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I thought myſelf the luckieſt lad, ſo ſweetly there to find her: I try'd to ſoothe my am'rous flame, in words that I thought tender. I more than pass'd I'm not to blame; I means not to offend her:

Yet now ſhe ſcornſul flees the plain, the fields we then frequented Where'er ſhe meets the ſhews diſdain, ſhe looks as ne'er aquainted The bonny luſh bloom'd fair in May, its sweets I'll ay remember, But now her ſweets makes decay, it fades as in December,

Ye rural powers who hear my ſtrains, why thus ſhould Piggy grieve me Oh! make her partner in my pains, then lether ſmirks relieve me: If not, my love will turn despair, my paſſion no more tender; I'll leave the Buſh aboon Traquire, to losely woods I'll wander.

Every Inch & Sailor

THE wind blew hard, the sea ran high, The dingy scud drove cross the sky, All was safe stow'd the bowl was slung, When careless thus Ned Haulyard sung, A sailor's life's the life for meǃ He takes his duty merrilie Of winds can whistle, he can sing, Still faithful to his friends and king,