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 Be happy ye Fair Ones, whom Freedom has given,

The virtue and ſpirit her cauſe maintain,

Whoſe Raiment o'er vies with the Mantle of Heaven

When Phœbus unclouded, juſt ſtarts from the Main

To guard Love and Beauty, we make it our duty,

To aid their Felicity, ever combine:

Come ſee

Daughters of Liberty

Greeting with rapture the Sons of the Tyne.



Here was a fair Maiden, her Name it was Gillian,

Her Manners were Sage, tho' her Carriage was free,

You ſcarcely would meet ſuch a Girl in a Million,

Her Charms were the Pride of the North Country;

All ſhe ſaid, came ſo wittily,

She danc'd with ſuch Grace, and ſhe chaunted ſo prettily.

No Madames of France, nor Signiora's of Italy,

Could cope with this Laſs of the North Country.

Oh Lords, and fine Gentlemen, crowed to woo her,

Each begging her moſt humble Servant to be,

One brought Coach and Horſes, ſome proffer'd Gold to her

Some Cloaths and fine Jewels most Splendid to ſee,

But in vain, all their Brav'ry

She ſaid flat and plain, that ſhe ſaw thro' their Knav'ry,

And rather would ſpend her whole Life-time in slav'ry,

Than bring ſuch Diſgrace on the North Country.

going one Day to the Wood with young Roger,

To gather ſweet Poſies for he, and for ſhe,

Cupid obſerv'd them, a comical Codger,

And laid himſelf under a Sycamore Tree,

Out he drew, from his Quiver,

A Shaft that a Heart made of Marble would ſhiver,

He Shot—there was none a poor Maid to deliver,

And wounded this Laſs of the North Country. Young