The Tea-table Miscellany..

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Mr. Thomas Ruddiman, 1724 - Ballads, English - 182 pages
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Page 149 - Wi' cauk and keel' I'll win your bread, And spindles and whorles for them wha need, Whilk is a gentle trade indeed, To carry the gaberlunzie on. I'll bow my leg, and crook my knee. And draw a black clout o'er my ee ; A cripple or blind they will ca' me, While we shall be merry and sing.
Page 59 - O ! turn and let compassion seize That lovely breast of thine ; Thy petticoat could give me ease, If thou and it were mine. Sure heaven has fitted for delight That beauteous form of thine, And thou'rt too good its laws to slight, By hind'ring the design.
Page 133 - Ogie. But I fear the gods have not decreed For me fo fine a creature, Whofe beauty rare makes her exceed All other works in nature. Clouds of defpair furround my love, That are both dark and fogie : Pity my cafe ye powers above, Elfe I die for Katharine Ogie.
Page 73 - She shall a lover find me ; And that my faith is firm and pure, Tho" I left her behind me. Then Hymen's sacred bonds shall chain My heart to her fair bosom, There, while my being does remain, My love more fresh shall blossom.
Page 5 - Tweed, gliding gently through those, Such beauty and pleasure does yield . The warblers are heard in the grove, The linnet, the lark, and the thrush, The blackbird, and sweet cooing dove, With music enchant every bush.
Page 3 - Twas there I firft did love her. That day fhe fmil'd, and made me glad, No maid feem'd ever kinder ; I thought myfelf the luckieft lad, So fweetly there to find her.
Page 48 - Ye fpeak right well, guidman, But ye maun mend your hand, And think o' modefty, Gin ye'll not quat your land : We are but young, ye ken, And now we're gawn the gither, A houfe is butt and benn, And Crummie will want her fother.
Page 29 - Tis true thy charms, O powerful maid, To life can bring the silent shade: Thou canst surpass the painter's art, And real warmth and flames impart. But oh! it ne'er can love like me, I've ever loved, and loved but thee : Then, charmer, grant my fond request, Say thou canst love, and make me bless'd.
Page 147 - Be sure ye dinna quat the grip Of ilka joy when ye are young, Before auld age your vitals nip, And lay ye twafald o'er a rung. Sweet youth's a...
Page 7 - How does my love pass the long day ? Does Mary not tend a few sheep ? Do they never carelessly stray, While happily she lies asleep...

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