A Song, to the Tune of Tweed-Side

What Charms do surround thy fair Form, What Beauties are glanc'd from thine Eyes; The Graces thy Face do adorn, Our Senses and Souls do surprise.

Sweet Fragrance ambrosial and gay, With Innocence chaste and serene, Sit smiling around thee each Day, A ravishing Sight to be seen.

The Nightingale chimes to thy Voice, The Syrens do yield to thy Song; With Ecchoes the Groves do rejoice; Thy Musick the Swains have undone.

Thy Mein so erect, fair and tall, Such winning Attraction displays; Thy Mind the best Beauty of all, My Wish and Affections does raise.

Thou peerless and sweet killing Dame, What Cupids do bask on thy Brow; Their Shafts do augment my sad Pain, O quickly then grant me your Love.

Suspend me no longer in Pain, But sweetly vouchsafe me a Smile; Nor let my Soul sigh thus in vain, Nor yet my fond Fancy beguile.

Come with me, my Maid, to yon Grove, Where Nymphs with their Swains do resort; Whose Bowers invite us to Love, Where Cupids do revel and sport:

In Bliss we'll enjoy the long Day, Our Flocks will be feeding close by, Their Lambkins around us will play, No Monarch's so happy as we.