Song, pp.152-153.

[Tea-Table Miscellany Contents]

To the Tune of, Montrose’s Lines

– 

I Toss and tumble thro’ the night, 

And wish th’ approaching day, 

Thinking when darkness yields to light, 

I’ll banish care away: 

But when the glorious sun doth rise, 

And chear all nature round, 

All thoughts of pleasure in me dies; 

My cares do still abound. 

– 

My tortur’d and uneasy mind 

Bereaves me of my rest; 

My thoughts are to all pleasure blind, 

With care I’m still opprest: 

But had I her within my breast, 

Who gives me so much pain, 

My raptur’d soul would be at rest, 

And softest joys regain. 

– 

I’d not envy the god of war, 

Bless’d with fair Venus’ charms, 

Nor yet the thundring Jupiter

In fair Alcmena’s arms: 

Paris with Helen’s beauty blest, 

Wou’d be a jest to me; 

If of her charms I were possest, 

Thrice happier I wou’d be. 

– 

But since the Gods do not ordain 

Such happy fate for me, 

I dare not ‘gainst their will repine, 

Who rule my destiny. 

With sprightly wine I’ll drown my care, 

And cherish up my soul; 

When e’er I think on my lost fair, 

I’ll drown her in the bowl. 

New Words by Different Hands

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