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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.

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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.

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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."

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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;

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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.

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Yee violets, that first appeare,

By your purple mantles known, Like proud virgins of the yeare,

As if the spring were all your owne; What are yee when the role is blown?

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