CCXCI There's my Thumb,&c.

a

Y fweeteft May, let Love incline thee,

Maccept a Heart which he defigns thee;

And, as your conftant Slave, regard it,.
Syne for its Faithfulness reward it..
"Tis proof a Shot to Birth or Money,
But yields to what is fweet and bony
Receive it then with a Kifs and a Smily,
There's my Thumb it will ne'er beguile ye.
How tempting fweet thefe Lips of thine are,
Thy Bofom white, and Legs fae fine are,
That when in Pools I fee thee clean 'em ;
They carry away my Heart between 'em.
I with, and I wish, while it gaes duntin,
O gin I had thee on a Mountain;
Tho' Kith and Kin and a' fhou'd revile thee,
There's my Thumb I'll ne'er beguile thee.
Alane through flow'ry Hows I dander,
Tenting my Flocks left they thou'd wander,
Gin thou'll gae all alang, I'll dawt thee gaylie,
And gi'e my Thumb I'll ne'er beguile, thee. T

O my dear Laffie,

Daffin,

To had thy Woer un niff naffin..

That na, na, na, I hate it molt vilely,
O fay, yes, and I'll ne'er beguile thee.

J

SONG CCXCII. For the Love of Jean.
OCKIE faid to Jeany, Jeany, wilt thou do't?
Ne'er a fit, quo' Jeany, for my Tocher-good,
For my Tocher-good, I winna marry thee;
E'ens ye like, quo' Jonny, ye may let it be.
I ha' Gowd and Gear, I ha' Land enough,
I ha' feven good Owfen ganging in a Pleugh,
Ganging in a Pleugh, and linking o'er the Lee,
And gin ye winna take me, I can let

ye be.
I ha' a good Ha'-Houfe, a Barn and a Byer,
A Stack afore the Door, I'll make a rantin Fire;
I'll make a rantin Fire, and merry fhall we bey
And gin ye winna take me, I can let ye be.
Jeany faid to Jockie, gin ye winna tell,
Ye thall be the Lad, I'll be the Lafs
Ye're a bony Lad, and I'm a Laffie free,
Ye're welcomer to take me, than to let me be.

my

fell.

SONG CCXCIII. Peggy, I muß love thee.

B

Eneath a Beech's grateful Shade
Young Colin lay complaining;

He figh'd, and feem'd to love a Maid,
Without Hopes of obtaining

For thus the Swain indulg'd his Grief,
Tho' Pity cannot move thee,"
Tho' thy hard Heart gives no Relief,
Yet Peggy I must love thee..
Say, Peggy, what has Colin done,
That thus you cruelly ufe him?
If Love's a Fault, tis that alone
For which you fhould excufe him:
"Twas thy dear felf firft rais'd this Flame,
This Fire by which I länguish;