New Song, to the Tune of Cauld Kail in Aberdeen/Matty

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MATTY.

While Phœbus reposes in Thetis's bosom,
While white thro' the branches the moonlight is seen;
Here, lonely, I rove, near the old hawthorn's blossom,
To meet wi' my Matty, and stray o'er the green.

Nor hardship, nor care now my bosom harasses,
My moments, from fame and its nonsense are free;
Ambition I leave to the folly of asses,
For Matty is fame and ambition to me.

The great may exclaim, and with fury enclose me,
But fools, or the rabble, shall growl now in vain;
Their madness, their malice shall ne'er discompose me,
Since Matty commends and delights iu my strain.

And kind is the lovely, the charming young creature,
Sweet beauty and innocence smile in her cheek;
In raptures I wander and gaz'd on each feature,
My bosom unable its transports to speak.

When lock'd arm in arm we retire from the city,
To stray through the meadow or shadowy grove,
How oft do I wake her compassion and pity,
While telling some tale of unfortunate love.

Her innocent answers delight me to hear them,
For art or dissembling to her are unknown;
And false protestations she knows not to fear them,
But thinks that each heart is as kind as her own.

And lives there a villain, who, born to dissemble,
Would dare an attempt to dishonour her fame;
May blackest confusion, surrounding, assemble,
And bury the wretch in distraction and shame.

Ye pow'rs! be my task to protect and behold her,
To wander delighted with her all the day:
When sadness dejects, in my arms to enfold her,
And kiss, in salt raptures, her sorrows away.

But hush! who comes yonder? 'tis Matty, my dearest;
The moon, how it brightens, while she treads the plain!
I'll welcome my beautiful nymph, by the nearest,
And pour my whole soul in her bosom again.