The Book of Scottish Song/Oh, how could I venture

Oh, how could I venture.

[Also written by Dr. Webster to the tune of "Alloa House," and first printed, though in an incomplete form, in the Scots Magazine for November, 1747. This lyric is marked by very fervent passion, and may be thought by some to be rather strong language for a clergyman to use; but indeed, it is a curious fact that we are indebted to the cloth for many of our best love-songs. The following four lines cannot be sufficiently admired:

When I see you, I love you; when hearing, adore;
I wonder, and think you a woman no more;
Till, mad wi' admiring, I canna contain,
And, kissing your lips, you turn woman again.

"There is a tradition," says Mr. Chambers, "that Dr. Webster wrote this song in early life, in consequence of a lady of superior rank, whom he was I engaged to woo for another, condescending to betray a passion for him." The lady in question, to whom Dr. Webster was eventually married, was a daughter of Colonel Erskine of Alva, and nearly related to the Dundonald Camily.]

Oh, how could I venture to love one like thee,
And you not despise a poor conquest like me,
On lords, thy admirers, could look wi' disdain,
And knew I was naething, yet pitied my pain?
You said, while they teased you with nonsense and dress,
When real the passion, the vanity's less;
You saw through that silence which others despise,
And, while beaux were a-talking, read love in my eyes.

Oh, how shall I fauld thee, and kiss a' thy charms,
Till, fainting wi' pleasure, I die in your arms;
Through all the wild transports of ecstacy tost,
Till, sinking together, together we're lost!
Oh, where is the maid that like thee ne'er can cloy,
Whose wit can enliven each dull pause of joy;
And when the short raptures are all at an end,
From beautiful mistress turn sensible friend?

In vain do I praise thee, or strive to reveal,
(Too nice for expression,) what only we feel:
In a' that ye do, in each look and each mien,
The graces in waiting adorn you unseen.
When I see you, I love you; when hearing, adore;
I wonder and think you a woman no more:
Till, mad wi' admiring, I canna contain,
And, kissing your lips, you turn woman again.

With thee in my bosom how can I despair?
I'll gaze on thy beauties, and look awa' care;
I'll ask thy advice, when with troubles opprest,
Which never displeases, but always is best.
In all that I write I'll thy judgment require;
Thy wit shall correct what thy charms did inspire.
I'll kiss thee and press thee till youth is all o'er,
And then live in friendship, when passion's no more.

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