Song—Phillis The Fair

Epigram On The Laird Of Laggan

When Morine, deceas’d, to the Devil went down, ’Twas nothing would serve him but Satan’s own crown; “Thy fool’s head,” quoth Satan, “that crown shall wear never, I grant thou’rt as wicked, but not quite so clever.”

Tune—“Robin Adair.”

While larks, with little wing, Fann’d the pure air, Tasting the breathing Spring, Forth I did fare: Gay the sun’s golden eye Peep’d o’er the mountains high; Such thy morn! did I cry, Phillis the fair. In each bird’s careless song, Glad I did share; While yon wild-flowers among, Chance led me there! Sweet to the op’ning day, Rosebuds bent the dewy spray; Such thy bloom! did I say, Phillis the fair. Down in a shady walk, Doves cooing were; I mark’d the cruel hawk Caught in a snare: So kind may fortune be, Such make his destiny, He who would injure thee, Phillis the fair.