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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,
Do thou a penfive ear incline;
For thou canft weep at every woe,
And pity every plaint, but mine.

Young Dawfon 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.

One tender maid fhe lov'd him dear,
Of gentle blood the damfel came,
And faultlefs was her beauteous form,
And spotlefs was her virgin fame.

But curfe on party's hateful ftrife,
That led the faithful youth aftray,
The day the rebel clans appear'd;
O had he never feen that day!

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Their colours and their fafh he wore,

And in the fatal drefs was found;
And now he must that death endure,
Which gives the brave the keenest wound.

How pale was then his true love's cheek,
When Jemmy's fentence reach'd her ear?
For never yet did Alpine fnows

So pale, nor yet so chill appear.

With faltering voice fhe weeping faid,
Oh Dawson, monarch of my heart,
Think not thy death fhall end our loves,
For thou and I will never part.

Yet might fweet mercy find a place,
And bring relief to Jemmy's woes,
O GEORGE, without a prayer for thee
My orifons fhould never close.

The gracious prince that gives him life
Would crown a never-dying flame,
And every tender babe I bore

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,
The fledge mov'd flowly on before;
Tho' borne in a triumphal car,

She had not lov'd her favourite more.

She followed him, prepared to view
The terrible behefts of law;

And the laft fcene of Jem ny's woes
With calm and fledfaft eye fhe faw.

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,
Round which her arms had fondly clos'd
And mangled was that beauteous breast,
On which her love-fick head repos'd;

And ravifh'd was that conftant heart,
She did to every heart prefer;
For tho' it could his king forget,
'Twas true and loyal fill to her.

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.

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My death, my death alone can fhow

The pure and lafting love I bore:
Accept, O heaven, of woes like ours,
And let us, let us weep no more.

The difmal fcene was o'er and paft,

The lover's mournful hearfe retir'd;
The maid drew back her languid head,
And fighing forth his name, expir'd.

Tho' juftice ever muft prevail,

The tear my Kitty fheds is due;
For feldom fhall fhe hear a tale,
So fad, fo tender, and fo true.

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,
That fill the ayre with natures layes,
Thinking your paffions underflood

By weak accents: What is your praise
When Philomel her voyce fhall raife?

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

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