Up she pull'd the Dam sure and let the Water in, The Wheel went about, and the Mill began to grind: The spindle it was hardy, and the steanes were they well pickt, And the Meal fell in the Mill Trough, and ye may all come lick: _With a hey trolodel, hey trolodel, hey trolodel lill,_ _Bonny_ Peggy Ramsey _she gives weel her Mill._ _A_ SONG. _Writ by the Famous Mr._ NAT. LEE. _Philander_ and _Sylvia_, a gentle soft Pair, Whose business was loving, and kissing their Care; In a sweet smelling Grove went smiling along, 'Till the Youth gave a vent to his Heart with his Tongue: Ah _Sylvia_! said he, (and sigh'd when he spoke) Your cruel resolves will you never revoke? No never, she said, how never, he cry'd, 'Tis the Damn'd that shall only that Sentence abide. She turn'd her about to look all around, Then blush'd, and her pretty Eyes cast on the Ground; She kiss'd his warm Cheeks, then play'd with his Neck, And urg'd that his Reason his Passion would check: Ah _Philander_! she said, 'tis a dangerous Bliss, Ah! never ask more and I'll give thee a Kiss; How never? he cry'd, then shiver'd all o'er, No never, she said, then tripp'd to a Bower. She stopp'd at the Wicket, he cry'd let me in, She answer'd, I wou'd if it were not a sin; Heav'n sees, and the Gods will chastise the poor Head Of _Philander_ for this; straight Trembling he said, Heav'n sees, I confess, but no Tell-tales are there, She kiss'd him and cry'd, you're an Atheist my Dear; And shou'd you prove false I should never endure: How never? he cry'd, and straight down he threw her. Her delicate Body he clasp'd in his Arms, He kiss'd her, he press'd her, heap'd charms upon charms; He cry'd shall I now? no never, she said, Your Will you shall never enjoy till I'm dead: Then as if she were dead, she slept and lay still, Yet even in Death bequeath'd him a smile: Which embolden'd the Youth his Charms to apply, Which he bore still about him to cure those that die. _A_ SONG. [Music] Your Hay it is mow'd, and your Corn is reap'd, Your Barns will be full, and your Hovels heap'd; Come, my Boys come, Come, my Boys come, And merrily roar our Harvest home: Harvest home, Harvest home, And merrily roar our Harvest home. _Come, my Boys come_, &c. We ha' cheated the Parson, we'll cheat him agen, For why should a Blockhead ha' One in Ten: One in Ten, One in Ten, For why should a Blockhead ha' One in Ten, _One in Ten_, &c. For prating too long, like a Book learnt Sot, 'Till Pudding and Dumpling are burnt to Pot: Burnt to Pot, Burnt to Pot, 'Till Pudding and Dumpling are burnt to Pot. _Burnt to Pot_, &c. We'll toss off our Ale till we cannot stand, And hey for the Honour of old _England_; Old _England_, Old _England_, And hey for the Honour of old _England_, _Old_ England, _&c._ _A_ SONG. [Music] I prithee send me back my Heart, Since I cannot have thine: For if from yours you will not part, Why then should you have mine.