And-'twas strange when around one such vices

appear, She could weep with her friend, and her sorrows

revere! But, ah! those proud blasts that blind fortune has On the head of her father, with age lowly bent, Have forc'd her,all graceful, all beauteous, to yield To glean the scarce ear left in Florido's field. Resolv'd to possess her, he chas'd all her fears; ller tale she related, all meekness, in tears; The wretch yet was gen'rous, he proffer'd her

goldTo the want of her parents her virtue she sold; He press'd to his bosoın the weight of her charms, And she sunk, all regardless, in Florido's arms. The frenzy is over--her honour is gone ! And who cau but weep, since poor Mary's undone?


GODDESS! descend on our plains,

And enlighten our rustical throng!
To thy altar I offer my strains,

And the graces of Nisida's song.
Bring those charms that give birth to desire,

Nor be thy young Cupids away;
Around these fair scenes we admire

Let thy Graces all negligent stray.
To twine the rude wreath while we rove,

Desirous to place on thy shrine,
Olet thy sweet power improve
Our manners, their roughness refine!

Tho' Tho' a rustic I live in the fields,

And attend to my pipe and my sheep Yet a softness my passion reveals,

That has taught me to sigh and to weep.

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TO lecture I come, and your pardon I crave,

y ;

So spare me, kind critics, all-potent and grave,

For mine is a poor simple lecture on hearts. First, then, Britain's glory, the heart of a Tar; Is there aught of more courage, or precious in

worth? Ah no! whether glowing in peace or in war,

'Tis alike ever true to the place of its birth; Then health to a Sailor !-and this be the strain The Tars of Old England again and again! The heart of a Lover, when tender and true,

Is a heart to be priz'd, as each woman must own; While the heart of a Miser, to give him his due,

Is a heart-selfish mortal!- -as hard as a stone. Then the heart of a Virgin-and such,too, there be,

That love with a passion devoid of all artShall surely be rated and set down by mel

: Her boson's all sweetness, all softness her heart: Then health, blooming health and let this be

the strain, To Love, and true Lovers, again and again! The heart of a Lawyer--and, O what a thing! 'Tis a compound of something that's hard to

define; When you think it all honey, you find it alî şting,

And what really good for I cannot assign. Now, then, for a heart, and a gallant one, too;

Tis a Soldier's and where is a braver in fight? For England it beats ever loyal and true,

And proves that her good is its dearest delight: Then health to a soldier and this be the strainOur Soldiers and Sailors again and again!


WEEŁcan remember-how can I forgetit?--

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How my feet they danc'd quick, but my heart it

danc'd quicker, For Willy was there, and O! he was my love.

O my Willy! my winsoine Willy! My heart how it beats when I look upon thce!

Now Willy was bonny, his hair was a' gowden;

Bright, bright were his cen, when he turu'd

them on me;

Wi' the rose on his cheek, like the blush o' the

morning, Saying, Jenny, now love me, as I can love thee!


my Willy, &c.

I lov'd him already, I kend na to jeer him,

For Willy was gude, and my heart was in tune; I sigh'd, and he look'd: on his knees, fell poor

Willy; The church made us ane, and our wooing was done.

O my Willy, &c.


the gallant arm'd train,

Who are crossing the main
In the cause of their Country and King;

To the Chief in Command

Of the all-glorious band,
The warmest of wishes we sing.

Ev'ry Briton will join hand and heart in the strain;

Ev'ry heart will support the petition, That Heaven may bless, with brilliant success, Brave York, and the grand Expedition.

Neighbour France, you oft swore,

When you threaten'd our shore,
What mighty great feats you wou'd do;

But so long you delay

The kind visit to pay,
We've resolved to wait upon you.

Ev'ry Briton, &c.
Gaul's fraternal embrace,

Though it fail'd to take place,
So highly we prize as her suit;

That we send to her coast

A fine gallant host,
To give her a British salute.

Ev'ry Briton, &c.
When arriv'd on her shore,

Let her welcome us o'er,
With Caira' on fife and with drum;

In return for her song,

We will teach her, 'ere long,
The choras of 'Britons strike home.'

Ev'ry Briton, &c.
Since an army of France, nam'd
Of England so fam'd,
'Tis pity that she should not have one;

So, for that compliment,

We this ariny have sent,
Convinc'd she would find it a brave one.
Ev'ry Briton, &c.


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