Say, charmer, where do thy flocks stray? O tell me, at noon where they feed! Shall I seek them on sweet winding Tay, Or the pleasanter banks of the Tweed?

§ 89. Song. Nancy of the Vale. SHENSTONE.

THE western sky was purpled o'er
With ev'ry pleasing ray,

And flocks, reviving, felt no more
The sultry heat of day;

When from a hazel's artless bow'r

Soft warbled Strephon's tongue;

He bless'd the scene, he bless'd the hour,
While Nancy's praise he sung.

Let fops with fickle falsehood range
The paths of wanton love;

Whilst weeping maids lament their change,

And sadden ev'ry grove:

But endless blessings crown the day
I saw fair Esham's dale;
And every blessing find its way
To Nancy of the Vale.

"Twas from Avona's bank the maid
Diffus'd her lovely beams;
And ev'ry shining glance display'd
The Naiad of the streams.
Soft as the wild-duck's tender young,
That float on Avon's tide,
Bright as the water-lily sprung
And glitt'ring near its side.

Fresh as the bord'ring flow'rs her bloom,
Her eye all mild to view;

The little halcyon's azure plume
Was never half so blue.

Her shape was like the reed, so sleek,
So taper, straight, and fair;

Her dimpled smile, her blushing cheek,
How charming sweet they were!
Far in the winding vale retir'd

This peerless bud I found,

And shadowing rocks and woods conspir'd
To fence her beauties round.
That nature in so lone a dell

Should form a nymph so sweet,

Or fortune to her secret cell

Conduct my wand'ring feet!

Gay lordlings sought her for their bride,
But she would ne'er incline:
Prove to your equals true, she cried,
As I will prove to mine.

"Tis Strephon on the mountain's brow
Has won my right good-will;
To him I give my plighted vow,
With him I'll climb the hill.
Struck with her charms and gentle truth,
I clasp'd the constant fair;
To her alone I give my youth,

And vow my future care.

And when this vow shall faithless prove,
Or I these charms forego,

The stream that saw our tender love,
That stream shall cease to flow.

$90. Song. To the Memory of W. Shenstone, Esq. CUNNINGHAM.

COME, shepherds, we'll follow the hearse,
And see our lov'd Corydon laid :
Though sorrow may blemish the verse,
Yet let the sad tribute be paid.
They call'd him the pride of the plain;
In sooth he was gentle and kind;
He mark'd, in his elegant strain,
The graces that glow'd in his mind.
On purpose he planted yon trees,
That birds in the covert might dwell;
He cultur'd the thyme for the bees,
But never would rifle their cell.
Ye lambkins that play'd at his feet,
Go bleat, and your master bemoan;
His music was artless and sweet,
His manners as mild as your own.
No verdure shall cover the vale,
No bloom on the blossoms appear;
The sweets of the forest shall fail,

And winter discolour the year.
No birds in our hedges shall sing
(Our hedges so vocal before),
Since he that should welcome the spring
Can greet the gay season no more.
His Phyllis was fond of his praise,
And poets came round in a throng;
They listen'd, and envy'd his lays,

But which of them equall'd his song?
Ye shepherds, henceforward be mute,
For lost is the pastoral strain;

So give me my Corydon's flute,

And thus-let me break it in twain.

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THE heavy hours are almost past
That part my love and me;
My longing eyes may hope at last
Their only wish to see.

But how, my Delia, will you meet
The man you've lost so long?
Will love in all your pulses beat,
And tremble on your tongue?
Will you in ev'ry look declare

Your heart is still the same;
And heal each idle anxious care

Our fears in absence frame?
Thus, Delia, thus I paint the scene
When shortly we shall meet,
And try what yet remains between
Of loit'ring time to cheat.

But if the dream that soothes my mind
Shall false and groundless prove;
If I am doom'd at length to find
You have forgot to love;

All I of Venus ask is this-
No more to let us join ;

But grant me here the flatt'ring bliss,
To die and think you mine.

$92. Song. LYTTELTON.
WHEN Delia on the plain appears,
Aw'd by a thousand tender fears,
I would approach, but dare not move;
Tell me, my heart, if this be love?
Whene'er she speaks, my ravish'd ear
No other voice but hers can hear,
No other wit but hers approve;
Tell me, my heart, if this be love?
If she some other swain commend,
Though I was once his fondest friend,
His instant enemy I prove;
Tell me, my heart, if this be love?
When she is absent, I no more
Delight in all that pleas'd before,
The clearest spring, the shadiest grove;
Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

When fond of pow'r, of beauty vain,
Her nets she spread for ev'ry swain,
I strove to hate, but vainly strove ;
Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

$93. Song.


Too plain, dear youth, these tell-tale eyes
My heart your own declare;
But for love's sake let it suffice

You reign triumphant there.
Forbear your utmost pow'r to try,

Nor further urge your sway;
Press not for what I must deny,
For fear I should obey.
Could all your arts successful prove,
Would you a maid undo,
Whose greatest failing is her love,
And that her love for you?
Say, would you use that very pow'r
You from her fondness claim,
To rhin in one fatal hour

A life of spotless fame?
Resolve not then to do an ill,

Because perhaps you may;
But rather use your utinost skill
To save me, than betray.
Be you yourself my virtue's guard;

Defend, and not pursue;
Since 'tis a task for me too hard
To strive with love and you.


$94. Song. The Power of Music.
WHEN Orpheus went down to the regions below,

Which men are forbidden to see,
He tun'd up his lyre, as old histories show,
To set his Eurydice free.

All hell was astonish'd a person so wise
Should rashly endanger his life,
And venture so far-but how vast their surprise,
When they heard that he came for his wife!
To find out a punishment due to his fault,
Old Pluto long puzzled his brain;

But pity succeeding found place in his heart;
And, pleas'd with his playing so well,
He took her again in reward of his art.
Such power had music in hell!

$95. Song. ROWE.


To the brook and the willow, that heard him Ah willow! willow! [complain, Poor Colin went weeping, and told him his pain. Sweet stream, he cried, sadly I'll teach thee to [woe. And the waters shall rise to the brink with my All restless and painful my Celia now lies, And counts the sad moments of time as it flies: To the nymph, my heart's love, ye soft slumbers, repair,

Spread your downy wings o'er her, and make her your care;

Let me be left restless, mine eyes never close, So the sleep that I lose give my dear one repose. Sweet stream! if you chance by her pillow to


Perhaps your soft murmurs may lull her to sleep: But if I am doom'd to be wretched indeed, And the loss of mycharmer the fates have decreed, Believe me, thou fair one, thou dear one, believe, Few sighs to thy loss, and few tears will I give; One fate to thy Colin and thee shall betide, And soon lay thy shepherd down by thy cold side. Then glide,gentle brook, andto lose thyself haste, Bear this to my willow; this verse is my last. Ah willow! willow! Ah willow! willow!

§ 96. Song.

DEAR Chloe, while thus beyond measure
You treat me with doubts and disdain,
You rob all your youth of its pleasure,

And hoard up an old age of pain:
Your maxim, that love is still founded

On charms that will quickly decay, You will find to be very ill-grounded When once you its dictates obey. The passion from beauty first drawn,

Your kindness will vastly improve; Soft looks and gay smiles are the dawn, Fruition's the sunshine of love: And though the bright beams of your eyes Should be clouded that now are so gay, And darkness obscure all the skies,

We ne'er can forget it was day.

Old Darby, with Joan by his side,
You oft have regarded with wonder;
He is dropsical, she is sore-ey'd,

Yet they're ever uneasy asunder:
Together they totter about,

And sit in the sun at the door; And at night, when old Darby's pipe's out, His Joan will not smoke a whiff more. No beauty or wit they possess,

Their several failings to smother; Then what are the charmus, can you guess, That make them so fond of each other? "Tis the pleasing remembrance of youth, The endearments that love did bestow,

But hellhad nottorments sufficient, he thought-The thoughts of past pleasure and truth,

So he gave him his wife back again.

The best of all blessings below.

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$97. Song. GILBERT COOPER. AWAY! let nought to love displeasing,

My Winifreda, move thy fear;
Let nought delay the heavenly blessing,
Nor squeamish pride, nor gloomy care.
What though no grants of royal donors
With pompous titles grace our blood;
We'll shine in more substantial honours,
And to be noble, we'll be good.
What though from fortune's lavish bounty
No mighty treasures we possess ;
We'll find within our pittance plenty,
And be content without excess.
Still shall each kind returning season
Sufficient for our wishes give;
For we will live a life of reason,

And that's the only life to live.
Our name, while virtue thus we tender,
Shall sweetly sound where'er 'tis spoke,
And all the great ones much shall wonder
How they admire such little folk.
Through youth and age, in love excelling,
We'll hand in hand together tread;
Sweet smiling peace shall crown our dwelling,
And babes, sweet smiling babes, our bed.

How should I love the pretty creatures,
Whilst round my knees they fondly clung,
To see them look their mother's features,

To hear them lisp their mother's tongue!
And when with envy Time transported
Shall think to rob us of our joys,
You'll in your girls again be courted,
And I'll go wooing in my boys.

$98. Song. PERCY.

O NANCY! wilt thou go with me,
Nor sigh to leave the flaunting town?
Can silent glens have charms for thee,
The lowly cot and russet gown?
No longer drest in silken sheen,

No longer deck'd with jewels rare, Say, canst thou quit each courtly scene Where thou wert fairest of the fair? O Nancy! when thou'rt far away,

Wilt thou not cast a wish behind? Say, canst thou face the parching ray, Nor shrink before the wintry wind? O can that soft and gentle mien

Extremes of hardship learn to bear, Nor sad regret each courtly scene

Where thou wert fairest of the fair?

O Nancy! canst thou love so true,

Through perils keen with me to go; Or, when thy swain mishap shall rue,

To share with him the pang of woe? Say, should disease or pain befall,

Wilt thou assume the nurse's care, Nor wistful those gay scenes recall

Where thou wert fairest of the fair? And when at last thy love shall die,

Wilt thou receive his parting breath? Wilt thou repress each struggling sigh,

And cheer with smiles the bed of death? And wilt thou o'er his breathless clay Strew flowers, and drop the tender tear? Nor then regret those scenes so gay Where thou wert fairest of the fair?

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§ 100. The Spanish Lady's Love. WILL hear you a Spanish lady, How she woo'd an English man? Garments gay, as rich as may be,

Deck'd with jewels had she on :

Of a comely countenance and grace was she,
Both by birth and parentage of high degree.
As his prisoner there he kept her,
In his hands her life did lie;
Cupid's bands did tie them faster,
By the liking of an eye.

In his courteous company was all her joy,
To favour him in any thing she was not coy.
But at last there came commandment

For to set all ladies free, With their jewels still adorned,

None to do them injury.

O then, said this lady gay, full woe is me!
O let me still sustain this kind captivity!

Gallant captain, show some pity

To a lady in distress;

Leave me not within this city,

For to die in heaviness:

Thou hast set, this present day, my body free, my heart in prison still remains with thee.


"How shouldst thou, fair lady, love me, Whom thou know'st thy country's foe? Thy fair words make me suspect thee; Serpents lie where flowers grow." All the harm I wish on thee, most courteous knight, [light! God grant upon my head the same may fully

Blessed be the time and season

That thou cam'st on Spanish ground! If you may our foes be termed,

Gentle foes we have you found: With our city, you have won our hearts each one, Then to your country bear away that is your own.

"Rest you still, most gallant lady :

Rest you still, and weep no more; Of fair flowers you have plenty,

Spain doth yield you wondrous store." Spaniards fraught with jealousy we oft do find, But Englishmen throughout the world are counted kind.

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"On the seas are many dangers, Many storms do there arise, Which will be to ladies dreadful,

And force tears from wat'ry eyes." Well, in troth, I shall endure extremity, For I could find in heart to lose my life for thee.

"Courteous lady, leave this folly,

Here comes all that breeds the strife; I, in England, have already

A sweet woman to my wife;

I will not falsify my vow for gold nor gain, Nor yet for all the fairest dames that live in Spain."

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Commend me to that gallant lady,
Bear to her this chain of gold,
With these bracelets for a token;
Grieving that I was so bold:

All my jewels, in like sort, take thou with thee;
For they are fitting for thy wife, but not for me,
I will spend my days in prayer,
Love and all his laws defy;
In a nunnery I will shroud me,
Far from any company:

But, ere my prayers have an end, be sure of this,
To pray for thee and for thy love I will not miss.
Thus farewell, most gallant captain!
Farewell to my heart's content!
Count not Spanish ladies wanton,

Though to thee my mind was bent:
Joy and true prosperity go still with thee!
The like fall unto thy share, most fair lady!"

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§ 101. Ballad. The Children in the Wood; or, The Norfolk Gentleman's last Will and Testament.

Now ponder well, you parents dear,
The words which I shall write;
A doleful story you shall hear,
In time brought forth to light.
A gentleman of good account
In Norfolk liv'd of late,

Whose wealth and riches did surmount
Most men of his estate.

Sore sick he was, and like to die,

No help that he could have;
His wife by him as sick did lie,

And both possess'd one grave.
No love between these two was lost,
Each was to other kind:

In love they liv'd, in love they died,
And left two babes behind:

The one a fine and pretty boy,

Not passing three years old:
The other a girl, more young than he,
And made in beauty's mould.
The father left his little son,
As plainly doth appear,
When he to perfect age should come,
Three hundred pounds a year;
And to his little daughter Jane

Five hundred pounds in gold,
To be paid down on marriage day,
Which might not be controll'd.
But if the children chanc'd to die
Ere they to age should come,
Their uncle should possess their wealth;
For so the will did run.

Now brother, said the dying man,
Look to my children dear;
Be good unto my boy and girl,
No friends else I have here:
To God and you I do commend

My children night and day;
But little while, be sure, we have
Within this world to stay.

You must be father and mother both,
And uncle, all in one;

God knows what will become of them
When I am dead and gone.
With that bespake their mother dear;
O brother kind, quoth she,
You are the man must bring our babes
To wealth or misery.

And if you keep them carefully,
Then God will you reward;
If otherwise you seem to deal,
God will your deeds regard.
With lips as cold as any stone

She kiss'd her children small:
God bless you both, my children dear
With that the tears did fall.

These speeches then their brother spoke
To this sick couple there:
The keeping of your children dear,
Sweet sister, do not fear;
God never prosper me nor mine,
Nor aught else that I have,
If I do wrong your children dear,
When you are laid in grave!
Their parents being dead and gone,
The children home he takes,
And brings them both unto his house,
And much of them he makes.
He had not kept these pretty babes
A twelvemonth and a day,
When for their wealth he did devise
To make them both away.
He bargain'd with two ruffians rude,
Which were of furious mood,
That they should take the children
And slay them in a wood.
He told his wife, and all he had,

He did the children send

To be brought up in fair London,
With one that was his friend.

Away then went these pretty babes,
Rejoicing at that tide';
Rejoicing with a merry mind,

They should on cock-horse ride.
They prate and prattle pleasantly,
As they rode on the way,


To those that should their butchers be,
And work their lives' decay.

So that the pretty speech they had,
Made murd'rers' hearts relent;
And they that undertook the deed
Full sore they did repent.
Yet one of them, more hard of heart,
Did vow to do his charge,
Because the wretch that hired him
Had paid him very large.
The other would not agree thereto,
So here they fell at strife;
With one another they did fight
About the children's life.
And he that was of mildest mood

Did slay the other there,
Within an unfrequented wood;

While babes did quake for fear.

He took the children by the hand,
When tears stood in their eye;
And bade them come and go with him,
And look they did not cry:

And two long miles he led them on,
While they for food complain :

Stay here, quoth he, I'll bring you bread,
When I do come again.

These pretty babes with hand in hand
Went wandering up and down:
But never more they saw the man
Approaching from the town.
Their pretty lips with blackberries
Were all besmear'd and dy'd;
And when they saw the darksome night,
They sat them down and cried.
Thus wander'd these two pretty babes,
Till death did end their grief;
In one another's arms they died,
As babes wanting relief.
No burial these pretty babes
Of any man receives,
Till Robin-red-breast painfully
Did cover them with leaves.

And now the heavy wrath of God
Upon their uncle fell;

Yea, fearful fiends did haunt his house,
His conscience felt a hell.

His barns were fir'd, his goods consum'd,
His lands were barren made,
His cattle died within the field,

And nothing with him staid.
And, in the voyage of Portugal,

Two of his sons did die;

And, to conclude, himself was brought
To extreme misery:

He pawn'd and mortgag'd all his land
Ere seven years came about;
And now at length this wicked act

Did by this means come out :

The fellow that did take in hand
These children for to kill,
Was for a robbery judg'd to die,
As was God's blessed will;
Who did confess the very truth,
The which is here express'd;
Their uncle died, while he for debt
In prison long did rest.

All you that be executors made,
And overseers eke,

Of children that be fatherless,

And infants mild and meek: Take you example by this thing, And give to each his right; Lest God with such like misery, Your wicked minds requite.

§102. Ballad. The Hunting in Chevy Chase. GOD prosper long our noble king,

Our lives and safeties all!

A woeful hunting once there did
In Chevy Chase befal.

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