While birds rejoice in leafy bowers:
While bees delight in op'ning flowers;
While corn grows green in summer showers,
I'll love my gallant weaver.
Ungrateful Nannie.
[This was a popular song during the early part of last century, and may be quoted as a favourable specimen of the fashionable pastoral which then prevailed. The author, Charles Hamilton, Lord Binning, eldest son of Thomas sixth earl of Haddington, was born in the year 1696, and died at Naples in 1732.]
Did ever swain a nymph adore
As I ungrateful Nannie do?
Was ever shepherd's heart so sore?
Was ever broken heart so true?
My cheeks are swell'd with tears; but she
Has never shed a tear for me.
If Nannie call'd, did Robin stay,
Or linger when she bade me run?
She only had a word to say,
And all she ask'd was quickly done.
I always thought on her; but she
Would ne'er bestow a thought on me.
To let her cows my clover taste,
Have I not rose by break of day?
When did her heifers ever fast,
If Robin in his yard had hay?
Though to my fields they welcome were,
I never welcome was to her.
If Nannie ever lost a sheep,
I cheerfully did give her two.
Did not her lambs in safety sleep,
Within my folds in frost and snow?
Have they not there from cold been free?
But Nannie still is cold to me.
When e'er I climb'd our orchard trees,
The ripest fruit was kept for Nan:
Oh, how these hands that drown'd her bees
Were stung! I'll ne'er forget the pain:
Sweet were the combs as sweet could be;
But Nannie ne'er look'd sweet on me.
If Nannie to the well did come,
'Twas I that did her pitchers fill;
Full as they were, I brought them home;
Her corn I carried to the mill:
My back did bear her sacks: but she
Could never bear the sight o' me.
To Nannie's poultry oats I gave;
I'm sure they always had the best;
Within this week her pigeons have
Eat up a peck of peas at least.
Her little pigeons kiss; but she
Would never take a kiss from me.
Must Robin always Nannie woo?
And Nannie still on Robin frown?
Alas, poor wretch! what shall I do,
If Nannie does not love me soon?
If no relief to me she'll bring,
I'll hang me in her apron string.
I’ll never love thee more.
[This is generally ascribed to James Graham, "the great marquis of Montrose," who was executed at Edinburgh by the covenanting party, on the 21st May, 1650. It appears in Watson's Choice Collection of Scots Poems, Edinburgh 1711, where is also given what is called a Second Part, consisting of thirteen stanzas, but seemingly written by another hand. Among Cavaliers and Jacobites it was much admired, and used to be sung to the old tune of "Chevy Chace."]
My dear and only love, I pray
That little world of thee
Be govern'd by no other sway,
But purest monarchy:
For if confusion have n part,
Which virtuous souls abhor,
I'll call a synod in my heart
And never love thee more.
As Alexander I will reign,
And I will reign alone,
My thoughts did evermore disdain
A rival on my throne.
He either fears his fate too much,
Or his deserts are small,
Who dares not put it to the touch,
To gain or lose it all.
