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The festal dance young shepherds lead,
or sing their love tun’d lay:
Till May, in morning robe draws nigh,
and claims a virgin Queen,
The nymphs and swains exulting cry,
“here’s Kate of Aberdeen,”
Something Else to Do.
To its own Proper Tune.
THE sun was deeping in the main,
Bright Cynthia silver’d all the plain,
When Colin turn’d his team to rest,
And fought the lass he lov’d the best.
As tow’rd her co'e he jogg’d along,
Her name was frequent in his song;
But when his errand Dolly knew,
She vow’d she’d something else to do.
He swore he did esteem her more,
Than any maid he’d seen before,
In tender sighs pretending, he
Would constant as the turtle be;
Talk’d much of death, shou’d die refuse,
And us’d such arts as lovers use,
'Tis fine, says Doll, if ’tis but true.
But now I’ve something else to do.
Her pride then Collin thus addrest,
Forgive me, Doll, I did but jest,
To her that's kind I’ll constant prove,
But, trust me I’ll ne’er die for love.
Tho’ first she did his courtship scorn:
Now Doll began to court in turn:
Dear Collin, I was jesting too,
Step in, I’ve nothing else to do.
F I N I S.
