OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Hallow fair (3)

The Hallow Fair;
To which are added,
Bauldy Baird,
The Roses Blaw,
Sweet Kitty o' the Clyde,
Sandy and Jenny.
STIRLING:
Printed for the Booksellers.
* The Hallow Fair
* Bauldy Baird
* The Roses Blaw
* Sweet Kitty o' the Clyde
* Sandy and Jenny
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Cruel father, or, The loyal lover's downfal (1820)/The hallow fair

THE HALLOW FAIR.
There's mony bra’ Jockies and Jennies, comes weel busket into the fair, Wi’ ribbons on their cockernonies, and south o’ bra’ flour i’ their hair; Maggy sae brawly was busket when Jocky was ty’d to his bride, The pownie was ne’er better whisket, wi’ a cudgel that hang by his side. Sing fal de ral, lad de.
But Willie the muirland laddie, was mounted upon a grey cowt, Wi’ his sword by his side like a cadie, to ca’ in the sheep and the nowt: Sae nicely his ⟨doublets⟩ did fit him, they scarcely came down to mid-thie, Wi weel powder'd hair, hat and feather, wi’ houzen, curple, and tie. Sing fal de ral, la de.
But Maggy grew wondrous jealous, to see Willie busket sae bra', An’ Wattie he sat i' the ale-house, and hard at the bicker did ca', Sae nicely as Maggy sat by him, he took the pint-stoup in his arms, Quo’ he, I think they’re right saucy, that lo’ea na good fathers bairns. Sing fal de ral, la de.
​But now it grew late i' the eening, and bughting time was drawing near; The lasses had stanch’d a' their greening, wi' south o' bra’ apples and pears; There's Tibbie and Sibbie and Lillie, wha weel on ⟨the⟩ spindle ⟨could⟩ spin, ⟨Stood⟩ glowring at signs and glass winnocks, but fiend a ane bade them come in. Sing fal de ral la de.
Gosh guides, did you e’er see the like o’ see yonder's a ⟨bonny⟩ black swan, It looks as it fain wad be at us what’s yon that it has in it's han'? Awa' ⟨daft⟩ gowk quo' Wattie, it's nane but a rickle o' ⟨sticks⟩. See here's the dei ⟨and⟩ Bell Hawkie, an' yonder's Mess James and Auld Nick. Sing fal de ral, la de.
But Bruckie played boo to Bawrie, and aff gaed the cowt like the win' Poor Willie he fell i' the cawrie and bi zed a' the banes in his skin, The pistols fell out o' the holsters and were a' ⟨bedaubed⟩ wi' dirt, The fowks ran about ⟨him⟩ in clusters, some leugh, and said lad ⟨are⟩ you hurt? Sing fal de ral, la de.
The ⟨cowt⟩ wad let nae body near him, he was aye sae wanton and skeegh, The pad er stanes ⟨he⟩ lap o'er ⟨them⟩, an' gart a' the fouk stan' abeegh; ​We a' sneering behin' and before him, for sic is the mettle o' brutes, Poor Wattie, and waes me for him, was forced to gang hame in his boots. Sing fal de ral, la de.
# Hallow fair/The Hallow Fair

THE HALLOW FAIR.
There's mony bra' Jockies and Jennies, comes weel buskit into the fair, Wi' ribbons on their cocke nonies, and south o' bra' flower in their hair; Maggy sae brawlie was buskit, when Jockie was ty'd to his bride, The pownie was ne'er better whisket, wi' a cudgel that hung by his side. Sing fal de ral, la de.
But Willie the muirland laddie, was mounted on a gray cowt, Wi' his sword by his side like a cadie, to ca' in the sheep and the nowt: Sae nicely his doublets did fit him, they scarcely cam down to mid-thie, Wi' weel powder'd hair hat and feather, wi' houzen, curple and tie. Sing fal de ral, la de.
But Maggie grew wondrous jealous, to see Willie buskit so bra', ​An Wattie he sat in the ale house, and hard at the bicker did ca', Sae nicely as Maggie sat by him; he took the pint-stoup in his arms, Quo' he, I think they're right saucy, that lo'es sa good father's bairns. Sing fal de ral la de.
But now it grew late i' the eening, and bughting time was drawing near; The lasses had stanch'd a' their greening, wi' south o' bra' apples and pears; There's Tibbie and Sibbie, and Lillie, wha weel on the spindle can spin, Stood glowring at signs and glass winnocks, but fiend a ane bade them come in. Sing fal de ral la de.
Gosh guides did you e'er see the like o't, see yonders a bonny black swan, It looks as it fain wou'd be at us what's yon that it has in it's han', Awa' daft gow'k, quo' Wattie, It's nane but a rickle o' sticks, See herh's the deil and Bell Hawkie, and yonder's Mess James and Auld Nick, Sing fal de ral, la de.
​But Bruckie play'd boo to Bawsie, and aff gaed the cowt like the win' Poor Willie he fell i' the cawsie and birzed a' the banes in his skin: The pistols fell out o' the holsters, and ware a, bedaubed wi' dirt, The fowks ran about him in clusters, some leugh, and said Lad are ye hurt; fal de ral, la de.
The cowt wad let nae body near him, he was ay sae wanton and skeegh, The padler stanes he lap o'er them, an' gart a' the fowk stan' abeegh; We a' sneering behin' and before him, for sic is the mettle o' brutes, Poor Wattie and waes me for him, was forc'd to gang hame in his boots. Sing fal de ral, la de.
# The Hallow fair (2)/The Hallow fair

THE HALLOW FAIR.
There's mony bra' Jockies and Jennies, comes weel buskit into the fair, Wi' ribbons on their cockemonies, and south o bra' flower in their hair; Maggy sae brawlie was buskit, when Jockie was ty'd to his bride, The pownie was ne'er better whisket, wi' a cudgel that hung by his side. Sing fal de ral, la de.
But Willie the muirland laddie, was mounted on a gray cowt, Wi' his sword by his side like a cadie, to es' in the sheep and the nowt: Sae nicely his doublets did fit him they scarcely cam dowa to mid-thie, Wi' weel powder'd hair hat and feather, wi' houzen, curple and tie. Sing fal de ral, la de.
But Maggie grew wondrous jealous, see Willie buskit se bra', ​(illegible text) Wattie he sat in the ale house, and hard at the bicker did ca', ⟨Sae⟩ nicely as Maggie sat by him; he took the pint-stoup in his arms, ⟨Quo'⟩ he, I think they're right saucy, that lo'es na good father's bairns. Sing fal de ral, la de.
⟨But⟩ now it grew late i' the eening, and bughting time was drawing near; ⟨The⟩ lasses had stanch'd a' their greening, wi' south o'bra' apples and pears; ⟨There's⟩ Tibbie and Sibbie, and Lillie, wha weel on the spindle can spin, ⟨Good⟩ glowring at signs and glass winnocks, but fiend a ane bade them come in. Sing fal de ral, la de.
(illegible text)sh guides did you e'er see the like o't, see yonders a bonny black swan, ⟨It looks⟩ as it fain wou'd be at us what's yon that it has in it's han', ⟨Twa'⟩ daft gow'k, quo' Wattie, it's nane but a rickle o' sticks, ⟨The⟩ hesh's the deil and Bell Hawkie, and yonder's Mess James and Auld Nick, Sing fal de ral, la de.
​But Bruckie play'd boo to Bawsie, and aff gaed the cowt like the win' Poor Willie he fell i' the cawsie and birzed a' the banes in his skin; The pistols fell out o' the holsters, and ware a, bedaubed wi' dirt, The fowks ran about him in clusters, some leugh, and said Lad are ye hurt; fal de ral, la de.
The cowt wad let nae body near him, he was ay sae wanton and skeegh, The padler stanes he lap o'er them, an' gart a' the fowk stan' abeegh; We a' sneering behin' and before him, for sic is the mettle o' brutes, Poor Wattie and waes me for him, was forc'd to gang hame in his boots. Sing fal de ral, la de.
# Hallow fair (1)/Hallow Fair

THE HALLOW FAIR.
There's mony bra' Jockies and Jennies, comes weel buskit into the fair, Wi ribbons on their cockemonies, and south o’ bra' flour in their hair; Maggy, sae brawlie was buskit, when Jockie was ty'd to his bride, pownie was ne'er better whisket, wi' a cudgel that hung by his side. Sing fal de ral, fa de.
But Willie the muirland laddie, was mounted on a gray cowt, Wi' his sword by his side like a cadie, to ca' in the sheep and the nowt: Sae nicely his doublets did fit him, they scarcely cam down to mid-thie, Wi' weel powder'd hair, hat and feather, wi’ houzen, curple and (illegible text)ie. Sing fal de ral, la de.
But Maggie grew wondrous jealous, to see Willie baskit to bra',
​An’ Wattie he sat in the ale house, and hard at the bicker did ca' Sae nicely as Maggie sat by him ; he took the pint-stoup in his arms;, Quo’ he, I think they’re right saucy, that lo’es na good father's bairns. Sing fal de ral, la de.
But now it grew ia'e i' the eening, and bughting time was drawing near; The lasses had stanch'd a’ their greening, wi’south o’ bra' apples and pears; There's Tibbie, and Sibbie, and Lillie, whaweel on the spindle can spin, Stood glowring at sig(illegible text)s and glass winnocks, but fiend a ane bade them come in. Sing fal de ral, la de.
Gosh guides did you e’er see the like o't, sea yonders a bonny black swan, It looks as it fain wou’d be at us what's yon that it has in it’s han’ ? Awa’ daft gowk, quo Wattie, it's nane but a rickle o’ sticks, See here’s the deil and Beil Hawkie, and yonder's Mess James and Auld Nick, Sing fal de ral, la de.
​But Bruckie play'd boo to Bawsie, and aff gaed ths cowt like the win' Poor Willie he fell i’ the cawsie and birzed a' the banes in his skin; The pistols fell out o' the holsters and were a’ bedaubed wi’ dirt, The folks ran about him in clusters, some leugh, and said Lad are ye hurt! fal de ral, la de.
The cowt wad let nae body near him he was ay sae wanton and skeegh. The padler stanes he lap o'er them, an’ gart a’ the fowk stan' abeegh; We a‘ sneering behin’ and before him, for sic is the mettle o' brutes, Poor Wattie and waes me for him, was forc’d to gang hame in his boots. Sing fal de ral, la de.
# Tullochgorum (1823)/Hallow Fair

HALLOW FAIR.
Tune-Fy let us a' to the Bridal.
There's fouth of braw Jockes and Jennies Comes weel buskit into the fair, With ribbons on their cockernonies, And fouth of fine flour in their hair. O Maggie she was sae weel busked, That Willie was tied to his bride; The pony was ne'er better whisked With a cudgel that hung frae his side.
But Maggie was wondrous jealous, To see Willie busked sae braw; And Sawney he sat in the ale-house, And hard at the liqour did ca', There was Georgie that weel lo'ed his lassie, He took the pint stoup in his arms, And hugged it, and said, Troth they're saucy That lo'es na a gude father's bairn.
There was Wattie, the muirland laddie, Was mounted upon a grey cowte,
​With sword by his side, like a caddie, To drive in the sheep and the nowte, His doublet sae weel it did fit him, It scarcely came down to mid-thigh, With hair pouthered, hat, and a feather, And housing at courpon and tee.
But Bruckie played boo to Bawsie, And aff scoured the cowte like the win; Poor Wattie he fell on the causey, And brised a' the banes in his skin. His pistols fell out of the hulsters, And were a’ bedaubed with dirt: The folk they came round him in clusters, Some leugh, and cried, Lad, was ye hurt?
The cowte wad let naebody, steer him, He was aye sae wanton and skeigh; The packmens stands he o'erturned them, And gart a' the fair stand abeigh. With sneering behind and before him; For sic is the mettle of brutes; Poor Wattie, and wae's me for him, Was fain to gang hame in his boots,
Now it was late in the ev'ning, And bughting time was drawing near; The lasses had stenched their greening With fouth of braw apples and beer.
​There was Lillie, and Tibbie, and Sibbie, And Ceicy on the spindle could spin, Stood glowring at signs and glass winnocks, But deil a lad bade them come in.
Gude guide's! saw ye ever the like o't? See yonder's a bonny black swan; It glowrs as it fain wad be at us, What's yon that it hauds in its han'! Awa, daft gowk, cries Wattie, They're a' but a rickle of sticks; See there is Bill, Jock, and auld Hauckie, And yonder's Mess John and Auld Nick.
Quo' Maggie, Come buy us our fairing, To Wattie, wha sleely could tell, I think thou'rt the flower of the clachan, In troth now I'se gie you mysel’. But wha wad e'er thought it of him, That e'er he had rippled the lint? Sae proud was he of his Maggie, Though she did baith scailie and squint.
FINIS.
# The Hallow Fair

* "Hallow Fair", in Hallow fair (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Edinburgh
* "The hallow fair", in The Hallow fair (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Stirling
* "The hallow fair", in Cruel father, or, The loyal lover's downfal (1820), a chapbook printed in Edinburgh
* "Hallow Fair", in Tullochgorum (1823), a chapbook printed in Glasgow
* "Hallow Fair", in Tweedside (1823), a chapbook printed in Glasgow
* "The Hallow Fair", in Hallow fair (1826), a chapbook printed in Stirling
* "The Hallow fair", in The Hallow fair (1826), a chapbook printed in Stirling
* "Hallow-fair", in The Book of Scottish Song (1843), edited by Alexander Whitelaw
# The Hallow fair (3)/Bauldy Baird

BAULDY BAIRD.
Bauldy Baird's come again, Bauldy Baird's come again; Tell the news through burgh and glen, Bauldy Baird's come back again!
O Bauldy Baird can buy and sell, Barrels o' herring, lades o' meal; Cheat till the good man be poor, And purch till the good wife look sour; Laugh and clatter, curse and ban, Tell a lie wi' ony man, Tell the news to a' ye ken, That Bauldy Baird's come again.
Bauldy Baird can drink, I trow, Till a' the bodies roun' be in'; Ilka ane that shares his bicker, Kens how Bauldy pays his liquor. When ye're fu', he's on the catch, He'll buy your blankets, corn, or watch, Ye sharpers a', though London reared, Are a' but cuiffs to Bauldy Baird.
​Bauldy Baird can brag o' gambling, Kens the airts o' dark dissembling, Bauldy Baird can make a fen, To cut the Jack at Catch-the-Ten. Farmer bodies! watch your pease, Hide your butter eggs, and cheese; For whether ripe, or in the braird, It's a' ane to Bauldy Baird.
O! close that slap there, lock that yate, Else some stooks will tak' the gate; For Bauldy's poney likes your grain, Just as weel as 'twere his ain: Stooks o' corn, and shaves o' pease; Whiles your hens, and whiles your geese, For, faith he's no so easy scared, It's a' ane to Bauldy Baird.
On Bauldy Baird the law was vile, To draw him on a cart to jail; But Bauldy Baird, the pauky devil, Slipt the loop, and left the beagle; O'er the dike and through the fiel's, Bauldy ran wi' mattle heels. Watch the corn stack, Robin Law, For Bauldy Baird's run awa', O rin, and let the bailie ken, That Bauldy Baird's come again!
# The King's muster

The King’s Muster, To which is added, NAE LUCK ABOUT THE HOUSE, AND UP IN THE MORNING EARLY, AND BAULDY BAIRD,
GLASGOW: Published and Sold, Wholesale and Retail, by R. Hutchison, Bookseller, 19. Saltmarket.
1823.
* The King's muster
* Nae luck about the house
* Up in the morning early
* Bauldy Baird
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The King's muster/The King's muster

THE KING’S MUSTER.
Tune—The Auld Wife ayont the fire.
Little wat ye wha’s coming, Little wat he wha’s coming, Little wat ye wha’s coming, Now the King himsel’s coming.
There’s coaches coming, steam-boats lumming, Targets coming, turtles scumming, Bow Street, and Lochaber’s coming Wi pipes to make a braw bumming
Little ken ye wha's coming. Clans and clowns and a’s coming.
Gurtis and his cook’s coming, Glengarry and his tail's coming, Duke and Dungwaessell’s coming, And walth o’ gaucie bailies coming.
Little wat ye wha’s coming, Now the King himsel’s coming.
Tartan s coming, muslin’s coming, Gregarich’s coming, Greenock’s coming. Here’s the holly badge o’ Drummond, And there’s a Celt, that’s but a rum one.
​Little ken ye wha’s coming, Cat and Capperfae's coming.
Breadalbane's breekless kernes are coming, Paisley’s weaving barns are coming, Dirks are coming, treddles coming, Provost Jarvie’s coach is coming.
Little wat ye wha’s coming, Now the King himsel’s coming.
There’s plaides enow, and mauds coming, Bonnie border lads coming, How you stare, ye jade, woman, To sec the braw cockades coming.
Little wat ye wha’s coming, Young Buccleuch and a’s coming.
The great Macallummore’s coming, The thane and the Strathmore’s coming. A body canna snore, woman, A’ their piprochs squeeling, bumming.
⟨Little⟩ wat ye wha’s coming, Warld and wife, and a’s coming.
Auld Reekie’s turn’d a daft woman, There’s carze in every carft, woman; And, troth, it’s a’ but weel-becoming, Now the King himsel’s coming.
​Little ken ye wha’s coming. King and kilt, and a’s coming.|
# The King's muster/Nae luck about the house

NAE LUCK ABOUT THE HOUSE.
And are ye sure the news are true! And are ye sure he’s weel! Is this a time to ta’k o’ wark, Mak’ hast set by your wheel. Is this a time to ta’k o’ wark, When Collin’s at the door, Gi’e me my cloak, I’ll to the Quey And see him come ashore.
For there’s nae luck about the house, There’s nae luck ava; There’s little pleasure in the house, When our gudeman’s awa.
Rise up and mak’ a clean fireside, Put on the muckle Pat, Gi’e little Kate her cotton gown, And Jock his Sunday’s coat; And mak’ their shoon as black as slees, Their hose as white as snaw, It's a’ to please my ain gudeman, For he’s been lang awa. For there’s nae luck, &c.
There’s twa fat hens upon the bauk, 'S been fed ⟨this⟩ month and mair, ​Mak' hast and thraw their necks about, That Collin weel may fare; And spread the table neat and clean, Gar ilka thing look braw, It's a’ for love o’ my gudeman, For he's been lang awa. For there's nae luck, &c.
O gi'e me down my biggonets, My Bishop satin gown, For I maun tell the Bailie’s wife, That Collin's come to town. My Sunday's shoon they maun gae on. My hose o’ pearl blue, It’s a' to please my ain gudeman, For ce's baith leal and true. For there’s nae luck, &c.
Sae true’s his words, sae smooth’s his speech, His breath like caller air, His very foot has music in’t When he comes up the stair. And will I see his face again, And will I hear him speak, I’m downright dizzy wi' the thought, In troth I’m like to greet. For there’s nae luck, &c.
# The King's muster/Up in the morning early

UP IN THE MORNING EARLY.
Cauld blaws the win' frae north to south, And drift is driving sairly; ​The sheep are conring i’ the heugh, O sirs! it's winter fairly. Now up in the morning's no for rue, Up in the morning early; I'd rather gang supperless to my bed, Than rise in the morning early.
Rude rairs the blast amang the woods The branches tirlin barely; Amang the chimley taps it thuds, And frost is nippen sairly. Now up in the morning’s no for me, Up in the morning early; To sit a' night I'd rather agree, Than rise in the morning early.
The sun peeps o’er yon southlan’ hill, Like onie timorous carlie; Just blinks a wee, then sinks again, And that we find severely. Now up in the morning’s no for me, Up in the morning early; When snaw blaws into the chimley cheek, Wha’d rise in the morning early.
Nae linties lilt on hedge or bush, Poor things they suffer sairly; In cauldrife quarters a' the night, A' day they feed but sparely. Now up ⟨in⟩ the morning’s no for me, Up in the morning early; ​What fate can be waur, in winter time, Than rise in the morning early.
A cosey house, and a cantie wife, Keeps aye a body cheery: And pantry stow’d wi’ meal and maut, It answers unco rarely. But up in the morning na, na na, Up in the morning early; The gowans maun glint on bank an’ brae Ere I rise in the morning early.
# The King's muster/Bauldy Baird

BAULDY BAIRD.
Bauldy Baird’s come again, Bauldy Baird’s come again; Tell the news through burgh and glen, Bauldy Baird’s come again!
O Bauldy Baird can buy and sell Barrels o’ herring, lades o’ meal; Cheat till the good man be poor, And putch till the good wife look sour; Laugh and clatter, curse and han, Tell a lie wi’ onie man. Tell the news to a’ ye ken, That Bauldy Baird’s come again.
Bauldy Baird can drink, I trow, Till a’ the bodies roun’ be ru’; Ilka ane that shares his bicker, Kens how Bauldy pays bis liquor. ​When ye’re fu', he’s on the catch, He’ll buy your blankets, corn, or watch. Ye ⟨sharpers⟩ a’, though London reared, Are a’ but cuiffs to Bauldy Baird.
Bauldy Baird can brag o’ gambles Kens the airts o’ dark dissembling. Bauldy Baird, can make a fen, To cut the Jack at Catch-the-Ten. Farmer bodies! watch your pease, Hide your butter, eggs, and cheese; For whether ripe, or in the braird, It’s a’ ane to Bauldy baird.
O! close that slap there, lock that yate, Else some stocks will tak’ the gate; For Bauldy’s poney likes your grain, Just as weel as 'twere his ain:
Stocks o’ corn, and shaves o’ pease; Whiles your hens, and whiles yew geese For, faith, he’s no so easy scared, It’s a’ ane to Bauldy Baird.
On Bauldy Baird the law was vile, To draw him on a cart to jail; But Bauldy Baird, the pauky deevil, Split the loop, and left the beagle; O'er the dike and through the fie’ls, Bauldy ran wi’ mettle heels. Watch the corn stack, Robin Law, For Bauldy Baird’s run awa’, O rin, and let the bailie ken, That Bauldy Baird's come again!
FINIS.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Bauldy Baird

Bauldy Baird.
[Air, "Donald Caird."]
Bauldy Baird's come again, Bauldy Baird's come again, Tell the news through brugh and glen, Bauldy Baird's come back again!
O Bauldy Baird can buy and sell Barrels o' herring, and lades o' meal,
Cheat till the guidman be poor, And pouch till the guidwife look sour; Laugh and clatter, curse and ban, Tell a lee wi' ony man. Tell the news to a' you ken, That Bauldy Baird's come again.
Bauldy Baird can drink, I trow, Till a' the bodies roun' be fou; Ilka ane that shares his bicker, Kens how Bauldy pays his liquor. When your fou, he's on the catch: He'll buy your blankets, corn, or watch. Ye sharpers a', though London-rear'd, Are a' but cuifs to Bauldy Baird.
Bauldy Baird can brag o' gambling, Kens the airts o' dark dissembling. Bauldy Baird can mak' a fen, To cut the Jack, an' Catch-the-ten. ​Farmer bodies! watch your pease, Hide your butter, eggs, and cheese, For whether ripe, or in the braird, It's a' ane to Bauldy Baird.
O! close that slap there, steak that yett, Else some stooks will tak' the gate; For Bauldy's poney likes your grain Just as weel as 'twere his ain: Stooks o' corn, and sheaves o' pease; Bees' skeps, and saugh trees: For faith, he's no so easy scar'd, It's a funny shot that'll hit Bauldy Baird.
On Bauldy Baird the law was vile, To draw him on a cart to jail; But Bauldy Baird, the pawkie deevil, Deed he slipt the loop and left the beagle; O'er the dike an' through the fiel's, Bauldy ran wi' mettle heels. Watch the corn stack, Robin Shaw, For Bauldy Baird's run awa'.
# Bauldy Baird

* "Bauldy Baird", in The Hallow Fair (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Stirling
* "Bauldy Baird", in The King's muster (1823), a chapbook printed in Glasgow
* "Bauldy Baird", in The Book of Scottish Song (1843), edited by Alexander Whitelaw
# The Hawking Wench, or, Gowf my Logie (1803, Glasgow)/Mira's Charms

MIRA’S CHARMS.
# The Poetical Works of the Right Hon. George Granville, Lord Lansdowne/73

TO MIRA.
I.
Prepar’d to rail, reſolv’d to part, When I approach the perjur’d fair, What is it awes my tim’rous heart? Why does my tongue forbear?
II.
With the leaſt glance a little kind,5 Such wondrous pow’r have Mira’s charms, She calms my doubts, enſlaves my mind, And all my rage diſarms.
III.
Forgetful of her broken vows, When gazing on that form divine,10 Her injur’d vaſſal trembling bows, Nor dares her ſlave repine.12
# Poems upon Several Occasions/39

To MYRA. SONG.
PRepar'd to rail, resolv'd to part, When I approach the perjur'd Maid, What is it awes my timorous Heart? Why is my Tongue afraid? With the least Glance a little kind, Such wond'rous Pow'r have Myra's Charms; She calms my Doubts, enslaves my Mind, And all my Rage disarms. Forgetful of her broken Vows, When gazing on that Form divine Her injur'd Vassal trembling bows, Nor dares her Slave repine.
# Poems upon Several Occasions/19

To MYRA.
I.
O Death, how slow to take my part! Whatever I pursue, denies, Death, Death it self, like Myra flies.
II.
At the same fatal Birth my Breast; No Hope could be, her Scorn was all That to my destin'd Lot cou'd fall.
III.
But in warm Climes, where no Snow fell; Like Plants, that kindly Heat require, To be maintain'd by constant Fire.
IV.
A little Hope———But I have none: On Air the poor Camelions thrive, Deny'd even that, my Love can live.
V.
And grow in spight of Winds, and spread; The more the Tempest tears and shakes My Love, the deeper Root it takes.
VI.
And certain Death to other's Love, That Poison, never yet withstood, Does nourish mine, and turns to Food.
VII.
Condemn'd to suffer deathless Smart? Like sad Prometheus, thus to lye In endless Pain, and never dye.