Fond Cupid smiling, spies the Fair,
And soon he baffles all her Care,
In vain she tries her Pain to smother,
The Nymph too frail, the Nymph too frail,
Becomes a Mother.
But no, these little Follies o'er,
She firmly vows she'll sin no more;
No more to Vice will fall a Prey,
But spend in Prayer each fleeting Day.
Close in her Cell immur'd she lies,
Nor from the Cross removes her Eyes;
Whilst Sisters crowding at the Crate,
Spend all their Time, spend all their Time in
Worldly Prate.
The Abbess, overjoyed to find
This happy Change in Jenny's Mind,
The rest, with Air composed, addressing,
"Daughters, if you expect a Blessing,
"From pious Jane, Example take,
"The World and all its Joys forsake."
"We will" (they all reply'd as One)
"But first let's do as Jane has done."
WORDS BY Mitchell; FROM MUSICAL MISCELLANY, 1731
BLACK, White, Yellow or Red,
Woman's a charming lovely Creature,
Get her but fairly to Bed
And boggle no more about the Matter,
'Tis not Complexion
That causes Affection;
Nor Graces appearing,
That make her endearing;
But Fancy in Lovers,
Such secrets discovers
As presently set their Spirits in motion.
Woman's a Treasure,
Created for Pleasure;
And what are their Faces,
Compared to Embraces?
If Joan is but ready,
She's good as her Lady:
A Proof that Delight is the Daughter of Notion.
The Country Lass
FROM THOMSON'S ORPHEUS CALEDONIUS, II. 85
ALTHO' I be but a Country Lass,
Yet a lofty Mind I bear-O,
And think my sel' as good as those,
That rich Apparel wear-O.
Altho' my Gown be hame spun Gray,
My skin it is as saft-O,
As them that Satin Weeds do wear,
And carry their heads alaft-O.
What tho' I keep my Father's Sheep?
The thing that must be done-O,
With Garlands of the Finest Flowers
To shade me frae the Sun-O.
When they are feeding pleasantly,
Where Grass and Flowers do spring-O,
Then on a flowry Bank at Noon,
I set me down and sing-O.
My Paisly Piggy, corked with Sage,
Contains my Drink but thin-O:
No Wines do e'er my Brain enrage,
Or tempt my Mind to sin-O;
My Country Curds, and wooden Spoon,
I think them unco fine-O;
And on a flowry Bank at Noon,
I set me down and dine-O.
Altho' my Parents cannot raise
Great Bags of shining Gold-O,
Like them whose Daughters, now-a-days,
Like Swine are bought and sold-O;
Yet my fair Body it shall keep
And honest Heart within-O,
And for twice fifty thousand Crowns,
I value not a Pin-O.
I use nae Gums upon my Hair,
Nor Chains about my Neck-O,
Nor shining Rings upon my Hands,
My Fingers straight to deck-O;
But for that Lad to me shall fa',
And I have Grace to wed-O,
I'll keep a Jewel worth them a',
I mean my Maidenhead-O.
If canny Fortune give to me,
The Man I dearly love-O,
Tho' we want Gear, I dinna care,
My hands I can improve-O;
Expecting for a Blessing still,
Descending from above-O,
Then we'll embrace and sweetly kiss,
Repeating Tales of Love-O.
FROM THOMSON'S ORPHEUS CALEDONIUS
WHEN Trees did bud, and Fields were green,
And Broom bloom'd fair to see;
When Mary was compleat Fifteen,
And Love laugh'd in her Eye;
Blyth Davie's Blinks her Heart did move,
To speak her Mind thus free,
Gang down the Burn, Davie, Love,
And I shall follow thee.
Now Davie did each Lad surpass,
That dwelt on this Burn-side,
And Mary was the bonniest Lass,
Just meet to be a Bride;
Her Cheeks were rosy, red and white,
Her Een were bonny blue;
Her Looks were like Aurora bright,
Her Lips like dropping Dew.
As down the Burn they took their way,
What tender Tales they said!
His Cheeks to hers he oft did lay,
And with her Bosom play'd;
Till baith at length impatient grown,
To be mair fully blest,
In yonder Vale, they lean'd them down;
Love only saw the rest.
What pass'd I guess, was harmless Play,
And naithing sure unmeet;
For ganging hame, I heard him say,
They liked a wa'k sae sweet;
And that they aften shou'd return,
Sic pleasure to renew.
Quoth Mary, Love, I like the Burn,
And ay shall follow you.
"My Jockey Blyth for What Thou Hast
FROM ORPHEUS CALEDONIUS, II., C. 1733
My Jockey blyth for what thou hast done,
There is nae help nor mending;
For thou hast jogg'd me out of Tune,
For a' thy fair pretending.
My Mither sees a Change on me,
For my Complexion dashes,
And this alas! has been with thee
Sae late amang the Rashes.
My Peggy, what I've said I'll do,
To free thee frae her Scoulding;
Come then, and let us buckle to,
Nae langer let's be folling:
For her content I'll instant wed,
Since thy Complexion dashes;
And then we'll try a Feather-bed,
"Tis faster than the Rashes.
Then Jockey since thy Love's so true,
Let Mither scoul, I'm easy:
Sae lang's I live I ne'er shall rue
For what I've done to please thee.
And there's my hand I'll ne'er complain:
O! well's me on the Rashes;
When e'er thou likes I'll do't again
And a Feg for a' their Clashes.
The Ravish'd Lover
A BROADSIDE SONG WITH MUSIC, c. 1736
WHEN Fanny blooming fair
First met my ravished Sight,
Caught with her Shape and Air
I felt a strange delight:
Whilst eagerly I gazed,
Admiring ev'ry part,
I every feature praised,
She stole into my Heart.
In her bewitching Eyes
Young smiling Loves appear,
There Cupid basking lyes,
His Shafts are hoarded there:
Her Blooming cheeks are dyed
With Colour all their own,
Excelling far the pride
Of Roses newly blown.
Her well turned limbs confess
The lucky hand of Jove,
Her Features all express,
The Beauteous Queen of Love.
What Flames my Nerves invade,
When I behold the Breast
Of that too lovely Maid,
Rise suing to be prest.
Venus round Fanny's waist,
Hath her own Cestus Bound,
With Guardian Cupids graced,
Who sport the circle round;
How happy will he be,
Who shall her Zone unloose;
That bliss to all but me
May Heav'n and she refuse.
ANONYMOUS. FROM THE CUPID, 1736
OH fiel what mean I, foolish Maid,
In this remote and silent shade,
To meet with you alone?
My Heart does with the place combine,
And both are more your friends than mine:
Oh! I shall be undone.
beast I would not fear;
Or, should I meet with villains here,
I to some cave wou'd run:
But such enchanting arts you show,
I cannot strive, I cannot go:
Oh! I shall be undone.
Ah! give those sweet temptations o'er,
I'll touch those dang'rous lips no more—
What, must we yet fool on?
Ah! now I yield; ah! now I fall:
And now I have no Breath at all:
And now I'm quite undone.
I'll see no more your tempting face,
Nor meet you in this dangerous place;
My fame's for ever gone.
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