OH! how you protest and solemnly swear,
Look humble, and fawn like an Ass;
I’m pleas’d, I must own, when ever I see
A Lover that’s brought to this pass.
Keep, keep further off, you’re naughty I fear,
I vow I will never, will never, will never yield to’t;
You ask me in vain; for never I swear,
I never, no never, I never, no never,
I never, no never will do’t.

For when the Deed’s done, how quickly you go,
No more of the Lover remains,
In hast you depart, whate’er we can do,
And stubbornly throw off your Chains:
Desist then in time, let’s hear on’t no more,
I vow I will never yield to’t;
You promise in vain, in vain you adore,
For I will never, no never will do’t.

JOckey met with Jenny fair
Betwixt the dawning and the Day,
And Jockey now is full of Care,
For Jenny stole his Heart away:
Altho’ she promis’d to be true,
Yet she, alas, has prov’d unkind,
That which do make poor Jenny rue,
For Jenny’s fickle as the Wind:
And, ’Tis o’er the Hills, and far away,
’Tis o’er the Hills, and far away,
’Tis o’er the Hills, and far away,
The Wind has blown my Plad away.

Jockey was a bonny Lad,
As e’er was born in Scotland fair;
But now poor Jockey is run mad,
For Jenny causes his Despair;
Jockey was a Piper’s Son,
And fell in Love while he was young:
But all the Tunes that he could play,
Was, o’er the Hills, and far away,
And, ’Tis o’er the Hills, and far away,
’Tis o’er the Hills and far away,
’Tis o’er the Hills and far away,
The Wind has blown my Plad away.

When first I saw my Jenny’s Face,
She did appear with sike a Grace,
With muckle Joy my Heart was fill’d;
But now alas with Sorrow kill’d.

Oh! was she but as true as fair,
’Twou’d put an end to my Despair;
But ah, alass! this is unkind,
Which sore does terrify my Mind;
’Twas o’er the Hills, and far away,
’Twas o’er the Hills, and far away,
’Twas o’er the Hills, and far away,
That Jenny stole my Heart away.

Did she but feel the dismal Woe
That for her Sake I undergo,
She surely then would grant Relief,
And put an end to all my Grief:
But oh, she is as false as fair,
Which causes all my sad Despair;
She triumphs in a proud Disdain,
And takes Delight to see my Pain;
’Tis o’er the Hills, &c.

Hard was my Hap to fall in Love,
With one that does so faithless prove;
Hard was my fate to court the Maid,
That has my constant Heart betray’d:
A thousand times to me she swore,
She would be true for evermore:
But oh! alas, with Grief I say,
She’s stole my Heart, and ran away;
’Twas o’er the Hills, &c.

Good gentle Cupid take my part,
And pierce this false one to the Heart,
That she may once but feel the Woe,
As I for her do undergo;
Oh! make her feel this raging Pain,
That for her Love I do sustain;
She sure would then more gentle be,
And soon repent her Cruelty;
’Tis o’er the Hills, &c.

I now must wander for her sake,
Since that she will no Pity take,
Into the Woods and shady Grove,
And bid adieu to my false Love:
Since she is false whom I adore,
I ne’er will trust a Woman more,
From all their Charms I’ll fly away,
And on my Pipe will sweetly play;
’Tis o’er the Hills, &c.

There by my self I’ll sing and say,
’Tis o’er the Hills, and far away,
That my poor Heart is gone astray,
Which makes me grieve both Night and Day;
Farewel, farewel, thou cruel she,
I fear that I shall die for thee:
But if I live, this Vow I’ll make,
To love no other for your sake.
’Tis o’er the Hills, and far away,
’Tis o’er the Hills, and far away,
’Tis o’er the Hills, and far away,
The Wind has blown my Plad away.

HARK! now the Drums beat up again,
For all true Soldiers Gentlemen,
Then let us list, and march I say,
Over the Hills and far away;
Over the Hills and o’er the Main,
To Flanders, Portugal and Spain,
Queen Ann commands, and we’ll obey,
Over the Hills and far away.

All Gentlemen that have a Mind,
To serve the Queen that’s good and kind;
Come list and enter into Pay,
Then o’er the Hills and far away;
Over the Hills, &c.

Here’s Forty Shillings on the Drum,
For those that Volunteers do come,
With Shirts, and Cloaths, and present Pay,
When o’er the Hills and far away;
Over the Hills, &c.

Hear that brave Boys, and let us go,
Or else we shall be prest you know;
Then list and enter into Pay,
And o’er the Hills and far away,
Over the Hills, &c.

The Constables they search about,
To find such brisk young Fellows out;
Then let’s be Volunteers I say,
Over the Hills and far away;
Over the Hills, &c.

Since now the French so low are brought,
And Wealth and Honour’s to be got,
Who then behind wou’d sneaking stay?
When o’er the Hills and far away;
Over the Hills, &c.

No more from sound of Drum retreat,
While Marlborough, and Gallaway beat,
The French and Spaniards every Day,
When over the Hills and far away;
Over the Hills, &c.

He that is forc’d to go and fight,
Will never get true Honour by’t,
While Volunteers shall win the Day,
When o’er the Hills and far away;
Over the Hills, &c.

What tho’ our Friends our Absence mourn,
We all with Honour shall return;
And then we’ll sing both Night and Day,
Over the Hills and far away;
Over the Hills, &c.

The Prentice Tom he may refuse,
To wipe his angry Master’s Shoes;
For then he’s free to sing and play,
Over the Hills and far away;
Over the Hills, &c.

Over Rivers, Bogs, and Springs,
We all shall live as great as Kings,
And Plunder get both Night and Day,
When over the Hills and far away,
Over the Hills, &c.

We then shall lead more happy Lives,
By getting rid of Brats and Wives,
That Scold on both Night and Day,
When o’er the Hills and far away:
Over the Hills, &c.

Come on then Boys and you shall see,
We every one shall Captains be,
To Whore and rant as well as they,
When o’er the Hills and far away:
Over the Hills, &c.

For if we go ’tis one to Ten,
But we return all Gentlemen,
All Gentlemen as well as they,
When o’er the Hills and far away:
Over the Hills, &c.

AH! foolish Lass, what mun I do?
My Modesty I well may rue,
Which of my Joy bereft me;
For full of Love he came,
But out of silly shame,
With pish and phoo I play’d,
To muckle the coy Maid,
And the raw young Loon has left me.

Wou’d Jockey knew how muckle I lue,
Did I less Art, or did he shew,
More Nature, how bleast I’d be;
I’d not have reason to complain,
That I lue’d now in vain,
Gen he more a Man was,
I’d be less a coy Lass,
Had the raw young Loon weel try’d me.

NO, no ev’ry Morning my Beauties renew,
Where-ever I go, I have Lovers enough;
I Dress and I Dance, and I Laugh and I Sing,
Am lovely and lively, and gay as the Spring:
I Visit, I Game, and I cast away Care,
Mind Lovers no more, than the Birds of the Air,
Mind Lovers no more, than the Birds of the Air.

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.

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.

DAMON if you will believe me,
’Tis not sighing o’er the Plain;
Songs nor Sonnets can’t relieve ye,
Faint Attempts in Love are vain:
Urge but home the fair Occasion,
And be Master of the Field;
To a powerful kind Invasion,
’Twere a Madness not to yield.

Tho’ she vow’s she’ll ne’er permit ye,
Says you’re rude, and much to blame;
And with Tears implores your pity,
Be not merciful for shame:
When the first assault is over,
Chloris time enough will find;
This so fierce and Cruel Lover,
Much more gentle, not so kind.

DRUNK I was last Night that’s poss,
My Wife began to Scold;
Say what I cou’d for my Heart’s Blood,
Her Clack she wou’d not hold:
Thus her Chat she did begin,
Is this your time of coming in;
The Clock strikes One, you’ll be undone,
If thus you lead your Life:
My Dear said I, I can’t deny,
But what you say is true;
I do intend, my Life to mend,
Pray lends the Pot to Spew.

Fye, you Sot, I ne’er can bear,
To rise thus e’ery Night;
Tho’ like a Beast you never care,
What consequence comes by’t:
The Child and I may starve for you,
We neither can have half our due;
With grief I find, you’re so unkind,
In time you’ll break my Heart:
At that I smil’d, and said dear Child,
I believe your in the wrong;
But if’t shou’d be you’re destiny,
I’ll sing a merry Song.

I Met with the Devil in the shape of a Ram,
Then over and over the Sow-gelder came;
I rose and halter’d him fast by the Horns,
And pick’d out his Stones, as you would pick out Corns;
Maa, quoth the Devil, with that out he slunk,
And left us a Carkass of Mutton that stunk.

I chanc’d to ride forth a Mile and a half,
Where I heard he did live in disguise of a Calf;
I bound him and Gelt him e’er he did any evil,
For he was at the best but a young sucking Devil:
Maa, yet he cries, and forth he did steal,
And this was sold after for excellent Veal.

Some half a Year after in the Form of a Pig,
I met with the Rogue, and he look’d very big;
I caught at his Leg, laid him down on a Log,
E’er a Man could Fart twice, I made him a Hog:
Huh, huh quoth the Devil, and gave such a Jerk,
That a Jew was Converted and eat of that Pork.

In Woman’s attire I met him most fine,
At first sight I thought him some Angel divine;
But viewing his crab Face I fell to my Trade,
I made him forswear ever acting a Maid:
Meaw, quoth the Devil, and so ran away,
Hid himself in a Fryer’s old Weeds as they say.

I walked along and it was my good chance,
To meet with a Black-coat that was in a Trance;
I speedily grip’d him and whip’d off his Cods,
’Twixt his Head and his Breech, I left little odds:
O, quoth the Devil, and so away ran,
Thou oft will be curst by many a Woman.

WHEN Jemmy first began to love,
He was the finest Swain;
That ever yet a Flock had drove,
Or Danc’d upon the Plain:
’Twas then that I, woe’s me poor heart,
My Freedom threw away;
And finding sweets in every part,
I could not say him nay.

For ever when he spake of Love,
He wou’d his Eyes decline;
Each Sigh he gave a Heart wou’d move,
Good faith, and why not mine:
He’d press my Hand, and Kiss it oft,
His silence spoke his Flame;
And whilst he treated me thus soft,
I wish’d him more to blame.

Sometimes to feed my Flock with his,
Jemmy wou’d me invite;
Where he the finest Songs would Sing,
Me only to Delight:
Then all his Graces he display’d,
Which were enough I trow;
To conquer any Princely Maid,
So did he me I trow.

But now for Jemmy I must Mourn,
He to the Wars must go;
His Sheephook to a Sword must turn,
Alack what shall I do?
His Bagpipes into Warlike sounds,
Must now converted be;
His Garlands into fearful Wounds,
Oh! what becomes of me?

JILTING is in such a Fashion,
And such a Fame,
Runs o’er the Nation,
There’s never a Dame
Of highest Rank, or of Fame,
Sir, but will stoop to your Caresses,
If you do but put home your Addresses:
It’s for that she Paints, and she Patches,
All she hopes to secure is her Name, Sir.

But when you find the Love fit comes upon her,
Never trust much to her Honour;
Tho’ she may very high stand on’t,
Yet when her love is Ascendant,
Her Vertue’s quite out of Doors
High Breeding, rank Feeding,
With lazy Lives leading,
In Ease and soft Pleasures,
And taking loose Measures,
With Play-house Diversions,
And Midnight Excursions,
With Balls Masquerading,
And Nights Serenading,
Debauch the Sex into Whores, Sir.

FAREWEL ungrateful Traytor,
Farewel my Perjur’d Swain:
Let never injur’d Creature,
Believe a Man again:
The pleasure of possessing,
Surpasses all expressing;
But Joys too short a Blessing,
And love too long a Pain:
But Joys too short a Blessing,
And Love too long a Pain.

’Tis easie to deceive us,
In pity of your Pain;
But when we Love, you leave us,
To rail at you in vain:
Before we have descry’d it,
There is no Bliss beside it;
But she that once has try’d it,
Will never Love again.

The Passion you pretended,
Was only to obtain;
But when the Charm is ended,
The Charmer you disdain:
Your Love by ours we measure,
’Till we have lost our Treasure;
But dying is a Pleasure,
When living is a Pain.

YOU I Love by all that’s true,
More than all things here below;
with a Passion far more great,
Than e’er Creature loved yet:
And yet still you cry forbear,
Love no more, or Love not here.

Bid the Miser leave his Ore,
Bid the Wretched sigh no more;
Bid the Old be young again,
Bid the Nun not think of Man:
Sylvia thus when you can do,
Bid me then not think on you.

Love’s not a thing of Choice, but Fate,
What makes me Love, that makes you Hate:
Sylvia you do what you will,
Ease or Cure, Torment or Kill:
Be Kind or Cruel, False or True,
Love I must, and none but you.

LET’s be merry blith and jolly,
Stupid Dulness is a Folly;
’Tis the Spring that doth invite us,
Hark, the chirping Birds delight us:
Let us Dance and raise our Voices,
Every Creature now rejoyces;
Airy Blasts and springing Flowers,
Verdant Coverings, pleasant Showers:
Each plays his part to compleat this our Joy,
And can we be so dull as to deny.

Here’s no foolish surly Lover,
That his Passions will discover;
No conceited fopish Creature,
That is proud of Cloaths or Feature:
All things here serene and free are,
They’re not Wise, are not as we are;
Who acknowledge Heavens Blessings,
In our innocent Caressings:
Then let us Sing, let us Dance, let us Play,
’Tis the Time is allow’d, ’tis the Month of May.

NO Phillis, tho’ you’ve all the Charms,
Ambitious Woman can desire;
All Beauty, Wit, and Youth that warms,
Or sets our foolish Hearts on fire:
Yet you may practice all your Arts,
In vain to make a Slave of me;
You ne’er shall re-engage my Heart,
Revolted from your Tyranny:
You ne’er shall re-engage my Heart,
Revolted from your Tyranny.

When first I saw those dang’rous Eyes,
They did my Liberty betray;
But when I knew your Cruelties,
I snatch’d my simple Heart away:
Now I defy your Smiles to win,
My resolute Heart, no pow’r th’ave got;
Tho’ once I suck’d their Poyson in,
Your Rigour prov’d an Antidote.

NOW to you ye dry Wooers,
Old Beaus, and no doers,
So doughty, so gouty,
So useless and toothless,
Your blindless, cold kindness,
Has nothing of Man;
Still doating, or gloating,
Still stumbling, or fumbling,
Still hawking, still baulking,
You flash in the Pan:
Unfit like old Brooms,
For sweeping our Rooms,
You’re sunk and you’re shrunk,
Then repent and look to’t;
In vain you’re so upish, in vain you’re so upish.
You’re down ev’ry foot.

JOCKEY loves his Moggy dearly,
He gang’d with her to Perth Fair;
There we Sung and Pip’d together,
And when done, then down I’d lay her:
I so pull’d her, and so lull’d her,
Both o’erwhelm’d with muckle Joy;
Mog. kiss’d Jockey, Jockey Moggy,
From long Night to break of Day.

I told Mog. ’twas muckle pleasing,
Moggey cry’d she’d do again such;
I reply’d I’d glad gang with thee,
But ’twould wast my muckle Coyn much:
She lamented, I relented,
Both wish’d Bodies might increase;
Then we’d gang next Year together,
And my Pipe shall never cease.

DELIA tir’d Strephon with her Flame,
While languishing, while languishing she view’d him;
The well dress’d Youth despis’d the Dame,
But still, still; but still the old Fool pursu’d him:
Some pity on a Wretch bestow,
That lyes at your Devotion;
Perhaps near fifty Years ago,
Perhaps near fifty Years ago,
I might have lik’d the Motion.

If you, proud Youth, my Flame despise,
I’ll hang me in my Garters;
Why then make hast to win the Prize,
Among loves foolish Martyrs:
Can you see Delia brought so low,
And make her no Requitals?
Delia may to the Devil go, Delia may to the Devil,
Devil go, to the Devil, Devil, Devil, Devil, Devil, Devil go for Strephon;
Stop my Vitals, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop my Vitals.

SWAIN thy hopeless Passion smother,
Perjur’d Cælia loves another;
In his Arms I saw her lying,
Panting, Kissing, Trembling, Dying:
There the Fair deceiver swore,
As once she did to you before.

Oh! said you, when She deceives me,
When that Constant Creatures leave me;
Isis Waters back shall fly,
And leave their Ouzy Channels dry:
Turn your Waters, leave your Shore,
For perjur’d Cælia loves no more.

CHLOE blush’d and frown’d and swore,
And push’d me rudely from her;
I call’d her Faithless, Jilting Whore,
To talk to me of Honour:
But when I rose and wou’d be gone,
She cry’d nay, whither go ye?
Young Damon saw, now we’re alone,
Do, do, do what you will, do what you will with Chloe:
Do what you will, what you will, what you will with Chloe,
Do what you will, what you will, what you will with Chloe.

THE Jolly, Jolly Breeze,
That comes whistling through the Trees;
From all the blissful Regions brings,
Perfumes upon its spicy Wings:
With its wanton motion curling,
Curling, curling, curling the crystal Rills,
Which down, down, down, down the Hills,
Run, run, run, run, run o’er Golden gravel purling.

THE Jolly, Jolly Bowl,
That does quench my thirsty Soul;
When all the mingling Juice is thrown,
Perfum’d with fragrant Goar Stone:
With it’s wanton Toast too, curling,
Curling, curling, curling, curling the Nut-brown Riles,
Which down, down, down, down by the Gills,
Run through ruby Swallows purling.

YOu’ve been with dull Prologues here banter’d so long,
They signify nothing, or less than a Song;
To sing you a Ballad this Tune we thought fit,
For Sound has oft nickt you, when Sence could not hit:
Then Ladies be kind, and Gentlemen mind,
Wit Capers, play Sharpers, loud Bullies, tame Cullies,
Sow grumblers, Wench Fumblers give ear ev’ry Man:
Mobb’d Sinners in Pinners, kept Foppers, Bench-hoppers,
High-Flyers, Pit-Plyers, be still if you can:
You’re all in Damnation, you’re all in Damnation for Leading the Van.

Ye Side-Box Gallants, whom the vulgar call Beaus,
Admirers of Self, and nice Judges of Cloaths;
Who now the War’s over cross boldly the Main,
Yet ne’er were at Seiges, unless at Campaign:
Spare all on the Stage, Love in every Age,
Young Tattles, Wild Rattles, Fan-Tearers, Mask-Fleerers,
Old Coasters, Love boasters, who set up for Truth:
Young Graces, Black Faces, some Faded, some Jaded,
Old Mothers, and others, who’ve yet a Colt’s Tooth:
See us Act that in Winter, you’d all Act in Youth.

You Gallery Haunters, who love to lye snug,
And maunch Apples or Cakes, while some Neighbour you hugg;
Ye lofties, Genteels, who above us all sit,
And look down with Contempt, on the Mob in the Pit,
Here’s what you like best, Jigg, Song and the rest,
Free Laughers, close Graffers, dry Jokers, old Soakers,
Kind Cousins, by Dozens, your Customs don’t break:
Sly Spouses with Blouses, grave Horners, in Corners,
Kind No-wits, save Poets, clap ’till your Hands ake,
And tho’ the Wits Damn us, we’ll say the Whims take.

CÆLIA hence with Affectation,
Hence with all this careless Air;
Hypocrisy is out of Fashion,
With the Witty and the Fair:
Nature all thy Arts discloses,
While the Pleasures she supplies;
Paint thy glowing Cheeks with Roses,
And inflame thy sparkling Eyes.

Foolish Cælia not to know,
Love thy Int’rest and thy Duty;
Thou to love alone dost owe,
All thy Joy, and all thy Beauty:
Mark the tuneful Feather’d kind,
At the coming of the Spring;
All in happy Pairs are joyn’d,
And because they love they Sing.