"The fat beeves and his beer. "And his merry new-year, "Are all for the flush and the fair, "Well-a-day!"
My keg is but low I confefs,
Gaffer Gray;
What then, while it lasts, man, we'll live;
The poor man alone;
When he hears the poor moan, Of his morfel, a morfel will give, Well-a-day!
OF all the girls that are fo fmart,
There's none like pretty Sally:
She is the darling of my heart,
And the lives in our alley;
There's ne'er a lady in the land.
Is half fo fweet as Sally,
For fhe's the darling of my heart,
And lives into our Alley.
Her father he makes cabbage nets,
For those who want to buy 'em,
Her mother she makes laces long,
And thro' the streets does cry 'em:
But fure fuch folks could ne'er beget,
Such a charming girl as Sally,
She is the darling of my heart,
And fhe lives in our Alley.
When he is by I leave my work,
I love her fo fincerely,
My mafter comes like any Turk,
And bangs me most severely:
But let him bang his belly full,
I'll bear it all for Sally,
For fhe's the darling of my foul,
And the lives in our Alley.
Of all the days that's in the week,
I dearly love but one day,
And that's the day that comes between
A Saturday and Monday;
For then I'm drest all in my beft,
To walk abroad with Sally,
For fhe's the darling of my foul,
And he lives in our Alley.
My mafter carries me to church,
Where often I am blamed,
Because I leave him in the lurch
As foon as text is named,
I leave the church in fermon time,
And flink away to Sally,
For fhe's the darling of my foul,
And the lives in our Alley.
When Christmas comes about again,
Oh! then I fhall have money;
I'll hoard it up, and box and all,
I'll give it to my honey.
And wou'd it were ten thousand pounds,
I'd give it all to Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,
And the lives in our Alley.
My mafter and the neighbours all
Make game of me and Sally,
Wer't not for her I'd better been
A flave, and row a galley:
But when my seven long years are out,
Oh! then I'll marry Sally;
Oh! then we'll wed, and then we'll bed,
But not into our Alley.
JESS MACPHARLANE.]
WHEN firft fhe came to town,
They call'd her Jefs Macpharlane,
But now he's come, and gone,
They call her the wand'ring darling:
Oh! this love, this love!
Of this love I'm weary,
Sleep I can get none,
For thinking on my deary.
Her father loves her well,
Her mither loves her better;
And I like the girl myfell,
But alas! 1 canna get her.
Oh! this love, &c.
I took it in my head,
To write my love a letter;
But alas! She canna read,
And I like her a' the better.
Oh! this love, &c.
Then fince I canna rest,
For thinking of my darling;
I'll wander too in quest,
Of lovely Jefs Macpharlane.
Oh! this love, &c.
AH! tell me, ye fwains, have ye feen my Paftora,
O fay, have you met the fweet nymph in your way,
Tranfcendant as Venus, and blithe as Aurora,
From Neptun's bed rising, to hail the new day;
Forlorn do I wander, and long time have fought her,
The fairest, the rareft, for ever my theme;
A goddess in form, tho' a cottager's daughter,
That dwells on the borders of Aln's winding stream.
Tho' lordlings fo gay, and young fquires have fought her,
To link her fair hand in the conjugal chain;
Devoid of ambition, the cottager's daughter
Convinc'd them, their flattery and offers were vain.
When first I beheld her, I fondly befought her,
My heart did her homage, and love was her theme;
She vow'd to be mine, the sweet cottager's daughter,
That dwells on the borders of Aln's winding stream.
Then, why, thus alone does she leave me to languish,
Paftora to fplendor cou'd ne'er yield her hand;
Ah! no fhe returns to remove my fond anguish,
O'er her heart love and truth retain the command;
The wealth of Golgonda could never have bought her,
For love, truth and conftancy still is her theme,
Then give me kind Hymen, the cottager's daughter,
That dwells on the borders of Aln's winding ftream.
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