The Book of Scottish Song/My dearie, if thou dee

My dearie, if thou dee.

[This was written by Robert Crawfurd, and appears in the Tea-Table Miscellany, 1724. The beautiful air called "My dearie, if thou die" is older than Ramsay's day, but the original words of the song are supposed to be lost.]

Love never more shall give me pain,
⁠My fancy's fix'd on thee:
Nor ever maid my heart shall gain,
⁠My Peggie, if thou dee.
Thy beauties did such pleasure give,
⁠Thy love's so true to me;
Without thee I shall never live,
⁠My dearie, if thou dee.

If fate shall tear thee from my breast,
⁠How shall I lonely stray!
In dreary dreams the night I'll waste,
⁠In sighs the silent day.
I ne'er can so much virtue find,
⁠Nor such perfection see:
Then I'll renounce all womankind,
⁠My Peggie, after thee.

No new-blown beauty fires my heart,
⁠With Cupid's raving rage;
But thine, which can such sweets impart,
⁠Must all the world engage.
'Twas this that like the morning sun,
⁠Gave joy and life to me;
And, when its destined day is done,
⁠With Peggie let me dee.

Ye powers that smile on virtuous love,
⁠And in such pleasures share,
Ye who its faithful flames approve,
⁠With pity view the fair:
Restore my Peggie's wonted charms,
⁠Those charms so dear to me;
Oh, never rob them from those arms—
⁠I'm lost if Peggie dee.

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