Or, My Love Annie’s very bonny.
WHat numbers shall the muse repeat?
What verse be found to praise my Annie?
On her ten thousand graces wait,
Each swain admires, and owns she’s bonny.
Since first she strode the happy plain,
She set each youthful heart on fire;
Each nymph does to her swain complain,
That Annie kindles new desire.
This lovely darling dearest care,
This new delight, this charming Annie,
Like summer’s dawn she’s fresh and fair,
When Flora’s fragrant breezes fan ye.
All day the am’rous youths conveen,
Joyous they sport and play before her;
All night, when she no more is seen,
In blessful dreams they still adore her.
Among the crowd Amyntor came,
He look’d, he lov’d, he bow’d to Annie;
His rising sighs express his flame,
His words were few, his wishes many.
With smiles the lovely maid reply’d,
Kind shepherd, why should I deceive ye?
Alas! your love must be deny’d,
This destin’d breast can ne’er relieve ye.
Young Damon came with Cupid’s art,
His wyles, his smiles, his charms beguiling,
He stole away my virgin heart;
Cease, poor Amyntor, cease bewailing.
Some brighter beauty you may find,
On yonder plain the nymphs are many;
Then chuse some heart that’s unconfin’d,
And leave to Damon his own Annie.
– New Words by Different Hands.