Who seeks to pluck the fragrant rose,

From the bare rock oozy beach ;
Who, from each barren weed that grows,

Expects the grape or blushing peach,
With equal faith may hope to find
The truth of Love in woman kind

I have no herds, no fleecy care,

No fields that wave with golden grain, No pastures green, or gardens fair,

A woman's venal heart to gain ; Then all in vain my sighs must prove, For I, alas ! have nought but love.

How wretched is the faithful youth,

Since women's hearts are bought and sold They ask no vows of sacred truth ;

Whene'er they sigh, they sigh for gold.
Gold can the frowns of scorn remove,
But I, alas ! have nought but love.

To buy the gems of India's coast,

What wealth, what treasure can suffice ? Yet India's shore shall never boast

The living lustre in thine eyes ; For these the world too cheap would prove ; But I, alas ! have nought but love.

Then Sylvia ! since nor gems, nor ore,

Can with thy brighter self compare, Consider that I offer more

Than glittering gems—a soul sincere ; Let riches meaner beauties

move, Who pays thy worth must pay in love !

235062

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 swelled with tears ; but she
Has never shed a tear for me.

If Nanny called did Robin stay,

Or linger when she bade me run ?
She only had the word to say,

And all she asked 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 my fold's in frost and snow? Have they not there from cold been free? But Nanny still is cold to me Whene'er I climb'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 they always had the best;
Within this week her pigeons bave

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.

DAME DURDEN.

Anonymous. Date uncertain.
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 fail,
And Kitty was a charming girl to carry the milking pail.

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.

HE.

LET rakes for pleasure range the town,
Or misers dote 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.