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At church every morning her prayers she would scan And each night sigh and think of-the duty of man, With her groaning, moaning, sighing, dying ta bernacle-love feasts.
The follies of youth she had long given o'er,
With her household, leasehold, freehold, and her copyhold and tenement.
The first who appear'd on this am'rous list,
With his waistcoat, breeches, measures, scissors, button-holes, and buckram.
The next was a Butcher, of slaughter ox fame,
With his sheep's head, lamb's fry. chitterlinshis marrow bones and clevers.
After many debates, which occasion'd much strife, 'Mongst love sick admirers to make her his wife, Te end each dispute came a man out of breath, Who elop'd with the maid, and his name was grim Death.
With his pick axe, sexton, coffin, funeral, skeleton, and bone house..
HAD I A HEART FOR FALSEHOOD
Had I a heart for falsehood framed,
For though your tongue no promise claim'd,
To you no soul shall bear deceit,
No stranger offer wrong,
But when they learn that you have blest
They'll bid aspiring passion rest,
Ye banks and braes, and streams around,
Green be your woods, and fair your flow'rs,
Their simmer first unfaulds her robes,
How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk,
As underneath their fragrant shade,
Was my sweet Highland Mary.
Wi' mony a vow, and lock'd embrace,
O pale, pale now, those rosy lips,
Mr. Peter Snout was invited out,
He had but one shirt, and he made a route,
The dinner was nigh, and shirt not dry,
Oh dear Mrs. Snout, what are you about?
They expect me at five, so says the note,
A clean cravat I'll tie round my throat,
He came to the house, and doff'd his hat,
He made a fine bow and down he sat,
The weather was rainy, now mind the rig,
He could not go home, but was forced to pig,
I shall sleep very well, said he.
Parson Botch always changed his linen at night,
And Mr. Snout, long before it was light,
The bedfellows soon at breakfast met,
Parson Botch, he pretended the law he would get, Says Mr. Snout, 'tis a folly to fret,
I appeal to this company.
The ladies all vow'd Mr. Botch was a sinning,
Said they, with a vast deal of blushing and grinning
We all took notice of Mr. Snout's linen:
So off with the shirt went he.
THE SOLDIER'S ADIEU.
Adieu, adieu, my only life!
Those tears but ill become thee; What though by duty I am called,
Where thundering cannons rattle, Where valour's self might stand appall'd, When on the wings of my dear love, To heaven above,
Thy fervent orisons are flown !
My safety thy fair truth shall be,
And sword and buckler serving;
Because of thy preserving.
Let thundering cannons rattle,
Assured when on the wings of love,
Enough with that benignant smile,
Some kindred God inspire thee, Who knew thy bosom void of guile,
Who wondered and admired thee, I go assured, my life, adieu,
Tho' thundering cannons rattle,