I walk'd with her into the garden,

There fully intending to woo her; But may I be ne'er worth a farthing, If of love I faid any thing to her.

I clafp'd her hand close to my breast,
heart was as light as a feather;

While my

Yet nothing I faid, I protest,

But Madam, 'tis very fine weather.

To an arbour I did her attend,

She afk'd me to come and fit by her;

I crept to the furthermost end,

For I was afraid to come nigh her.

I afk'd her which way was the wind,

For I thought in some talk we must enter:

Why, fir, (fhe answer'd and grinn'd)

Have you juft fent your wits for a venture?
Then I follow'd her into the house,

There I vow'd I my paffion would try ;
But there I was ftill as a mouse:-
Oh! what a dull booby was I!

SONG XXXIX.

THE DESPAIRING LOVER.

BY WILLIAM WALSH ESQ

DISTRACTED with care,

For the fair;

Since nothing could move her,
Poor Damon, her lover,
Refolves in defpair

No longer to languish,

Nor bear fo much anguish;
But, mad with his love,
To a precipice goes;

Where, a leap from above
Would foon finifh his woes.

When in rage he came there,
Beholding how steep

The fides did appear,

And the bottom how deep;

His torments projecting,
And fadly reflecting,

That a lover forfaken

A new love may get;

But a neck, when once broken,

Can never be set:

And

And if she will not have me,

That am fo true a lover,

I'll drink my wine, and ne'er repine,

And down the ftairs I'll fhove her.

But if that fhe will love, fir,
I'll be as kind as may be,

I'll give her rings, and pretty things,
And deck her like a lady.

He petticoat of satin,

Her gown of crimson tabby, Lac'd up before, and spangled o'er, Juft like a Barthol'mew baby.

Her waistcoat shall be scarlet,
With ribbands tied together;

Her flockings of a cloudy blue,
And her fhoes of Spanish leather.

Her fmock of fineft Holland,

And lac'd in every quarter, Side and wide, and long enough To hang below her garter.

Then to the church I'll have her,
Where we will wed together,
And fo come home when we have done,
In fpite of wind and weather.

The fidlers fhall attend us,

me,

And first play John come kifs
And when that we have danc'd around,

Then ftrike up, Hit or miss me.

Then

Then hey for little Mary,

"Tis fhe I love alone, fir; Let any man do what he can,

I will have her, or none, fir.

SONG XLI.

A NEW SONG OF OLD SIMILES.

M'

BY M R. GAY.?

Y paffion is as mustard ftrong;
I fit all fober fad;

Drunk as a piper all day long;
Or like a March hare mad.