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For you, delighted I could die :

But oh! with grief I'm filled,
To think that credulous, constant, I

Should by yourself be kill'd.
This said-all breathless, sick and pale,

Her head upon her hand,
She found her vital spirits fail,

And senses at a stand.
Sylvander then began to melt :

But ere the word was given,
The heavy hand of death she felt,

And sigh'd her soul to heaven.

[From the Tea Table Miscellany, 1729.)



Where Thames, along the daisied meads,
His wave in lucid mazes leads,
Silent, slow, serenely flowing,
Wealth on either shore bestowing,
There in safe though small retreat
Content and Love have fixed their seat ,
Love that counts his duty pleasure,
Content, that hugs and knows his treasure.
From Art, from jealousy, secure,
As faith unblamed, as friendship pure,
Vain opinion nobly scorning,
Virtue aiding, life adorning;

Fair Thames along thy flowery side
May those whom truth and reason guide,
All their tender hours improving,
Live like us, beloved and loving !

[In a copy of Gascoigne's Works sold the other day at Mr. Heber's Sale, was found the following Ms. note by the cynical George Stee. vens: “This volume of Gascoigne's Works was bought for £1. 13. at

Mallet's, alias Mallock's, alias M'Gregor's Sale, March 14, 1776. He was the only Scotchman who died in my memory unlamented by an individual of his own nation.")



Died 1732

Did ever swain a nymph adore,
As I ungrateful

anny do!
Was ever shepherd's heart so sore,

Or ever broken heart so true ?
My cheeks are swell’d with tears, but she
Has never wet a cheek for me.

If Nanny call’d, did e'er I stay,

Or linger when she bid me run?
She only had the word to say,

And all she wish'd was quickly done.
I always think of her, but she
Does ne'er bestow a thought on me.

To let her cows my clover taste,

Have I not rose by break of day?
Did ever Nanny's heifers fast,

If Robin in his barn had hay?
Tho' to my fields they welcome were,
I ne'er was welcome yet to her.
If ever Nanny lost a sheep,

I cheerfully did give her two;
And I her lambs did safely keep

Within my folds in frost and snow :
Have they not there from cold been free?
But Nanny still is cold to me.
When Nanny to the well did come,

'Twas I that did her pitchers fill ;
Full as they were, I brought them home :

Her corn I carried to the mill;
My back did bear the sack, but she
Will never bear a sight of me.
To Nanny's poultry oats I gave,

I'm sure they always had the best;
Within this week her pigeons have

Eat up a peck of peas at least.
Her little pigeons kiss, but she
Will never take a kiss from me.
Must Robin always Nanny woo,

And Nanny still on Robin frown?
Alas! poor wretch! what shall I do,

If Nanny does not love me soon!
If no relief to me she'll bring,

I'll hang me in her apron string. (Many writers have laughed at this song, for my part I wish there were a few more of the same kind and the same merit.]



Died 1746.

There was ance a May, and she loe'd nae men,
She biggit her bonnie bower down in yon glen ;
But now she cries dool and weel-a-day,
Come down the green gate, and come here away.
When bonnie young Johnie came over the sea,
He vow'd he saw naething sae lovely as me;
He gae me gowd rings, and mony

braw thingsAnd were na my heart light I wad die.


His wee wilfu' tittie she loved na me;
I was taller, and twice as bonnie as she
She raised sic a pother 'tween him and his mother,
That were na my heart light I wad die.

The day it was set for the bridal to be,
The wife took a dwam and lay down to die ;
She main'd and she grain'd, wi' fause dolour and pain,
Till he vow'd that he never would see me again.

His kindred sought ane of a higher degree-
Said, Wad he wed ane that was landless, like me?
Albeit I was bonnie, I was nae worth Johnie
And were na my heart light I wad die.

They said I had neither a cow nor calf,
Nor dribbles o' drink coining through the draff,
Nor pickles o'meal running frae the mill ee-
And were na my heart light I wad die.

My lover he met me ance on the lea,
His tittie was wi' him, and hame ran she ;
His mither came out wi' a shriek and a shout-
And were na my heart light I wad die.
His bonnet stood then fu' fair on bis brow-
His auld ane look'd better than mony ane's new;
But now he lets't wear ony way it will hing,
And casts himself dowie upon the corn bing.

And now he gaes daunering about the dykes,
And a' he dow do is to hound the tykes ;
The live-lang night he ne'er steeks his een
And were na my heart light I wad die.
O were we young now as we ance hae been,
We should hae been galloping down on yon green,
And linking it o'er the lily-white lea-
And were na my heart light I wad die.

(" To Lady Grissel Baillie, daughter of the first Earl of Marchmont, we owe this popular song. It is very original, very characteristie, and very unequal."--CUNNINGHAM.

From the Tea Table Miscellany, 1724.]

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