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Some things in view may turn a prize,
til it fill my love-ſick arms.
No curſed gold, no beauty bright,
ſhall ever gain him from me,
But like the turtle I ſhall remain,
'till he returns unto me.
No coſtly robes, no beds of down,
ſhall make me to ſurrender;
Although we part he has my heart
on board the Cambridge Tender.
The JOYS of the HARVEST.
COME all ye Lads and Laſſes,
together let us go,
Into ſome pleaſant corn-field,
our courage for to ſhow.
With the edge of our ſickles,
ſo brave we clear the land?
Work on my boys the Farmer cries,
here's liquor at command.
With a good old leathern bottle,
and beer that is to brown,
We ſtrip and reap together,
while bright Phœbus does go down:
So early in the morning,
the birds begin to ſing,
Such echoes of ſweet harmony,
make all the groves to ring.
And in comes pretty Nancy,
