NOW my Freedom’s regain’d, and by Bacchus I swear,
All whining dull whimsys of Love I’ll cashire:
The Charm’s more engaging in Bumpers of Wine,
Then let Chloe be Damn’d, but let this be Divine:
Whilst Youth warms thy Veins, Boy embrace thy full Glasses,
Damn Cupid and all his poor Proselyte Asses;
Let this be thy rule Tom, to square out thy Life,
And when Old in a Friend, thou’lt live free from all Strife,
Only envied by him that is plagu’d with a Wife.
A Scotch Song, the Words by Mr. Peter
Noble, Set by Mr. John Wilford.
[[Listen]]
BONNY Scottish Lads that keens me weel,
Lith ye what, ye what good Luck Ise fun;
Moggey is mine own in spight o’th’ De’el,
I alone her Heart has won:
Near St. Andrew’s Kirk in London Town,
There Ise, Ise met my Dearest Joy;
Shinening in her Silken Hued and Gown,
But ne’er ack, ne’er ack she prov’d not Coy.
Then after many Compliments,
Streight we gang’d into the Kirk;
There full weel she tuck the documents,
And flang me many pleasing Smirk:
Weel I weat that I have gear enough,
She’s have a Yode to ride ont;
She’s neither drive the Swine, nor the Plough,
Whatever does betide ont.
