But if the house be swept,
And from uncleanness kept,
We praise the houshold maid,
And furely fhe is paid:
Every night before we go,
We drop a tefter in her fhoe.
Then o'er a mushroom's head
Our table-cloth we spread,
A grain of rye, or wheat,
The diet that we eat;
Pearly drops of dew we drink,
In acorn cups fill'd to the brink..
The brains of nightingales,
With unctuous fat of snails,
Between two cockles ftew'd,'
Is meat that's eas❜ly chew'd;
And brains of worms, and marrow of mice,
Do make a feast that's wondrous nice.
The grafhopper, gnat, and fly,
Serve for our minstrelfy.
Grace faid, we dance a while,
And fo the time beguile;
But if the moon doth hide her head,
The glow-worm lights us home to bed.
O'er tops of dewy grafs
So nimbly we do pass,
Ne'er bends where we do walk:
Yet in the morning may be seen,
Where we the night before have been.
Unhappy FREEDOM.
HE tuneful lark, who from her nest,
Ere yet well-fledg'd, is ftol'n away,
With care attended and carefs'd,
She fometimes fings the live-long day:
Yet ftill her native field fhe mourns,
Her gaoler hates, his kindness fcorns,
For freedom pants, for freedom burns.
That darling freedom once obtain❜d,
Unskill'd, untaught to fearch for prey;
She mourns the liberty fhe gain'd,
And, hungry, pines her hours away.
Helpless the little wand'rer flies,
Then homewards turns her longing eyes,
And warbling out her grief, the dies.
NN thou wert my ain thing,
I wou'd love thee, I wou'd love thee; Ann thou wert my ain thing,
So dearly I wou'd love thee.
I wou'd clasp thee in my arms,
I'd fecure thee from all harms,
Above all mortals thou haft charms,
So dearly I do love thee.
Of race divine thou needs must be,
Since nothing earthly equals thee;
For heaven's fake, oh! favour me,
Who only live to love thee.
The gods one thing peculiar have,
To ruin none whom they can save;
Oh! for their fake, fupport a slave,
Who only lives to love thee.
To merit I no claim can make,
But that I love, and for thy fake,
What man can name, I'll undertake;
So dearly I do love thee.
My paffion, conftant as the fun,
Flames ftronger ftill, will ne'er have done,
Till fates my thread of life have spun,
Which breathing out, I'll love thee.
Like bees that fuck the morning dew,
Frae flowers of sweetest scent and hue,
Sae wad I dwell upo' thy mou,
And gar the gods envy me.
Sae lang's I had the use of light,
I'd on thy beauties feast my fight,
Syne, in faft whispers thro' the night,
I'd tell how much I lov'd thee.
How fair and ruddy is my Jean,
She moves a goddess o'er the green ;
Were I a king, thou fhou'dft be queen,
Nane but my fell aboon thee:
I'd grafp thee to this breast of mine,
Whilft thou, like ivy or the vine,
Around my stronger limbs fhou'dft twine,
Form'd hardy to defend thee.
Time's on the wing, and will not stay,
In fhining youth let's make our hay,
Since love admits of nae delay,
Oh! let nae fcorn undo thee.
While love does at his altar ftand,
Hae there's my heart, gi'e me thy hand,
And, with ilk fmile, thou fhalt command
The will of him wha loves thee.
FTER the pangs of a defperate lover,
When day and night I have figh'd all in vain,
Ah, what a pleasure it is to discover
In her eyes pity who causes my pain! Ah, what a pleasure, &c.
When with unkindness our love at a ftand is,
And both have punish'd ourselves with the pain,
Ah, what a pleasure the touch of her hand is!
Ah, what a pleasure to prefs it again!
Ah, what a pleasure, &c.
When the denial comes fainter and fainter,
And her eyes give what her tongue does deny,
Ah, what a trembling I feel when I venture!
Ah, what a trembling does ufher my joy!
Ah, what a trembling, &c.
When, with a figh, fhe accords me the bleffing,
And her eyes twinkle 'twixt pleasure and pain;
Ah, what a joy 'tis, beyond all expreffing!
Ah, what a joy to hear, Shall we again!
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