i urn thro' the gay, gaudy day,

as hopeless i se on thy char;

but welco the dreao' sweet sluer,

for then i alockt in thine ar—jessy.

here's a health, c.

i guess by the dear angel sle,

i guess by the love-rolling e'e;

but why urge the tender confession,

'gainst fortune's fell, cruel decree?—jessy.

here's a health, c.