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Who sees you shine in Wildair's part,
But sudden feels his bosom panting?
Your very sex receive the dart,

And almost think there's nothing wanting.




ONCE more I'll tune my vocal shell,
To hills and dales my passion tell,
A flame which time can never quell,

That burns for lovely Peggy.

Ye greater bards the lyre should hit,
For say what subject is more fit,
Than to record the sparkling wit,
And bloom of lovely Peggy.


The sun first rising in the morn,

That paints the dew-bespangled thorn,

Does not so much the day adorn,

As does my lovely Peggy.

And when in Thetis lap of rest,
He streaks with gold the ruddy west,
He's not so beauteous, as undress'd
Appears my lovely Peggy.


Were she array'd in rustic weed,
With her the bleating flocks I'd feed,
And pipe upon mine oaten reed,
To please my lovely Peggy.

With her a cottage would delight,
All's happy when she's in my sight,
But when she's gone it's endless night,
All's dark without my Peggy.


The zephyr's air, the violet blows,
Or breathes upon the damask rose,
He does not half the sweets disclose,
That does my lovely Peggy.

I stole a kiss the other day,

And, trust me, nought but truth I say, The fragrant breath of blooming May,

Was not so sweet as Peggy,


While bees from flow'r to flow'r shall rove, And linnets warble thro' the grove,

Or stately swans the waters love,

So long shall I love Peggy.

And when death with his pointed dart, Shall strike the blow that rives my heart,

My words shall be when I depart,

"Adieu my lovely Peggy!"


(Written in July 1744.)


Ulla si juris tibi pejerati

Pana, Barine, nocuisset unquam.

HOR. Lib. 2, Od. 8.

IF heav'n upon thy perjur'd head,

Had the least mark of vengeance shed,
For all thy hate to truth;

Had ev'n diminish'd any grace,

Lit up one pimple in thy face,

Or rotted but one tooth,

I would believe its pow'rs; but you
More fair, as still more faithless grow;
Charms flow from perjuries;

The more you cheat, we trust the more,
Each jilting tear 's a fruitful show'r,

That makes fresh beauties rise.

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