ills and far away:
_Over the Hills_, &c.

For if we go 'tis one to Ten,
But we return all Gentlemen,
All Gentlemen as well as they,
When o'er the Hills and far away:
_Over the Hills_, &c.

_A_ Scotch SONG. _Set by Mr._ JOHN BARRETT.

[Music]

Ah! foolish Lass, what mun I do?
My Modesty I well may rue,
Which of my Joy bereft me;
For full of Love he came,
But out of silly shame,
With pish and phoo I play'd,
To muckle the coy Maid,
And the raw young Loon has left me.

Wou'd _Jockey_ knew how muckle I lue,
Did I less Art, or did he shew,
More Nature, how bleast I'd be;
I'd not have reason to complain,
That I lue'd now in vain,
Gen he more a Man was,
I'd be less a coy Lass,
Had the raw young Loon weel try'd me.

_A_ SONG _in the Comedy call'd_ Justice Buisy, _or the_ Gentleman
Quack: _Set by Mr._ John Eccles, _Sung by Mrs._ Bracegirdle.

[Music]

No, no ev'ry Morning my Beauties renew,
Where-ever I go, I have Lovers enough;
I Dress and I Dance, and I Laugh and I Sing,
Am lovely and lively, and gay as the Spring:
I Visit, I Game, and I cast away Care,
Mind Lovers no more, than the Birds of the Air,
Mind Lovers no more, than the Birds of the Air.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ WILLIS.

[Music]

Now my Freedom's regain'd, and by _Bacchus_ I swear,
All whining dull whimsys of Love I'll cashire:
The Charm's more engaging in Bumpers of Wine,
Then let _Chloe_ be Damn'd, but let this be Divine:
Whilst Youth warms thy Veins, Boy embrace thy full Glasses,
Damn _Cupid_ and all his poor Proselyte Asses;
Let this be thy rule _Tom_, to square out thy Life,
And when Old in a Friend, thou'lt live free from all Strife,
Only envied by him that is plagu'd with a Wife.

_A_ Scotch SONG, _the Words by Mr._ Peter Noble, _Set by Mr._ John
Wilford.

[Music]

Bonny _Scottish_ Lads that keens me weel,
Lith ye what, ye what good Luck Ise fun;
_Moggey_ is mine own in spight o'th' De'el,
I alone her Heart has won:
Near St. _Andrew's_ Kirk in _London_ Town,
There Ise, Ise met my Dearest Joy;
Shinening in her Silken Hued and Gown,
But ne'er ack, ne'er ack she prov'd not Coy.

Then after many Compliments,
Streight we gang'd into the Kirk;
There full weel she tuck the documents,
And flang me many pleasing Smirk:
Weel I weat that I have gear enough,
She's have a Yode to ride ont;
She's neither drive the Swine, nor the Plough,
Whatever does betide ont.

_A N