Song. Fanny of the Hill. 1770

If gentle Love's immortal fire Could animate the quill, Soon should the rapture-speaking Lyre Sing Fanny of the Hill. Betsy

My panting heart incessant moves, No interval 'tis still; And all my ravish'd nature loves Sweet Fanny of the Hill. Betsy

Her dying soft expressive eye, Her elegance must kill, Ye Gods! how many thousands die For Fanny of the Hill. Betsy

A love-taught tongue angelic air A sentiment, a skill In all the graces of the Fair, Mark Fanny of the Hill. Betsy

Thou mighty Power, eternal Fate, My happiness to fill, O! bless a wretched Lover's state With Fanny of the Hill. Betsy