(8)
Then light as air I ſeek the ſhade,
whence glides the ſilver Tay,
And tune my pipe to that ſweet maid,
whoſe name is Jenny May.
At noon, when ſultry Sol is found,
to ſcorch the verdant plain;
When nibling flocks are panting round,
and ſeem to live in pain;
Then ſhelter'd in the ſtraw thatch'd cot,
I paſs the time away:
The higheſt folk I envy not,
give me but Jenny May.
When riding down the diſtant weſt,
the god of light declines,
By many varied ſtreaks confeſt,
delightfully he ſhines;
With nymphs and ſhepherds op the plain,
I ſtill am blythe and gay;
But yet my ſofteſt ſweeteſt ſtrain,
muſt flow to Jenny May.
In ſpring, in ſummer, autumn too,
in winter's furieſt rage,
Days, hours, and months I'll ſtill purſue,
my fancy to engage:
For ev'ry moments ev'ry hour,
and ev'ry paſſing day,
Shall while kind Nature gives me pow'r,
be true to Jenny May.
Printed by J.& M. ROBERTSON, Saltmarket, 1802.
