The Irish Dragoons, or, Pretty Peggy of Derby O/Lampton's march

LAMPTON'S MARCH.

COme all ye young damſels give ear to my moan,
Lament my misfortune ſince my love is gone,
For to my vexation he's gone o'er the main,
And left me behind in grief to complain.

⁠Thro' ſhady groves and vallies I'll wander and rove,
And like the constant turtle lament for my love,
Though through foreign nations he boldly doth roam,
With laurels of victory 1 hope he'll come home

⁠My love was handſome, both comely and tall,
'Mong the ſhepherd ſwains was the flow's of them ail,
His ſweet lovely carriage, his lovely air and mein,
May juſtly intitle him to the love of a queen.

⁠But to my misfortune he's gone o'er the main,
In my arm. I expect to enfold him again:
When the lofty lark & linnet ſhall niher in the Spring,
And the birds in the valleys melodiouſly ſing,

⁠How bleſt were the days with my Damon I've ſeen,
How often has he told me he'd make me his queen;
What wreaths of flow'rs did he bring to the grove,
And within pleaſant bow'rs repeated his love.

⁠But wars, love's alarms, hath caus'd him to rove,
And quite from my arms hath torn my dear love;
Now peace is proclaimed, I hope him to ſee,
To feed my fair flock on the banks of the Lee.

⁠Let Fiora's fair bower its mourning put on,
And the feather'd ſongſters forget their e'ening ſong,
Let ſhepherds in concert for Damon lament,
Since his noble preſence ſtill give them content.

⁠But now he has left us, our joys they are fled,
Let a wreath of green willows adorn each head,
'Till my love does return once more to the green,
And is claſped in the arms of Roſalind his queen,

⁠From the ſhore's pleaſant dreams to the banks of the Lee,
The peer of my Damon I never could ſee:
His looks were ſo pleaſant, ſo chearful and gay:
He charms the nymphs in the merry month of May.

⁠He ſung ſo harmonious which made the vallies ring,
And the birds is ſweet concert melodiouſly ſing:
The nymphs & young ſwains all crowd from afar,
And thought themſelves happy while my ſhepherd was near.

⁠Let mirth, joy and pleaſure, in vallies ne'er be ſeen,
Let nymphs & young ſhepherds no more grace the green,
Let the lark and linnet no more ſtrain their throats,
Or charm the bowers with their ſoft melting notes.

⁠Let Flora's gay mantle no more grace the grove,
'Till the happy day of the return of my love:
Then all our paſt pleaſures we'll renew once again,
And above all my pleaſures, I'll crown him my ſwain