Yet to read the shameful story How the Jews abused their King, How they served the Lord of Glory, Makes me angry while I sing. See the kinder shepherds round Him, Telling wonders from the sky! Where they sought Him, there they found Him, With His Virgin mother by. See the lovely babe a-dressing; Lovely infant, how He smiled! When He wept, the mother’s blessing Soothed and hush’d the holy child. Lo, He slumbers in His manger, Where the hornèd oxen fed: Peace, my darling; here’s no danger, Here’s no ox anear thy bed. ’Twas to save thee, child, from dying, Save my dear from burning flame, Bitter groans and endless crying, That thy blest Redeemer came. May’st thou live to know and fear Him, Trust and love Him all thy days; Then go dwell for ever near Him, See His face, and sing His praise! THOMAS PARNELL 1679-1718 _436._ _Song_ When thy beauty appears In its graces and airs All bright as an angel new dropp’d from the sky, At distance I gaze and am awed by my fears: So strangely you dazzle my eye! But when without art Your kind thoughts you impart, When your love runs in blushes through every vein; When it darts from your eyes, when it pants in your heart, Then I know you’re a woman again. There’s a passion and pride In our sex (she replied), And thus, might I gratify both, I would do: Still an angel appear to each lover beside, But still be a woman to you. ALLAN RAMSAY 1686-1758 _437._ _Peggy_ My Peggy is a young thing, Just enter’d in her teens, Fair as the day, and sweet as May, Fair as the day, and always gay; My Peggy is a young thing, And I’m not very auld, Yet well I like to meet her at The wawking of the fauld. My Peggy speaks sae sweetly Whene’er we meet alane, I wish nae mair to lay my care, I wish nae mair of a’ that’s rare; My Peggy speaks sae sweetly, To a’ the lave I’m cauld, But she gars a’ my spirits glow At wawking of the fauld. My Peggy smiles sae kindly Whene’er I whisper love, That I look down on a’ the town, That I look down upon a crown; My Peggy smiles sae kindly, It makes me blyth and bauld, And naething gi’es me sic delight As wawking of the fauld. My Peggy sings sae saftly When on my pipe I play, By a’ the rest it is confest, By a’ the rest, that she sings best; My Peggy sings sae saftly, And in her sangs are tauld With innocence the wale of sense, At wawking of the fauld. wawking] watching. lave] rest. wale] choice, best. WILLIAM OLDYS 1687-1761 _438._ _On a Fly drinking out of his Cup_