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Young Dawson was a gallant youth,
A brighter never trod the plain : And well he lov'd one charming maid,
And dearly was he lov'd again.
The gracious prince that gives him life
Would crown a never-dying flame, And every tender babe I bore
Should learn to lisp the giver's name.
O then her mourning coach was callid,
The fledge inov'd slowly on before; Tho’borne in a triumphal car, .
She had not lov’d her favourite more."
And sever'd was that beauteous neck,
Round which her arms had fondly clos'd And mangled was that beauteous breait,
On which her love-fick head repos'd;
My death, my death alone can show,
The pure and lafing love I bore: Accept, o heaven, of woes like ours,
And let us, let us weep no more.