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The sun first rising in the morn,
While thus I am able to work at my mill, That paints the dew-bespangled thorn, While thus thou art kind, and thy tongue but Does not so much the day adorn,
lies still, As does my lovely Peggy:
Our joys shall continue and ever he new, And when in Thetis' lap to rest,
And none be so happy as Ralph and his Sue. He streaks with gold the ruddy west,
Chorus--I love Sue, &c.
Appears my lovely Peggy.
§ 74. Sung in the Winter's Tale. GARBICE. Or breathes upon the damask rose,
COME, come, my good shepherds, our flocks He does not half the sweets disclose
we must shear; That does my lovely Peggy.
In your holiday-suits with your lasses appear : I stole a kiss the other day,
The happiest of folk are the guileless and free; And, trust me, nought but truth I say, And who are so guileless, so happy, as we? The fragrance of the blooming May
We harbor no passions by luxury taught, Is not so sweet as Peggy.
We practise no arts with 'hypocrisy fraught; Were she array'd in rustic weed,
What we think in our hearts you may read in With her the bleating Aocks I'd feed,
our eyes ; And pipe upon the oaten reed,
For, knowing no falsehood, we need no disguise. To please my lovely Peggy: With her a cottage would delight,
By mode and caprice are the city dames led,
But we as the children of Nature are bred; All's happy when she's in my sight; But when she's gone it's endless night
By her hand alone we are painted and dress d; All's dark without my Peggy.
For the roses will bloom when there's peace in While bees from flow'r to Aow'r shall rove,
the breast. And linnets warble through the grove,
That giant, ambition, we never can dread; Or stately swans the rivers love,
Our roofs are too low for so lofty a head: So long shall I love Peggy :
Content and sweet cheerfulness open our doot, And when death with his pointed dart They sınile with the simple, and feed with the Shall strike the blow that rives my heart,
poor. My words shall be, when I depart,
When love has possest us, that love we reveal; “ Adieu, my lovely Peggy!"
Like the flocks that we feed are the passions we
So harmless and simple we sport and we play, $73. Song. The Miller's Wedding. GARRICK. And leave to fine folks to deceive and betray. LEAVE, neighbours, your work, and to sport and to play ;
$75. Song. GARRICK. Let the tabor strike up, and the village be gay: Yx fair married dames, who so often deplore No day through the year shall more cheerful be That a lover once blest is a lover no more ; seen ;
Attend to my counsel, nor blush w be taught For Ralph of the Mill marries Sue of the Green. That prudence must cherish what beauty has
caught. I love Sue, and Sue loves me,
The bloom of your cheek, and the glance of And while the wind blows,
your eye, And while the mill goes,
Your roses and lilies, inay make the men sigh; Who'll be so happy, so happy as we? But roses, and lilies, and sighs pass away, Let lords and fine folks, who for wealth take And passion will die as your beauties decay. a bride,
Use the man that you wed like your favorite Be married to-day, and to-morrow be cloy'd : guitar, My body is stout, and my heart is as sound; Though music's in both, they are both apt to jar; And my love, like my courage, will never give How tuneful and soft from a delicate touch, ground.
Not handled too roughly, nor play'd on 100 Chorus—I love Sue, &c.
Iruch! Let ladies of fashion the best jointures wed, The sparrow and linnet will feed from your Aud prudently take the best bidders to bed :
hand, Such signing and sealing's no part of our bliss; Grow tame at your kindness, and come al coltWe settle our hearts, and we seal with a kiss.
mand: Chorus-I love Sue, &c.
Exert with your husband the same happy sk:19, Though Ralph is not courtly, nor none of your For hearts, like young birds, may be tam d 13
beaux, Nor bounces, nor Aatters, nor wears your fine Be gay and good-humor'd, complying and kit, clothes,
Turn the chief of your care from your face to In nothing he'll follow the folks of high life, your mind; Nor e'er turn his back on his friend or his wife. 'Tis thus that a wife may her conquest improve, Chorus I love Sue, &c.
And Hymen shall rivet the fetters of Love
$ 76. Song in Harlequin's Invasion. GARRICK.
Air in Cymon. GARRICK.
Yet a while, sweet sleep, deceive me,
Fold me in thy downy arnis;
Lull it with thy potent charms.
I, a turtle doom'd to stray,
Quitting young the parent's nest,
Find each bird a bird of prey;
$77. Song in the same. Garrick.
. Tarice happy the nation that Shakspeare $ 81. Shakspeare's Mullerry Tree. Garrick. has charın'd!
Behold this fair goblet ! 'twas carv'd from the More happy the bosoms his genius has warm’d!
tree, Ye children of nature, of fashion, and whim, Which, O my sweet Shakspeare, was planted He painted you all, all join to praise him.
As a relic I kiss it, and bow at thy shrine,
All shall yield to ihe Mulberry-tree;
Bend to thee,
Blest Mulberry !
Matchless was he
Who planted thee,
And thou like him immortal shalt be.
Ye trees of the forest, so rampant and high,
sweep the sky;
All shall yield to the Mulberry-tree, &c.
The oak is held royal, is Britain's great boast, $ 78. Song in the Country Girl. Garrick. Preserv'd once our king, and will always our
[that fight, Tell not me of the roses and lilies
But of fir we make ships, we have thousands Which tinge the fair cheek of your Phyllis ; While one, only one, like our Shakspeare can Tell not me of the dimples and
write. For which silly Corydon dies :
All shall yield to the Mulberry-tree, &c. Let all whining lovers go hang;
Let Venus delight in her gay myrtle bowers,
Pomona in fruit-trees, and Flora in flowers;
The garden of Shakspeare all fancies will suit,
All shall yield to the Mulberry-tree, &c. I am rock to the handsome and pretty,
With learning and knowledge the well-letter'd Can only be touch'd by the witty ;
[church; And beauty will ogle in vain :
Supplies law and physic, and grace for the The way. my heart's through my brain.
But law and the gospel in Shakspeare we find, Let all whining lovers go hang:
And he gives the best physic for body and mind.
All shall yield to the Mulberry-tree, &c.
From him and his merits this takes its degree;
All shall yield to the Mulberry-tree, &c.
The genius of Shakspeare outshines the bright Shut up in a fine golden cage;
day, Yet how sad the poor thing was within it,
More rapture than wine to the heart can convey; O how it did futter and rage!
So the tree that he planted, by making his own, Then he mop'd and he pin’d,
Has laurel, and bays, and the vine, all in one. That his wings were confin'd,
All shall yield to the Mulberry-tree, &c. Till I open'd the door of his den :
Then each take a relic of this hallow'd tree;
From folly and fashion a charm let it be:
Fill, fill to the planter the cup to the brim;
To honor the country, do honor to him.
All shall yield to the Mulberry-tree;
Weep no more, lady, weep no more, Bend to thee,
Thy sorrow is in vain : Blest Mulberry!
For violets pluck'd, the sweetest show'rs Matchless was he
Will ne'er make grow again.
Why then should sorrow last?
Grieve not for what is past.
O “ Dispersed through Shakspeare's plays are innumer
şay not so, thou holy friar! able little fragments of ancient ballads, the entire co
I pray thee, say not so ! pies of which could not be recovered. Many of
true-love died for me, These being of the most beautiful and pathetic sim- 'Tis meet my tears should fow. plicity, the Editor was tempted to select some of And will he never come again? them, and with a few supplimental stanzas to con
Will he ne'er come again? nect them together, and form them into a little tale. One small fragment was taken from Beaumont and Ah, no! he is dead, and laid in his grave, Fletcher."
For ever to remain. It was a friar of orders grey
His cheek was redder than the rose, Walk'd forth to tell his beads;
The comeliest youth was he. And he met with a lady fair,
But he is dead, and laid in his grave,
Alas! and woe is me!
Men were deceivers ever;
One foot on sea, and one on land, My true love thou didst see.
To one thing constant nerer. And how should I know your true-love Hadst thou been fond, he had been false, From many another one?
And left thee sad and heavy; 0, by his cockle hat and staff,
For young men ever were fickle found, And by his sandal shoon:
Since summer-trees were leafy. But chiefly by his face and mien,
Now say not so, thou boly friar, That were so fair to view;
I pray thee, say not so ! His laxen locks, that sweetly curl'd,
My love he had the truest heart;
O he was ever true!
And art thou dead, thou much-lov'd youth? And at his head a green-grass turf,
And didst thou die for me?
Then farewell, home! for evermore And at his heels a stone.
A pilgrim I will be.
But first upon my true-love's grave
My weary limbs I'll lay;
And thrice I'll kiss the green-grass turf And 'plaining of her pride.
That wraps his breathless clay. Here bore him, bare-faced on his bier,
Yet stay, fair lady, stay a while Six proper youths and tall;
Beneath this cloister wall : And many a iear bedew'd his grave
See, through the hawthorn blows the wind, Within yon kirk-yard wall.
And drizzly rain doth fall.
O stay me not, thou holy friar,
Ostay me not, I pray! And didst thou die for love of me?
No drizzly rain that falls on me Break, cruel heart of stone!
Can wash my fault away. O weep not, lady, weep not so!
Yet stay, fair lady, turn again, Some ghostly comfort seek :
And dry those pearly tears ; Let not vain sorrow rive thy heart,
For see, beneath this gown of grey, Nor tears bedew thy cheek.
Thy own true-love appears. O do not, do not, holy friar,
Here, forced by grief and hopeless love, My sorrow now reprove ;
These holy weeds I sought: For I have lost the sweetest youth
And here, amidst these lonely walls, That e'er won lady's love.
To end my days I thought. And now, alas! for thy sad loss,
But haply, for my year of grace I'll ever weep and sigh ;
Is not yet pass'd away, For thee I only wish to live,
Might I still hope to win thy love, For thee I wish to die.
No longer would I stay.
Now farewell grief, and welcome joy And as she passed by,
With a scornful glance of her eye,-..
What a shame, quoth she,
For a swain must it be,
And dost thou nothing heed
What Pan our god has decreed,
What a prize to-day
Shall be given away,
There's not a single swain
Now busily prepares
The bonny boon to gain.
In brighter array than thine?
Tune ihy pipe once again,
So the sweet lark, high-pois'd in air, Alas! my love, I cried,
What avails this courtly pride?
Since thy dear deseri
Is written in my heart,
In this homely russet grey,
Than the nymphs of our green,
So trim and so sheen,
Or the brightest queen of May.
My own dear maid,
At every port a mistress find.
$ 85. Song. PRIOR.
Alexis shunn'd his fellow-swains,
Their rural sports and jocund strains :
Heaven shield us all from Cupid's bow !
He lost his crook, he left his Rocks,
And, wand'ring through the lonely rocks,
His grief some pity, others blame,
The fatal cause all kindly seek;
them back their friendly tears, The boatswain gives the dreadful word,
He sigh’d, but could not speak.
Clarinda came, among the rest;
And ask'd the reason of his woe;
She ask'd, but with an air and mien
She fear'd too much to know.
The shepherd rais'd his mournful head:
And will you pardon me, he said,
While I the cruel truth reveal;
Which nothing from my breast should rear,
Which nerer should offend your ear,
'Tis thus I rove, 'tis thus complain,
When in the silence of the grove Since you appear'd upon the plain;
Poor Damon thus despair’d of love: You are the cause of all my care :
Who seeks to pluck the fragrant rose Your eyes ten thousand daggers dart,
From the hard rock or oozy beach, Ten thousand torments vex my heart,
Who from each weed that barren grows I love, and I despair.
Expects the grape or downy peach, Too much, Alexis, have I heard ;
With equal faith may hope to find 'Tis what I thought, 'tis what I fear’d, The truth of love in woman-kind. And yet I pardon you, she cried ;
No herds have I, no fleecy care,
No fields that wave with golden grain,
A woman's venal heart to gain ;
Then all in vain my sighs must prore, $ 86. Song.
Whose whole estate, alas! is love. One morning very early, one morning in the How wretched is the faithful youth, spring,
Since women's hearts are bought and sold ! I heard a maid in Bedlam, who mournfully did They ask no vows of sacred truili; sing;
Whene'er they sigh, they sigh for gold: Her chains she rattled on her hands, while Gold can the frowns of scorn remove; sweetly thus sung she,
But I am scorn'd-who have but love.
What wealth, what riches, would suffice? And cruel, cruel was the ship that bore my love
The lustre of thy rival eyes; from me! Yet I love his parents, since they're his, altho' For there the world too cheap must prote: they've ruin'd me,
Can I then buy—who have but love? And I love my love, because I know my love | Then, Mary, since nor gems nor ore
Can with thy brighter self compare, 0! should it please the pitying pow'rs to call Be just, as fair, and value more me to the sky,
Than gems or ore a heart sincere: I'd claim a guardian angel's charge, around my who pays thy worth must pay in love.
Let treasure meaner beauties more; love to fly; To guard him from all dangers, how happy
should I be! For I love my love, because I know my love
$ 88. Song: I'll make a strawy garland, I'll make it won
What beauties does Flora disclose! drous fine,
How sweet are her smiles
upon With roses, lilies, daisies, I'll mix the eglantine,
But Mary's, still sweeter than those, And I'll present it to my love, when he returns No
daisy, nor sweet blushing rose,
Both nature and fancy exceed.
Nor all the gay flow'rs of the field,
Such beauty and pleasure can yield. O if I were a little bird to build upon
The warblers are heard in cach grove, breast,
[rest! Or if I were a nightingale to sing my love to | The blackbird, and sweet cooing dove
The linnet, the lark, and the ihrush, To gaze upon his lovely eyes my reward should be !
With music enchant ev'ry bush. For I love my love, because I know my love Come, let us go forth to the mead, loves me.
Let us see how the primroses sprin;
We'll lodge in some village on Tweed,
Does Mary not tend a few sheep?
While happily she lics asleep?
I'd steal an ambrosial kiss. The sun was sunk beneath the hill,
'Tis she does the virgins excel, The western clouds were lin'd with gold; No beauty with her can compare ; Clear was the sky, the wind was still, Love's graces all round her do dwell
. The flocks were penu'd within the fold; She's fastest where thousands are fait.
love might spy;
shall see :