C JEMMY DAWSON. OME liflen to my mournful tale, Ye tender hearts, and lovers dear; Nor will you fcorn to heave a figh, Nor will you blush to shed a tear. And thou, dear Kitty, peerless maid, Young Dawfon was a gallant youth, One tender maid fhe lov'd him dear, But curfe on party's hateful ftrife, 1 Their colours and their fafh he wore, And in the fatal drefs was found; How pale was then his true love's cheek, So pale, nor yet so chill appear. With faltering voice fhe weeping faid, Yet might fweet mercy find a place, The gracious prince that gives him life Should learn to lifp the giver's name. But though, dear youth, thou fhouldft be dragg'd To yonder ignominious tree, Thou shalt not want a faithful friend To fhare thy bitter fate with thee. G O then her mourning coach was call'd, She had not lov'd her favourite more. She followed him, prepared to view And the laft fcene of Jem ny's woes Diflorted was that blooming face, Which fhe had fondly lov'd fo long: And flifled was that tuneful breath, Which in her praife had fweetly fung: And fever'd was that beauteous neck, And ravifh'd was that conftant heart, Amid thofe unrelenting flames She bore this conftant heart to fee; But when 'twas moulder'd into duft, Yet, yet, fhe cried, I'll follow thee. J My death, my death alone can fhow The pure and lafting love I bore: The difmal fcene was o'er and paft, The lover's mournful hearfe retir'd; Tho' juftice ever muft prevail, The tear my Kitty fheds is due; YOU MEANER BEUTY ES. Y OU meaner beutyes of the night, Which poorely fatisfy our eyes, More by your number then your light, Like common people of the skyes; What are yee, when the moon doth rise? Yee violets, that first appeare, By your purple mantles known, Like proud virgins of the yeare, As if the fpring were all your owne; What are yee when the rofe is blown? Yee wandring chaunters of the wood, By weak accents: What is your praise So when my miftris shall be seen In fweetneffe of her looks, and minde; By vertue first, then choyce a queen; Tell mee if fhee was not defignde The ecclipfe and glory of her kinde |