The Vocal Magazine: Or, Compleat British Songster, Volumes 1-9

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Harrison and Company, 1781 - 359 pages
 

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Page 73 - Drink to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup And I'll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine; But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine.
Page 165 - Turn, Angelina, ever dear, My charmer, turn to see Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here, ^ ^ Restored to love and thee. Thus let me hold thee to my heart, And every care resign ; And shall we never, never part, My life — my all that's mine? No, never from this hour to part, We'll live and love so true; The sigh that rends thy constant heart, Shall break thy Edwin's too.
Page 77 - William, who high upon the yard, Rock'd with the billows to and fro. Soon as her well-known voice he heard, He sigh'd and cast his eyes below: The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands.
Page 261 - Then up and crew the red, red cock, And up then crew the gray: "Tis time, tis time, my dear Margret, That you were going away.
Page 336 - While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. When all aloud the wind doth blow, And coughing drowns the parson's saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow, And Marian's nose looks red and raw, When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, Then nightly sings the staring owl, Tu-whit; Tu-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
Page 227 - And now with me, my countrymen, Your courage forth advance; For never was there champion yet, In Scotland or in France, " That ever did on horseback come, But if my hap it were, I durst encounter man for man, With him to break a spear." Earl Douglas on his milk-white steed, Most like a baron bold, Rode foremost of his company, Whose armour shone like gold.
Page 44 - tis thus complain, Since you appear'd upon the plain; You are the cause of all my care: Your eyes ten thousand dangers dart: Ten thousand torments vex my heart: I love, and I despair.
Page 59 - plaining of her pride. Here bore him, bare-faced on his bier, Six proper youths and tall ; And many a tear bedew'd his grave Within yon kirk-yard wall.
Page 180 - In early youth I die : Was I to blame, because his bride Was thrice as rich as I ? "Ah, Colin ! give not her thy vows, Vows due to me alone : Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kiss, Nor think him all thy own.
Page 143 - Still to be neat, still to be drest, As you were going to a feast ; Still to be powdered, still perfumed: Lady, it is to be presumed, Though art's hid causes are not found, All is not sweet, all is not sound. Give me a look, give me a face; That makes simplicity a grace ; Robes loosely flowing, hair as free : Such sweet neglect more taketh me, Than all the adulteries of art ; They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.

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