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 My own dear somebody.

When I’m laid low, and am at rest, And may be number'd with the blest, Then shall thy artless feeling break, Throb with regard for somebody. Ah! will you drop one pitying tear, And sigh for the lost somebody.

But should I ever live to see, That form so much admir'd by me, Then would my constancy reward, And make me blest with somebody. Then shall my tears be dried by thee. And I’ll be blest with somebody.





FROM place to place I travers'd long, devoid of care or sorrow; With lightsome heart, and merry song, I thought not of to-morrow But when Priscilla caught my eye, with every charm a ray'd in, I sigh'd and sung, I knew not why, dear little Cottage Maiden.

And wou'd the charmer be but mine, sweet nymph, I so reverse thee, I’d gladly share my fate with thine, and evermore be near thee: Tho gold may please the proud & great, my heart with love is laden. Then let us join in wedlock’s state, dear little Cottage Maiden.