12th. of June  The Wind varying about all this day, very hot & Sultry in the Morning Sultry & very cloudy in the Evening, as forebodeing thunder, I received to Day a Scotch Song, which for the beauty and humour of it deserves to be here inserted. The Tune: Peggy grieves me. as followeth– 

Hear me ye Nymphs and every Swain,  

I'll tell how Peggy grieves me; 

Thus I languish and complain  

Alass! she ne'r believes me

My Vowes & Sighs like silent Air  

Unheeded never move her    

at the + bonny Bush about Traquair 

’Twas there I first did x lover her   

Scotch Dialect +boony 

Scotch dialect x loove

[this written to the right of the first verse on page 26 sw]

That Day she smiled, and made me glad,  

No maid seem'd ever kinder:  I

thought my self the * luckiest Lad. 

So sweetly there to find her;   

I strove to Sooth my Amorous flame

With words that I thought tender   

If more there past, I'm not to blame   

I meant not to offend her. 

Scotch Dialect *lwckiest. [this written to the right of the second verse on page 26 sw]

But now she scornfull flies the Plain,  

(The Fields we then frequented,) 

And when we meet, she shews disdain    

And looks as ne're acquainted   

But the Bonny Bush bloome'd fair in May

its Sweets I'll e're remember  

But Now her Frowns makes it decay

It fades as in December.

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