Pert Stephen was kind to Betty,
And blithe as a Bird in the Spring; And Tommy was so to Katy,
And Wedded her with a Rush Ring: Sukey that Danc'd with the Cushion,
An Hour from the Room had been gone; And Barnaby knew by her Blushing,
That some other Dance had been done: And thus of Fifty fair Maids,
That came to the Wedding with Men; Scarce Five of the Fifty was left ye, That so did return again.
FROM PILLS TO PURGE MELANCHOLY, 1719 WHEN the Kine had given a Pail full, And the Sheep came bleating home; Doll who knew it would be healthful, Went a walking with young Tom: Hand in hand, Sir,
O'er the Land, Sir?
As they walked to and fro,
Tom made jolly Love to Dolly, But was answer'd, No, no, no, no, no &c.
Faith, says Tom, the time is fitting, We shall never get the like; You can never get from Knitting, Whilst I'm digging in the Dike: Now we're gone too,
And alone too,
No one by to see or know;
Come, come, Dolly, prithee shall I, Still she answered, No, no, no, no, &c.
Fie upon you Men, quoth Dolly, In what snares you'd make us fall; You'll get nothing but the folly, But I shall get the Devil and all: Tom with sobs,
And some dry Bobs,
Cry'd, you're a fool to argue so; Come, come, Dolly, shall I? shall I? Still she answered, No, no, no, no, &c.
To the Tavern then he took her, Wine to Love's a Friend confest
By the hand he often shook her, And frank brimmers to the best, &c.
Doll grew warm,
And thought no harm;
Till after a brisk pint or two,
To what he said the silly Maid, Could hardly bring out, No, no, no, no, &c.
She swore he was the prettiest Fellow
In the Country or the Town, And began to grow so mellow, On the Couch he laid her down; Tom came to her,
Thinking this the time to try: Something past so kind at last, Her no was chang'd to I, I, I, I, I, I, &c.
Closely then they join'd their Faces, Lovers you know what I mean; Nor could she hinder his Embraces, Love was now too far got in; Both now lying, Panting, dying,
Calms succeed the stormy Joy,
Tom would fain renew't again, And She consents with I, I, I, I, I, I, &c.
Sit Down, My Dear Sylvia
FROM PILLS TO PURGE MELANCHOLY, 1719
ALEXIS. Sit down, my dear Sylvia,
And then tell me, tell me true,
When we the fierce pleasure of Passion first knew; What Senses were charmed,
And what Raptures did dwell,
Within thy fond Heart, my dear Nymph, prithee
That when thy Delights in their fulness are known, I may have the joy to relate all my own.
SYLVIA. Oh fie, my Alexis!
How dare you propose,
To me, silly Girl, things immodest as those! Nice Candor and Modesty glow in my Breast, Whose Virtue can utter no Words so unchaste; But if your impatience admits no delay,
Describe your own Raptures,
And teach me the way.
ALEXIS. A pain mixed with Pleasure my Senses first found, When crowds of Delight strait my Heart did sur
A Joy so transporting, I sighed when it was done: And fain would renew, but alas! all was gone; Coy nature was treacherous, when first she meant, A Treasure so precious so soon should be spent.
SYLVIA. This free kind Confession does so much prevail, That I in your bosom would blush out my Tale; But Dearest, you know, 'tis too much to declare, The Joys that our Souls, when united, do share.
Let this then suffice, if the Pleasure could last, A Saint would leave Heaven, still so to be blest.
Walking Down the Highland Town
A NEW SCOTCH SONG FROM PILLS TO PURGE
WALKING down the Highland Town, There I saw Lasses many;
But upon the Bank in the highest Rank, Was one more gay than any:
I Look'd about for one kind Face, And I saw Billy Scrogy;
I asked of him what her Name, They call'd her Catherine Logy.
I travelled east, and I travelled west, And I travelled through Strabogy; But the fairest Lass that e'er I did see, Was pretty Catherine Logy.
I travelled east, and I travelled west, And travel'd through Strabogy; But I'd watch a long Winter's Night, To see fair Catherine Logy.
I've a Love in Lamermoor,
A dainty Love in Leith, Sir; And another Love in Edinborough, And twa Loves in Dalkeith, Sir.
Ride I east, or Ride I west,
My Love she's still before me, But gin my Wife shou'd ken aw this, I should be very sorry.
As I Sat at My Spinning-Wheel
A SONG FROM PILLS TO PURGE MELANCHOLY, 1719
As I sat at my Spinning-Wheel, A bonny Lad there passed by,
I kenned him round, and I liked him weel, Geud Feth he had a bonny Eye: My Heart new panting, 'gan to feel, But still I turned my Spinning-Wheel.
Most gracefully he did appear, As he my Presence did draw near, And round about my slender waist He clasped his Arms, and me embraced: To kiss my Hand he down did kneel, As I sat at my Spinning-Wheel.
My Milk white hand he did extol, And praised my Fingers long and small, And said, there was no Lady fair, That ever could with me compare:
Those pleasing Words my Heart did feel, But still I turned my Spinning-Wheel.
Altho' I seemingly did chide, Yet he would never be denied, But did declare his Love the more, Until my Heart was Wounded sore;
That I my Love could scarce conceal, But yet I turned my Spinning-Wheel.
As for my Yarn, my Rock and Reel, And after that my Spinning-Wheel, He bid me leave them all with Speed And gang with him yonder Mead:
My panting Heart strange Flames did feel, Yet still I turned my Spinning-Wheel.
He stopped and gazed, and blithely said, Now Speed the Wheel, my bonny Maid, But if thou'st to the Hay-Cock go, I'll learn thee better Work I trow, Geud Feth, I lik'd him passing weel, But still I turned my Spinning-Wheel.
He lowly veiled his Bonnet off, And sweetly kist my Lips so soft; Yet still between each Honey Kiss, He urged me on to farther Bliss: 'Till I resistless Fire did feel, Then let alone my Spinning-Wheel.
Among the pleasant Cocks of Hay, Then with my bonny Lad I lay, What Damsel ever could deny, A Youth with such a Charming Eye? The Pleasure I cannot reveal,
It far surpast the Spinning-Wheel.
The Cumberland Lass
A SONG FROM PILLS TO PURGE MELANCHOLY, 1719
THERE was a Lass in Cumberland,
A bonny Lass of high Degree:
There was a Lass, her Name was Nell, The blithest Lass that e'er you see:
Oh! to Bed to me, to Bed to me,
The Lass that comes to Bed to me: Blithe and bonny may she be,
The Lass that comes to Bed to me.
Her Father lov'd her passing well, So did her Brother fancy Nell; But all their Loves came short of mine, As far as Tweed is from the Tyne.
She had five Dollars in a Chest, Four of them she gave to me; She cut her Mother's Winding-Sheet, And all to make a sark for me.
She plucked a Box out of her Purse, Of four Gold Rings she gave me three; She thought herself no whit the worse, She was so very kind to me,
If I were Lord of all the North,
To Bed and Board she should be free, For why, she is the bonniest Lass, That is in all her own Country,
Her Cherry-Cheeks and Ruby Lips, Doth with the Damask Rose agree, With other Parts which I'll not Name, Which are so pleasing unto me:
For I have rid both East and West, And been in many a strange Country, Yet never met with so kind a Lass, Compared with Cumberland Nelly.
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