Regardless of wringing and breaking a heart, This elegant rose, had I shaken it less, Might have bloom'd with its owner awhile; And the tear that is wip'd with a little address, May be follow'd, perhaps, by a smile. HOARE. FANNY, WILL YOU MARRY ME? PRESTON, LONDON. Sung by Mrs Martyr. SHIELD. E'ER since I found true love beginning, To spare the question from a maiden: To wake or show When ask'd to go, All lads beside, And pray'd of Ralph to carry me : It seem'd so pat, In tender chat, To whisper, Fanny, will you marry me? In evening fine, and summer weather, I am tir'd, pray, will you carry me? He ne'er would stay, To whisper, Fanny, will you marry me? ANONYMOUS. POOR MARY-ANNE! WALKER, LONDON.WELCH AIR. Sung at the Public Concerts. HERE, below the green turf, sleepeth, She whom ev'ry maiden weepeth, By her lover falsely slighted, All her prospects early blighted, In the world no more delighted, Poor Mary-Anne! Pale her cheek, where Health and Pleasure, Once bestow'd their choicest treasure, Poor Mary-Anne ! By that brook, her lover seeking, Oft she wander'd, without speaking; Ah! too sure her heart was breaking, Poor Mary-Anne! As the lily bent by showers, Poor Mary-Anne! Droop'd the pride of Nature's flow'rs, CROSS. Now beneath the green turf laying, THE COTTAGE ON THE MOOR. RILEY, LONDON. SANDERSON. Sung by Mrs Herbert. MY mam is no more, and my dad's in his grave; The lark's early song does to labour invite; Contented, we just keep the wolf from the door, And, Phoebus retiring, trip home with delight, To our neat little cottage that stands on the moor. Our meals are but homely-mirth sweetens the cheer; COLEMAN. LIRA, LIRA, LA. PRESTON, LONDON. Sung by Mrs Bland. LITTLE thinks the townsman's wife, While at home she tarries, ARNOLD. 1 What must be the lassy's life, Now with weary marching spent, Dancing now before the tent, Lira, lira, lira, lira, la, with her jolly soldier. In camp at night she lies, Wind and weather scorning, Should the captain of her dear - Two fond hearts to sever,- ANON. MAD BESS. DALE, LONDON. Sung by Mrs Billington. PURCELL. FROM silent shades, and the Elysium groves, Where sad departed spirits mourn their loves,From chrystal streams, and from that country where Jove crowns the fields with flowers all the year, Poor senseless Bess, cloath'd in her rags and folly, Is come to cure her love-sick melancholy. Bright Cynthia kept her revels late, While Mab, the fairy queen, did dance, When Mars at Venus ran his lance. In yonder cowslip lies my dear, For, since my love is dead, and all my joys are gone, A garland will make; I'll lay me down and die, Within some hollow tree; The raven and cat, The owl and bat, Shall warble forth my elegy. Did you not see my love, as he past by you? Ladies, beware ye, Lest he should dart a glance that may ensnare ye. His boat he will no longer stay; The furies lash their whips, and call, |