S O N G XX.

Tune, Banks of Banna.

I.

NO virt'ous forms, or beaut'ous nymphs,
Could e'er compare with Anna;
Nor could detain my wand'ring heart
Upon the banks of Banna:
Their charms could never last an hour,
Nor could endure like Anna;
But like a transient dream depart
All flow'rs that grow on Banna,

II.

She's fam'd for Banna's matchless prize;
No subject's fair like Anna;
I see such lustre in her eyes,
As charms me more than Banna:
When Bett and Susan's by my side,
My mind runs wide through Banna;
Each, in their turn, my heart divide,
Yet still there's room for Anna.

III.

The present always is most fair,
I roam and range through Banna:
All passion's hush'd, and quite unheard,
Whilst I think on my Anna.
From this to that I often range,
O'er all the banks of Banna;
Yet never let one moment pass,
That I could grasp my Anna.

IV.

I scorn to whinge, I freely rove
O'er all the banks of Banna;
All lawless pleasures I despise,
That e'er can hurt my Anna.
And though each lass I saw I lo'ed,
Ev'n all that live on Banna,
Yet still I scorn all womankind,
Compar'd with my dear Anna.

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