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In battle's wild commotion,

The proud and mighty Mars
With hostile scythes demands his tithes

of death in warlike cars ; While Peggy, peaceful goddess,

Has darts in her bright eye,
That knock men down in the market town,

As right and left they fly ;
While she sits in her low-backed car,
Than battle more dangerous far,

For the doctor's art

Cannot cure the heart,
That is hit from that low-backed car.

Sweet Peggy round her car, sir,

Has strings of ducks and geese,
But the scores of hearts she slaughters

By far outnumber these ;
While she among her poultry sits,

Just like a turtle-dove,
Well worth the cage, I do engage,

of the blooming god of Love ! While she sits in her low-backed car, The lovers come near and far,

And envy the chicken

That Peggy is pickin',
As she sits in her low-backed car.

Her mother she sells laces long

To such as please to buy 'em ;
But sure such folks could ne'er beget

So sweet a girl as Sally!
She is the darling of my heart,

And she lives in our alley.
When she is by I leave my work,

I love her so sincerely ;
My master comes like any Turk,

And bangs me most severely.
But let him bang his bellyful,

I 'll bear it all for Sally ;
For she's the darling of my heart,

And she lives in our alley.
Of all the days that's in the week

I dearly love but one day,
And that's the day that comes betwixt

The Saturday and Monday ;
For then I'm drest all in my best

To walk abroad with Sally ;
She is the darling of my heart,

And she lives in our alley.
My master carries me to church,

And often am I blamed
Because I leave him in the lurch

As soon as text is naméd :
I leave the church in sermon-time,

And slink away to Sally,
She is the darling of my heart,

And she lives in our alley.
When Christmas comes about again,

0, then I shall have money! I'll hoard it up, and, box and all,

I 'll give it to my honey ; 0, would it were ten thousand pound !

I'd give it all to Sally ;
For she's the darling of my heart,

And she lives in our alley.
My master and the neighbors all

Make game of me and Sally,
And but for her I'd better be

A slave, and row a galley ; But when my seven long years are out,

0, then I 'll marry Sally! 0, then we'll wed, and then we'll bed,

But not in our alley !

O, I'd rather own that car, sir,

With Peggy by my side,
Than a coach and four, and gold galore,

And a lady for my bride ;
For the lady would sit forninst me,

On a cushion made with taste,
While Peggy would sit beside me,

With my arm around her waist, While we drove in the low-backed car, To be married by Father Mahar ;

0, my heart would beat high

At her glance and her sigh, Though it beat in a low-backed car !




Of all the girls that are so smart

There's none like pretty Sally ; She is the darling of my heart,

And she lives in our alley. There is no lady in the land

Is half so sweet as Sally ; She is the darling of my heart,

And she lives in our alley.


Her father he makes cabbage-nets,

And through the streets does cry 'em ;

O LOVELY Mary Donnelly, it's you I love the

best! If fifty girls were around you, I'd hardly see the rest;


me still.

Be what it may the time of day, the place be O, might we live together in lofty palace hall, where it will,

Where joyful music rises, and where scarlet curSweet looks of Mary Donnelly, they bloom before tains fall;

0, might we live together in a cottage mean and

small, Her eyes like mountain water that's flowing on

With sods of grass the only roof, and mud the a rock,

only wall ! How clear they are ! how dark they are ! and

O lovely Mary Donnelly, your beauty 's my dis-, they give me many a shock; Red rowans warm in sunshine, and wetted with It's far too beauteous to be mine, but I'll never a shower,

wish it less; Could ne’er express the charming lip that has the proudest place would fit your face, and I am me in its power.

poor and low,

But blessings be about you, dear, wherever you Her nose is straight and handsome, her eyebrows

may go!

tress ;

lifted up,


Her chin is very neat and pert, and smooth like

a china cup; Her hair 's the brag of Ireland, so weighty and

THE POSIE. so fine, It's rolling down upon her neck, and gathered O, LUVE will venture in where it daurna weel be in a twine.


0, luve will venture in where wisdom ance has been ! The dance o' last Whit-Monday night exceeded But I will down yon river rove amang the woods

sae green : all before ;

And a' to pu' a posie to my ain dear May. No pretty girl for miles around was missing from the floor ;

The primrose I will pu', the firstling o' the year, But Mary kept the belt of love, and 0, but she and I will pu’ the pink, the emblem o' my dear, was gay ;

For she's the pink o' womankind, and blooms She danced a jig, she sung a song, and took my

without a peer : heart away!

And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May.


When she stood up for dancing, her steps were I'll pu' the budding rose, when Phæbus peeps in so complete,

view, The music nearly killed itself, to listen to her For it's like a balmy kiss o' her sweet bonnie mou';

The hyacinth 's for constancy, wi' its unchanging The fiddler mourned his blindness, he heard her blue: so much praised,

And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May.
But blessed himself he was n't deaf when once
her voice she raised.

The lily it is pure, and the lily it is fair,
And in her lovely bosom I'll place the lily there ;

The daisy's for simplicity and unaffected air : And evermore I'm whistling or lilting what you

And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. sung ; Your smile is always in my heart, your name be. The hawthorn I will pu’, wi' its locks o’ siller gray, side my tongue.

Where, like an aged man, it stands at break o' day; But you've as many sweethearts as you 'd count But the songster's nest within the bush I winna on both your hands,

take away : And for myself there's not a thumb or little

And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. finger stands.

The woodbine I will pu', when the e'ening star O, you ’re the flower of womankind, in country or in town;

And the diamond draps o' dew shall be her een The higher I exalt you, the lower I'm cast down. sae clear ; If some great lord should come this way and see The violet 's for modesty, which weel she fa's to

your beauty bright, And

you to be his lady, I'd own it was but right. And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May.

is near,

wear :

Though they deck no princely halls, In bouquets for glittering balls,

My gentle Mary Lee ! Richer hues than painted walls

Will make them dear to thee; For the blue and laughing sky Spreads a grander canopy Than all wealth's golden skill,

My charming Mary Lee ! Love would make them dearer still,

That offers them to thee.

My wreathéd flowers are few,
Yet no fairer drink the dew,

My bonny Mary Lee !
They may seem as trifles too,

Not, I hope, to thee ;
Some may boast a richer prize
Under pride and wealth's disguise ;
None a fonder offering bore

Than this of mine to thee ;
And can true love wish for more ?
Surely not, Mary Lee !



MAXWELTON braes are bonnie
Where early fa's the dew,
And it's there that Annie Laurie
Gie'il me her promise true,
Gie'd me her promise true,
Which ne'er forgot will be ;
And for bonnie Annie Laurie
I'd lay me doune and dee.

Her brow is like the snaw drift ;
Her throat is like the swan ;
Her face it is the fairest
That c'er the sun shone on,
That e'er the sun shone on;
And dark blue is her ee;
And for bonnie Annie Laurie
I'd lay me doune and dee.

I 'll tie the posie round wi' the silken band o' luve, And I 'll place it in her breast, and I 'll swear by

a' above, That to my latest draught o' life the band shall

ne'er remove : And this will be a posie to my ain dear May.



I HAVE traced the valleys fair
In May morning's dewy air,

My bonny Mary Lee !
Wilt thou deign the wreath to wear,

Cathered all for thee ?
They are not flowers of Pride,
For they graced the dingle-side ;
Yet they grew in Heaven's smile,

My gentle Mary Lee !
Can they fear thy frowns the while

Though offered by me ?
Here's the lily of the vale,
That perfumed the morning gale,

My fairy Mary Lee !
All so spotless and so pale,

Like thine own purity.
And might I make it known,
'T is an emblem of my own
Love, if I dare so name

My esteem for thee.
Surely flowers can bear no blame,

My bonny Mary Lee.
Here's the violet's modest blue,
That 'neath hawthorns hides from view,

My gentle Mary Lee,
Would show whose heart is true,

While it thinks of thee.
While they choose each lowly spot,
The sun disdains them not;
I'm as lowly too, indeed,

My charming Mary Lee;
So I 've brought the flowers to plead,

And win a smile from thee.

Here's a wild rose just in bud ;
Spring's beauty in its hood,

My bonny Mary Lee !
"T is the first in all the wood

I could find for thee.
Though a blush is scarcely seen,
Yet it hides its worth within,
Like my love ; for I've no power,

My angel Mary Lee,
To speak unless the flower

Can make excuse for me.

Like dew on the gowan lying
Is the fa' o' her fairy feet;
And like the winds in summer sighing,
Her voice is low and sweet,
Her voice is low and sweet ;
And she's a' the world to me;
And for bonnie Annie Laurie
I'd lay me doune and dee.


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Love is a sickness full of woes,

All remedies refusing ;
A plant that most with cutting grows,
Most barren with best using.

Why so ?
More we enjoy it, more it dies;
If not enjoyed, it sighing cries

Heigh-ho !

For cares cause kings full oft their sleep to spill, Where weary shepherds lie and snort their fill :

Ah then, ah then, If country loves such sweet desires gain, What lady would not love a shepherd swain ? Thus with his wife he spends the year as blithe As doth the king at every tide or syth,

And blither too ; For kings have wars and broils to take in hand, When shepherds laugh, and love upon the land :

Ah then, ah then, If country loves such sweet desires gain, What lady would not love a shepherd swain ?


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When Delia on the plain appears,
Awed by a thousand tender fears,
I would approach, but dare not move ;
Tell me, my heart, if this be love.
Whene'er she speaks, my ravished ear
No other voice than hers can hear;
No other wit but hers approve ; —
Tell me, my heart, if this be love.

If she some other swain commend,
Though I was once his fondest friend,
His instant enemy I prove ;
Tell me, my heart, if this be love.

When she is absent, I no more
Delight in all that pleased before,
The clearest spring, the shadiest grove ;-
Tell me, my heart, if this be love.

Ah! what is love? It is a pretty thing,
As sweet unto a shepherd as a king,

And sweeter too ;
For kings have cares that wait upon a crown,
And cares can make the sweetest face to frown:

Ah then, ah then, If country loves such sweet desires gain, What lady would not love a shepherd swain ? His flocks are folded ; he comes home at night As merry as a king in his delight,

And merrier too ; For kings bethink them what the state require, Where shepherds, careless, carol by the fire :

Ah then, ah then, If country love such sweet desires gain, What lady would not love a shepherd swain ? He kisseth first, then sits as blithe to eat His cream and curd as doth the king his meat,

And blither too ; For kings have often fears when they sup, Where shepherds dread no poison in their cup :

Ah then, ah then, If country loves such sweet desires gain, What lady would not love a shepherd swain ? Upon his conch of straw he sleeps as sound As doth the king upon his beds of down,

More sounder too ;

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Like fire in logs, it glows and warms 'em long; And though the flame be not so great,

Yet is the heat as strong.



Ho! pretty page, with the dimpled chin,

That never has known the barber's shear, All your wish is woman to win ; This is the way that boys begin,

Wait till you come to forty year. Curly gold locks cover foolish brains ;

Billing and cooing is all your cheer, Sighing, and singing of midnight strains, Under Bonnybell's window-panes,

Wait till you come to forty year.
Forty times over let Michaelmas pass;

Grizzling hair the brain doth clear ;
Then you know a boy is an ass,
Then you know the worth of a lass,

Once you have come to forty year.
Pledge me round; I bid ye declare,

All good fellows whose beards are gray,
Did not the fairest of the fair
Common grow and wearisome ere

Ever a month was past away?
The reddest lips that ever have kissed,

The brightest eyes that ever have shone,
May pray and whisper and we not list,
Or look away and never be missed,

Ere yet ever a month is gone. Gillian's dead ! God rest her bier,

How I loved her twenty years syne ! Marian's married ; but I sit here, Alone and merry at forty year,

Dipping my nose in the Gascon wine.




If chance assigned,
Were to my mind,
By every kind

Of destiny ;
Yet would I crave
Naught else to have,

But dearest life and liberty.


Yet Love hath echoes truer far

And far more sweet
Than e'er, beneath the moonlight's star,
Of horn or lute or soft guitar

The songs repeat.

'T is when the sigh in youth sincere

And only then,
The sigh that 's breathed for one to hear
Is by that one, that only Dear

Breathed back again.



Ah, how sweet it is to love !

Ah, how gay is young desire !
And what pleasing pains we prove

When we first approach love's fire !
Pains of love are sweeter far
Than all other pleasures are.
Sighs which are from lovers blown

Do but gently heave the heart :
E'en the tears they shed alone

Cure, like trickling balm, their smart. Lovers, when they lose their breath, Bleed



away in

Love and Time with reverence use,

Treat them like a parting friend ;
Nor the golden gifts refuse

Which in youth sincere they send :
For each year their price is more,
And they less simple than before.

Love, like spring-tides full and high,

Swells in every youthful vein ; But each tide does less supply,

Till they quite shrink in again. If a flow in age appear, 'T is but rain, and runs not clear.





The fire of love in youthful blood,
Like what kindled in brushwood,

But for a moment burns ;
Yet in that moment makes a mighty noise ;
It crackles, and to vapor turns,

And soon itself destroys.

But when crept into aged veins
It slowly burns, and then long remains,

And with a silent heat,

Then were I sure,
I might endure
The displeasure

Of cruelty ;

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