SONG. FANNY[|BETSY] OF THE HILL. 1770. IF gentle Love's immortal fire Could animate the quill, Soon should the rapture-speaking Lyre Sing Betsy of the Hill. My panting heart incessant moves, No interval 'tis still; And all my ravish'd nature loves Sweet Betsy of the Hill. Her dying soft expressive eye, Her elegance must kill, Ye Gods! how many thousands die For Betsy of the Hill. A love-taught tongue angelic air A sentiment, a skill In all the graces of the Fair, Mark Betsy of the Hill. Thou mighty Power, eternal Fate, My happiness to fill, O! bless a wretched Lover's state With Betsy of the Hill.