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The BOB of Dumblane.

ASSIE, lend me your braw hemp heckle,
And I'll lend you my thripling kame;
For fainnefs, deary, I'll gar ye keckle,
If ye'll go dance the Bob of Dumblane.
Hafte ye, gang to the ground of ye'r trunkies,
Busk ye braw and diuna think shame;
Confider in time, if leading of monkies
Be better than dancing the Bob of Dumblane.

Be frank my laffie, left I grow fickle,
And take my word and offer again,
Syne ye may chance to repent it mickle,
Ye did nae accept of the Bob of Dumblane.
The dinner, the piper and prieft fhall be ready,
And I'm grown dowy with lying my lane,
Away then leave baith minny and dady,
And try with me the Bob of Dumblane.

A

SONG complaining of Absence.

To the Tune of, My Apron Deary.

H Chloe! thou treafure, thou joy of my breaft, Since I parted from thee, I'm a ftranger to rest, I fly to the grove, there to languish and mourn, There figh for my charmer, and long to return. The fields all around me are fmiling and gay, But they fmile all in vain my Chloe's away: The field and the grove can afford me no cafe, But bring me my Chloe, a defart will please.

No virgin I fee that my bofom alarms,

I'm cold to the faireft, tho' glowing with charms,
In vain they attack me, and Iparkle the eye;
Thefe are not the looks of my Chloe, I cry.
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These.

These looks where bright love like the fun fits enthron'd,

And fmiling diffufes his influence round,

"Twas thus I first view'd thee, my charmer amaz'd ; Thus gaz'd thee with wonder, and lov'd while I gaz'd.

Then, then the dear fair one was ftill in my fight, It was pleasure all day, it was rapture all night; But now by hard fortune remov'd from my fair, In fecret to languish, a prey to despair. But abfence and torment abate not my flame, My Chloe's ftill charming, my paffion the fame; O! would the preferve me a place in her breaft, Then abfence would please me, for I would be blest.

R.

SONG.

To the Tune of, I fixed my Fancy on her.

Right Cynthia's power divinely great,
What heart is not obeying?

A thousand Cupids on her wait,

And in her eyes are playing.

She feems the queen of love to reign ;

For fhe alone difpences

Such fweets as beft can entertain

The guft of all the fenfes.

Her face a charming profpect brings,
Her breath gives balmy bliffes;
I hear an angel when the fings,
And tafte of heaven in kiffes.
Four fenfes thus fhe feafts with joy,
From nature's richest treasure:
Let me the other fenfe employ,
And I fhall die with pleasure."

X.

A SONG

T

To the Tune of, I loo'd a bonny Lady.

ELL me, tell me charming creature,
Will you never ease my pain?

Must I die for every feature?

Muft I always love in vain? The defire of admiration

Is the pleasure you purfue: Pray thee try a lafting paffion, Such a love as mine for

you.

Tears and fighing could not move you;
For a lover ought to dare:
When I plainly told I lov'd you,
Then you faid I went too far.
Are fuch giddy ways befeeming?
Will my dear be fickle ftill?
Conqueft is the joy of women,

Let their flaves be what they will.

Your neglect with torment fills me,
And my defp'rate thoughts increase;
Pray confider, if you kill me,

You will have a lover lefs.

If your wand'ring heart is beating
For new lovers, let it be :
But when you have done coquetting,
Name a day, and fix on me.

The REPLY.

N vain, fond youth; thy tears give o'er;
What more alafs can Flavia do?
Thy truth I own, thy fate deplore:
All are not happy that are true.

Supprefs thofe fighs, and weep no more;
Should heaven and earth with thee combine,
'Twere all in vain, fince any power,

To crown thy love muft alter mine.

But if revenge can eafe thy pain,
I'll footh the ills I cannot cure,
Tell that I drag a hopeless chain,
And all that I inflict endure.

T

The Rofe in YARROW.

To the Tune of, Mary Scot.

Was fummer and the day was fair,
Refolv'd a while to fly from care,
Beguiling thought, forgetting forrow,
I wander'd o'er the braes of Yarrow ;
Till then defpifing beauty's power,
I kept my heart, my own fecure :
But Cupid's art did there deceive me,
And Mary's charms do now enflave me,

Will cruel love no bribe receive?
No ranfom take for Mary's flave?
Her frowns of reft and hope deprive me :
Her lovely fmiles like light revive me.
No bondage may with mine compare,
Since firft I faw this charming fair:

X.

This

This beauteous flower, this rofe of Yarrow,
In nature's gardens has no marrow.

Had I of heaven but one request,
I'd ask to ly in Mary's breaft;

There would I live or die with pleasure,
Nor fpare this world one moment's leisure;
Defpifing kings and all that's great,
I'd smile at courts and courtiers fate;
My joy complete on fuch a marrow,
I'd dwell with her and live on Yarrow.

But tho' fuch blifs I ne'er fhould gain,
Contented ftill I'll wear my chain,
In hopes my faithful heart may move her;
For leaving life I'll always love her.
What doubts diftract a lover's mind?
That breaft, all foftnefs, muft prove kind;
And she shall yet become my marrow,
The lovely beauteous rofe of Yarrow.

C.

A

Lovely lafs to a friar came

To confefs in a morning early.

In what, my dear, are you to blame?
Come own it all fincerely,

I've done, fir, what I dare not name,
With a lad who loves me dearly.

The greateft fault in myfelf I know,
Is what I now discover.
Then you to Rome for that must go,
There difcipline to fuffer.

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Lake