Page:Cruel father, or, The loyal lover's downfal (2).pdf/7

 Heaven prefers our Royal Sov'reign,

long may he the sceptre sway.

His fleets and armies be victorious,

over every enemy.





'ER half the sky the blushing dawn,

her purple vest had spread

When Sally cross'd the dewy lawn,

with milk-pail on her head.

Her brow as month of April sweet,

her cheeks were rosy red

Her dress was white and lovely neat,

as milk-pail on her head.

While nymphs who breath the city air,

their mornings waste in bed;

Young Sally sings as sky-lark clear,

with milk-pail on her head.

Her sloe-black eyes their lustre take,

from virtue only bred;

Her bosom ne'er felt conscious ache,

since milk pail grac'd her head.

For courtly dames I ne'er shall fret,

but ah! would Sally wed,

I'd bless the spot where first we met

with milk-pail on her head.