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Repenting now, I promise fair,
Wou'd he return-wou'd he return,
I ne'er again wou'd give him care,
Or cause him mourn-or cause him mourn.

Why lov'd I thee, deserving swain,

Yet still thought shame-yet still thought shame,
When thou my yielding heart didst gain,
To own my flame-to own my flame?
Why took I pleasure to torment,
And seem too coy-and seem too coy?
Which makes me now, alas! lament
My slighted joy-my slighted joy.

Ye fair, while beauty's in its spring,

Own

your desire-own your desire:

While love's young power with his soft wing
Fans up the fire-fans up the fire,

O do not with a silly pride,

Or low design or low design,

Refuse to be a happy bride;

But answer plain-but answer plain.

Thus the fair mourner wail'd her crime,

With flowing eyes-with flowing eyes.
Glad Jamie heard her all the time,
With sweet surprise-with sweet surprise-

Some god had led him to the grove ;

His mind unchang'd—his mind unchang'd—
Flew to her arms, and cry'd, My love,
I am reveng'd-I am reveng'd!

The name of this song is all that is old-neither Ramsay, who wrote it, nor perhaps any other poet, could succeed in reclaiming the ancient words from their witty indelicacy. He wisely preferred writing something new, to the thankless and laborious office of chastening down the old heathen, and rendering it fit for modest society. But I am sorry that he found it necessary to call down the gods, since a woman could have wept very satisfactorily without them; and the confession of her love is very natural and pleasing. A tasting, however, of the old lyrical morsel of our ancestors may not be unacceptable.

The bonnie lass o' Livingstone,

Ye ken her name-ye ken her name,
And she has written in her contract

To lie her lane-to lie her lane;

And I have vowed while vowing's worth

Ye very grave and reverend ancestors of the present people of Scotland-it was well that Wedderburn abated your indelicate songs into "Gude and Godly Ballads;" for the fragments of many of your favourite lyrics, like the love letters of King Henry the Eighth, can neither be sung nor quoted.

UNGRATEFUL NANNY.

Did ever swain a nymph adore,
As I ungrateful Nanny do?
Was ever shepherd's heart so sore,
Or ever broken heart so true?

My cheeks are swell'd with tears, but she
Has never wet a cheek for me.

If Nanny call'd, did e'er I stay,

Or linger when she bid me run?

She only had the word to say,

And all she wish'd was quickly done.

I always think of her, but she
Does ne'er bestow a thought on me.

To let her cows my clover taste,
Have I not rose by break of day?

Did ever Nanny's heifers fast,

If Robin in his barn had hay?
Tho' to my fields they welcome were,
I ne'er was welcome yet to her.

If ever Nanny lost a sheep,

I cheerfully did give her two;
And I her lambs did safely keep
Within my folds in frost and snow:

Have they not there from cold been free?
But Nanny still is cold to me.

When Nanny to the well did come,
"Twas I that did her pitchers fill;
Full as they were, I brought them home:
Her corn I carried to the mill;

My back did bear the sack, but she
Will never bear a sight of me.

To Nanny's poultry oats I gave,
I'm sure they always had the best;
Within this week her pigeons have
Eat up a peck of peas at least.
Her little pigeons kiss, but she
Will never take a kiss from me.

Must Robin always Nanny woo,

And Nanny still on Robin frown?
Alas! poor wretch! what shall I do,
If Nanny does not love me soon!
If no relief to me she'll bring,
I'll hang me in her apron string.

Joseph Ritson mistook this song for one of tender and pastoral import. It is a city pastoral, and abounds in the conceits common to the witty youth of a populous, place. Such songs the heart of Scotland never breathed.

Here one poor word an hundred clenches makes,
And ductile dulness new meanders takes.

Yet affected as it is, and though the rustic population of Scotland are secure from feeling its influence, it is still a curious song, and may be preserved as the failure of an experiment to inflict conventional wit and the smartness and conceit of a town life on country pursuits and rural manners.

NANNY-O.

While some for pleasure pawn

"Twixt Lais and the Bagnio,

their health,

I'll save myself, and without stealth
Kiss and caress my Nanny-o.

She bids more fair t'engage a Jove
Than Leda did or Danae-o.

Were I to paint the queen of love,
None else should sit but Nanny-o.

How joyfully my spirits rise,
When dancing she moves finely-o;

J

I

guess

what heaven is by her eyes,

Which sparkle so divinely-o.

Ji.

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