DAME Durden kept five serving girls
To carry the milking pail;
She also kept five labouring men
To use the spade and flail.

"Twas Moll and Bet, and Doll and Kate, and Dorothy Draggletail, And John and Dick, and Joe and Jack, and Humphrey with his flail. 'Twas John kiss'd Molly,

And Dick kiss'd Betty,

And Joe kiss'd Dolly,

And Jack kiss'd Katty,
And Dorothy Draggletail,

And Humphrey with his flail,

And Kitty was a charming girl to carry the milking pail.

Dame Durden in the morn so soon

She did begin to call;

To rouse her servants, maids and men,

She then began to bawl.

'Twas Moll and Bet, and Doll and Kate, and Dorothy Draggletail, And John and Dick, and Joe and Jack, and Humphrey with his flail. 'Twas John kiss'd Molly, &c.

'Twas on the morn of Valentine,

The birds began to prate,

Dame Durden's servants, maids and men,

They all began to mate.

'Twas Moll and Bet, and Doll and Kate, and Dorothy Draggletail, And John and Dick, and Joe and Jack, and Humphrey with his flail. 'Twas John kiss'd Molly,

And Dick kiss'd Betty,

And Joe kiss'd Dolly,

And Jack kiss'd Katty,
And Dorothy Draggletail,

And Humphrey with his flail,

And Kitty was a charming girl to carry the milking pail.

THE SHEPHERD'S COMPLAINT.

CHARLES HAMILTON (LORD BINNING), died 1732-3.

DID ever swain a nymph adore
As I ungrateful Nanny do?

Was ever Shepherd's heart so sore-
Was ever broken heart so true?
My eyes are swell'd with tears; but she
Has never shed a tear for me.

If Nanny call'd, did Robin stay,
Or linger when she bade me run?
She only had the word to say,

And all she ask'd was quickly done:
I always thought on her; but she
Would ne'er bestow a thought on me.

To let her cows my clover taste,
Have I not rose by break of day?
When did her heifers ever fast,

If Robin in his yard had hay?
Though to my fields they welcome were,
I never welcome was to her.

If Nanny ever lost a sheep,

I cheerfully did give her two; Did not her lambs in safety sleep

Within folds in frost and snow? my

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

Whene'er I clim'd our orchard trees,
The ripest fruit was kept for Nan;
Oh, how those hands that drown'd her bees
Were stung, I'll ne'er forget the pain!
Sweet were the combs, as sweet could be;
But Nanny ne'er look'd sweet on me.

If 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 her sacks, but she
Would never bear the sight of me.

To Nanny's poultry oats I gave,

I'm sure she always had the best; Within this week her pigeon's have Eat up a peck of peas at least; Her little pigeons kiss, but she Would 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.

THE CHOICE OF A RURAL WIFE.

Anonymous: about 1740.

WOULD you choose a wife for a happy life;
Leave the court and the country take,

Where Susan and Doll, and Nancy and Moll,
Follow Harry and John, whilst harvest goes on,
And merrily, merrily rake.

Leave the London dames-be it spoke to their shames-
To lie in their beds till noon,

Then get up and stretch, then paint too and patch,
Some widgeon to catch, then look to their watch,
And wonder they rose up so soon.

Then coffee and tea, both green and bohea,
Is serv'd to their tables in plate;

Where their tattles do run as swift as the sun,
Of what they have won, and who is undone,
By their gaming and sitting up late.

The lass give me here, though brown as my beer,
That knows how to govern her house;
That can milk her cow, or farrow her sow,
Make butter or cheese, or gather green peas,
And values fine clothes not a sous.

This, this is the girl, worth rubies and pearl;
This is the wife that will make a man rich:
We gentlemen need no quality breed
To squander away what taxes would pay,
In troth we care for none such.

JOHNNY AND JENNY.

EDWARD MOORE, born 1712, died 1757. Music by Dr. BOYCE.

HE.

LET rakes for pleasure range the town,
Or misers doat on golden guineas;

Let plenty smile or fortune frown,

The sweets of love are mine and Jenny's.

SHE.

Let wanton maids indulge desire;

How soon the fleeting pleasure gone is!

The joys of virtue never tire,

And such shall still be mine and Johnny's.

BOTH.

Together let us sport and play,

And live in pleasure where no sin is;

The priest shall tie the knot to-day,

And wedlock's bands make Johnny Jenny's.

HE.

Let roving swains young hearts invade-
The pleasure ends in shame and folly;
So Willy woo'd, and then betray'd
The poor believing simple Molly.

SHE.

So Lucy lov'd, and lightly toy'd,

And laugh'd at harmless maids who marry; But now she finds her shepherd cloy'd,

And chides too late her faithless Harry.