The Unhappy couple/Jenny May

JENNY MAY.

WHen Phœbus firſt ſalutes the eaſt,
and dew-drops deck each thorn,
When ploughmen ſhake off dowry reſt,
⁠and hunters wind the horn:
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.

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Printed by J.& M. ROBERTSON, Saltmarket, 1802.