The American mock-bird, or Songster's delight: being a choice collection of entire new songs, as they are now sung by the best singers at all the publick places of diversion in England.

THE American Mock-Bird, OR SONGSTER's DELIGHT,

SONG I: ALL in the WRONG,

By Mr. Garrick.

YE Critics above, and ye critics below, Ye Finer-spun Critics who keep the Mid-row, Oh tarry one Moment, I'll sing you a Song. Shall prove that like us you are all in the wrong,

Sing tantara rara, all wrong all, Sing tantara rara all wrong.

Ye Poets, who mount on the fam'd winged Seed, Of Prancing, and Wineing, and Kicking take Heed. For when by those Horne••s the Critics, he's stung. You are all thrown in the Dire,—and are all in the wrong.

Sing tantara rara, &c.

Ye Actors who act, what those writers have writ, Pray stick to your Poet, and spare your own wit, For when with your own, you unbridle your Tongue, I'll hold ten to one—you are all in the wrong.

Sing tantara rara, &c.

Ye Knaves who make News for the foolish to read, Who print daily Slanders the Hungry to feed: For a While you mislead 'em the News hunting Throng, But the Pillory proves—you are all in the wrong.

Sing tantara rara, &c.

Ye grave Politicians, so deep and so Wise,— With your Hums, and your Shrugs, and your uplifted Eyes, The Road that you travel is tedlous and long, But I pray you jog on—you are all in the wrong.

Sing tantara rara, &c.

Ye happy fond Husbands, and fond happy Wives, Let never S••••picion imbitter your Lives; Let your Prudence be stou••, and your Faith be as strong, Who watch, or who catch—they are all in the wrong.

Sing tantara rara, &c.

Ye unmaried Folks be not bought; or be sold, Let Age avoid Youth, and the young ones the old; For they'd soon get together, the young with the young, And then my wife old ones—you're all in the wrong.

Sing tantara rara, &c.

Ye Soldiers and Sailors, who bravely have fought, Who Honour and Glory, and Laurels have bought, Let your Foes but appear, you'll be at 'em ding dong, And if they come near you— they're all in the wrong.

Sing tantara rara, &c.

Ye Judges of Taste to ou•• Labours be kind. Our Errors are many, pray wink or be blind, Still find your Way hither, to glad us each Night, And our Note we will change to—ye're all in the right.

Sing tantara rara, right all right all, Sing tantara rara all right.

SONG II. Song in THOMAS and SALLY,

1.

WHEN late I wander'd o'er the Plain, Fro•••• Nymph to Nymph I strove in vain, My wild Defires to rally. But now they're of themselves come Home, And strange! No longer wish ••o Roam; They centre all in Sally.

2.

Yet she unkind one, damps my Joy, And cries I court but to destroy, Can Love with Ruin tally?

By those dear Lips, those Eyes I swear, I would all Deaths, all Torments bear, Rather than injure Sally.

3.

Come then, oh! come, thou sweeter far Than Violets, and Roses are, Or Lillies of the Valley: O follow Love and quit your Fear, He'il guide you in those Arms, my Dear And make me blest in Sally.

SONG III. STREPHON and PHAEBE.

1.

YOUNG Strephon long doated on Phaebe the Fair. Whose Heart, of his Anguish did secretly share, But fearing his Passion would changeable prove, She prudently check'd the soft Dictates of Love.

2.

The Beauties you fancy, the fair One wou'd say, Are Charms for a Moment and doom'd to decay. Love founded so slightly, can never prove true, The Bloom disappears, the Passion dies too.

3.

O wrong not your Beauty, reply'd the fond Swain, It's lasting Impression will ever remain, Tho' Age like the Winter may blast thy fair Prime, Yet Virtue still blooming gains Vigour by Time.

4.

The Strongth of my Eyes with your Charms will decline, Nor gaze at a Face that is younger than thine, While this faithful Heart ever true to my Vow. Preserves thy dear Image as bright as 'tis now.

5.

Then banish dear Phaebe each Doubt and each Fear, That makes fancied Evils like real appear, The swift flying Moments with Ardour improve, And grant the reward that is due to my Love.

Kind Phaebe assenting believ'd the fond Youth Who prov'd that his Passion was founded on Truth, Tho' envious Age may her Beauty impair, Her Virtue and Honour will ever be fair.

SONG IV.

SEE how the sick'ning Year declines, The wat'ry Sun scarce gilds the Day! Bleak Winter frowns; all Nature pines, Joy darts not one enliv'ning Ray, MARIA's gone, and Pleasures flow away.

Fly swift ye winged hours, and bring, MARIA, with the op••ning Spring, With her young Hope and Joy shall come, Which in her Presence only bloom.

For, as the fragrant Breath of Spring; The genial Airs, which bless the Morn, New Life to drooping Nature bring, So shall MARIA's wish'd return, Sooth the soft Flames, which my fond Bosom burn,

Fly Swift ye winged Hours, and bring, MARIA, with the opening Spring, With her young Hope and Joy shall come, Which in her Presence only bloom.

SONG V. DELIA FAIR, A new Song,

(1)

SWELL the Song in Strains sublime, Let Majestic Numbers flow, Verse and Harmon•• combine, To hail celestial Charms below: Warbling Birds now tune your Lays, Echoes join in Delia's Praise,

All assist me to declare, The Charms of lovely Delia fair

2

Lovely as the rising Morn, In the vernal Season gay, Nobler Graces will adorn. When youth and Beauty shall decay, Smiles of Innocence and Love, Wores that Angels might approve Comely Dress and Pleasing Ai, All Charms unite in Delia Fair.

3

When the blooming Maid appears, Gladsome Na••ure smiles around, Music Strikes the ravish'd Ears, And most delightful Scenes abound, But when absent shady Bowers, Purling Streams and fragrant Flowers, All a gloomy Aspect wear, Till crown'd with Lovely Delia Fair.

4

Aid me then ye Powers above, Teach me Some peculiar art, How to banish fruitless Love, Or Captivate my Delia's Heart, Bless'd with this angelic, Prize, Other Wishes need not rise, But that both at last may share, The Joys that wait for Delia Fair,

SONG VI. CLOE's WAY.

by a YOUNG LADY;

1.

PHILANDER long had loosely rov'd, The Tyrant of the Fair, He flatter'd figh'd and swore he lov'd, Yet all was but an Air, an Air, Yet all was but an Air,

Too many a tender Female Heart, Was taken in the Snare, But glorying in his faithless Art He left them with an Air, an Air, He left them with an Air,

3

At length the God of Love enrag'd, At his insulted Sway, Against his Studied Airs ••••gag'd, Young Cloe's artless Way, her way, Young Cloe's artless Way.

4

Her Cheeks no Rose's blushing Dye, No Lily's Snow display: No Light'ning Flashes from her Eye, But she has such away, away, But she has such away.

5

No brilliancy pointed Wit, Her easy Words convey: What could his captious Fancy hit, 'Twas some thing in her Way, her Way, 'Twas something in her way,

6

Those Charms of Face and Mind had fail'd To make his Heart obey: But now it blindly yields assail'd. By Cloe's artless Way, her Way, By Cloe's artless Way,

SONG VII. WOMAN: a new Song sung by Mr. LOWE.

1.

NO longer let whimsical songsters compare, The Merits of Wine, with the Charms of the Fair, I appeal to the Men to determine between, A Tun-bellied Bacchus, and Beauty's fair Queen,

2.

The Pleasures of drinking henceforth I resign, For, tho' there is Mirth, thore is Madness in Wine,

Then let not false Sparkles our Senses beguil, 'Tis the Mention of Chloe, that makes the Glass smile

3

Her Beauties with Raptures my Senses inspire. And the more I behold her, the more I admire I But the Cha••ms of her Temper and Mind I adore, These Virtues shall bless me, when Beauty's no more,

4

How happy our Days, when with Love we engage? 'Tis the Transport of Youth, 'tis the Comfort of Age. But what are the Joys of the Bottle or Bowl? Wine tick••es the Taste, Love enraptures the Soul,

5.

A Sot as he riots in Liquor will cry, The longer I drink, the more thirsty am I; From this fair Confession, 'tis plain my good Friend, You're a Toper eternal, and drink to no End.

6.

Your big-bellied Bottle may ravish your Eye, But how foolish you'll look, when your Bottle is dry? From Woman, dear Woman, sweet Pleasures must spring, Nay, the Stoicks must own it,— she is the best Thing.

7.

Yet some Praises to Wine we may justly afford; For a Time, it will make one as great as a Lord; But Woman forever gives transport to Man, And I'll Love the dear Sex—aye as long as I can.

SONG. VIII. The MUTUAL SYMPTOMS.

Wrote by a Lady.

1.

AH! Who in all these happy Plains With Colin can compare, A Youth esteem'd by all the Swain, Belov'd by all the Fair, I think he's free from artful Wiles,

For oft with tearful Eye. He fond—ly looks at me and smiles, He does I know not why He do's I know not why.

2.

He press'd my Hand—I blush'd and sigh'd, Yet hope he did not see, And then to speak, he vainly try'd, But gently sigh'd like me, Methinks this wary Heart should know, If Colin feign'd the Sigh, Yet where he's nam'd it Flutters so, It does—I know not why.

3.

Say gentle God whose mighty Laws, Prevail o'er Nymphs and Swains, O shew my Heart the secret Cause, Of Colin's tender Pain, Say rather why this Heart entreats, The Cause of Colin's Woe? And why it Flutters why it beats, Alas! too well I know.

SONG IX. The PRIDE of MAY.

1.

NOW gaily blooms each Field and Grove, In all the Pride of May, Now sweetly sounds the Voice of Love, In ev'ry Heav'n taught Lay

2.

Cynthia, let us obey the Power, That lights these sacred Fires, Here Nature; seize the happy Hour, Nor baulk, what she inspires,

3.

For Love, impassion'd Youth was made, For Joy, its Powers design'd:

Too soon will tasteless age invade, And Care possess the Mind.

4.

Let Wisdom then our Hearts engage, When past the Sense of Joy: Now every hour, we'll live an Age, In Bliss that ne'er can cloy.

SONG X. PLATONIC LOVE.

1.

IN vain my Love, you bid me strive, To keep—a fa—mish'd Flame—a—live, Un fed—the strong—est Flame wont burn And Love grows cold—with-out—re—turn

2.

The Prude perverse, or wither'd Maid, Whose every Bud of Hopes decay'd, May slatter her Despair to prove, Th' Illusions of Platonic Love.

3.

Hear not their Lore! tis all a Cheat! But haste! that Wisdom comes not late. When barren Winter strips the Plain, We look for Summer's Fruits in vain.

4.

In prudence then you must afford. Something beyound a Look, or Word, Else on it self, my Love will prey, And die insensibly away.

SONG XI. The COMPLAINT.

1.

YE verdant Woods, ye chrystal Streams, On whose e—namell'd Side, I oft enjoy'd Sols parting Beams, When Damon was my Guide; No more your Shades or Mur-murs please, Poor Sylvia's love sick Mind;

No rural Scenes can give me ease Since Damon proves unkind.

2.

Come duskey Eve, and veil the Sky, With Clouds of Sable hue, Whither ye Herbs, ye fl••wre••s Die, Unchear'd with balmy Dew: Ye wild y wrabling Birds no more, Your Song can sooth my Mind; My Hours of Joy, alas, are o'er, Since Damon pro••es unkind.

3.

I'll hide me, to some dreary Grove, For sighing Sorrow made, Where nought but plaintive Strains of Love, Sound thro' the gloomy Shade, Where the sad Turtles melting Grief, With Philomela's join'd, Alone Shall yeild my Heart relief, Since Damon proves unkind.

4.

Be warn'd by Sylvia's Fate ye Maids, And shun the soft Deceit! Tho' Love's own Eloquence persuades, 'Tis all a dang'rous Cheat, Fly! quickly fly faithless Swain, His b••ffled Arts despise, So Shall you live, exempt from Pain While hapless Sylvia dies.

SONG XII. The WAY to Keep HIM.

1

YE fair possess'd of eve'ry Charm, To captivate the Will; Whose Smiles can Rage it self disarm, Whose Frown••, at once can kill, Say will you deign the Verse to hear, Where Flatt'ry bears no Part;

An honest verse, that flows Sincere. And candid from the Heart.

2.

Great is your Pow'r, but greater yet Mankind it might engage. If us ••e all can make a Net, Ye all could make Cage: Each Nymph a thousand Hearts may take, For who's to Beauty B••ind, But to what End a Pris'ner make. Unless we've Strength to bind.

3.

Attend the Counsel often told, Too often told in vain; Learn that best Art, the Art to hold, And lock the Lovers Chain: Gamesters to little purpose win, Who loose again as fast. Tho' beauty may the Charm begin, 'Tis Sweetness make it last.

SONG XIII. DAMON and CINTHIA.

DAMON. 1.

TURN dearest, Cinthia, turn—and see, A Youth who dies for Love of thee, Reflect with Pity on my Pain, Nor let me longer plead in vain, Canst thou behold me pine and grieve, Yet know it is godlike to relieve.

CINTHIA. 2.

Nay prithee spare me gentle Youth. Can Damon doubt of Cinthia's Truth, Be gone—I told thee once before. My Heart was thine what wou'dst thou more, I will not thus be teaz'd and prest. 'Tis Time alone must do the rest:

DAMON. 3.

Oh! Think that Sentence too severe.

I love—and Love's a Slave to Fear; Should some more wealthy Rival come, 'Twou'd quickly fix poor Damon's Doom. Who then might tend his paultry Sheep, And o'er his willow Garland weep.

CINTHIA. 4.

I swear by all the Powers above, But first and chiefly by mighty Love; 'Tis not the tinsel Pride of State; Or being what the World calls great, That ever shall debauch my Heart, To act so base so vile a Part,

DAMON, 5.

Then let us in chaste Hymen's Bands This Instant join our willing Hands, Content beneath the humble Shed, We'll toil to earn our Babies Bread; With mutual Kindness bear, Love's Yoke. And pity greater finer Folk.

SONG XIV. AN Ode to LOVE,

1.

PARENTS Divine of Heaven—ly Lore, Propi—tious to thy Vo—try prove, Thy sacred Influence impart—impart,— And teach me to disclose my Heart.

2.

That it's fond Languishings display'd, May gently move the pitying Maid, And musick's Love taught Powers reveal, What Fear forbids my Tongue to tell.

3.

O let that pure, that living Fire, Which warms my Soul with soft Desire, In artless genuine Truth exprest, Rise equal Ardours in her Breast.

4.

Creep softly thro' each tender Part,

And melt to Sympathy her Heart, So shall the grateful Muse repay. Thy power which first attun'd her Lay.

SONG XV. STREPHON of the HILL:

1.

LET others Damond's Praise rehearse, Or Co—lin's at their Will; I mean to Sing in rustic Verse, Young Strephon of the Hill.

2.

As once I set beneath a Shade, Beside a purling Rill; Who shoul'd my Sollitude invade, But Strephon of the Hill,

3.

He tapt my Shoulder, snatch'd a Kiss, I cou'd not take it ill; For nothing sure is done amiss, By Strephon of the Hill.

4.

Consent O Lovely Maid he cry'd, Nor aim thy Swain to kill; Consent this Day to be the Bride, Of Strephon of the Hill.

5.

Observe the Doves on yonder Spray, See how they sit and Bill; So sweet your Time shall pass away, With Strephon of the Hill.

6.

We went to Church with hearty Glee, O love propitious still, May every Nymph be bless'd like me, With Strephon of the Hill.

SONG XVI. NANCY CROW.

1.

AH! whence this impotence of Mind, Sure Beauty properly defi••••••, To Learning is a Foe: Newton and Pope neglected lie, Belinda can no more supply, The Place of Nancy Crow.

2.

Let Those who wou'd the explore, Of modern Wit: or antient Lore, To Foreign Climates go! To me let none propose this Task, No Proof of Nature's Force I ask, But Charming Nancy Crow.

3.

Through the smooth Surface of a Stream, When brighten'd by the Morning Beam, We see the Sands below; Thus in her Face as smooth, as clear, (Enlighten'd by her Eves) appear, The Thoughts of Nancy Crow.

4.

Had Nature, now too careless grown, Each Year the Seeds of beauty sown, Sure Time would not be slow; Since Fourteen Summers cou••d produce, A Plant so fair, so fit for use, As charming Nancy Crow.

5.

Alas! said Flora with a Tear, No more my Roses must appear, No more my Lillys blow; For oh! their boasted red, and while, Their softness, fragrance, all unite, In lovely Nancy Crow.

6.

Let those whom coarser Nerves sustain,

O'er Hills, and Dales, through rough and plain, Pu••fue the bounding D••e; 'Tis mine to chace a spright•••• Fair, Like Daphne crown'd w•••••• golden Hair, Coy temping Nancy Crow.

SONG XVII. The CHARMING BRIDE.

1.

NOW the happy Knot is ty'd, Betsey is my charming Bride, Ring the Bells and fill the Bowl, Revel all without Controul, Revel all without Controul, Who so fair as lovely Bett? Who so blest as Collinet? Who so fair as lovely Bett? Who so blest as Collinet?

2.

Now adieu to Maiden Arts, Angeling for unguarded Hearts, Welcome Hymen's la••••ing Joys Lisping wanton Girls and Boys, Lisping, &c.—&c.— Girls as fair as levely Bett, Boys as sweet as Collinet, Girls a•• &c.—&c.

3.

Tho, ripe Sheaves of yellow Corn, Now my Plentious Barn adorn, Tho' I've deck'd my Myrtle Bowers, With the fairest sweetest Flowers With the &c.—&c.— Riper fairer sweeter yet, Are the Charms of lovely Bett, Riper fair &c.—&c.—

4.

Tho' on Sundays I was seen Dress'd like any May-day Queen,

Tho' six Sweet-hearts daily strove, To deserve, thy Betty's Love, To deserve, &c.—&c.— Them I quit without Regret, All my Joy's in Collinet, Them I quit, &c.—&c.—

5.

Strike up then the rustick Lay, Crown with Sports our Bridal day, May each Lad a Mistress find, Like my Betsey fair and kind, Like my &c.—&c.— And each Lass, a Husband 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Fond and true as Collinet, And each &c.—&c.—

6.

Ring the Bells and fill the B••••••l, Revel all without Controul, May the Sun ne'er rise ne'er set, But with Joy to happy Bett, But with Joy to happy Bett May the Sun ne'er rise ne'er set, But with Joy to happy Bett, But with Joy to happy Bett And her faithful Collinet.

SONG XVIII.

LOV's a gentle generous Passion, Source of all sublime Delights, Which with mutual Inclination, Two fond Hearts in one unites.

What are Titles Pomp or Rich•• If compar'd with true Conter, That False Joy which now b•••••••••• When obtain'd we may repen••,

Lawless Passions bring Vexation, But a chaste and constant Lo••e, Is a glorious Emulation, Of the blissful State above,

SONG XIX. COLIN and PHILLIS.

COLIN.

HARK! Hark! o'er the Plains what glad•• umults we hear! How gay all the Nymphs and the S••••••••erds appear! With Myrtles and Roses new dec••'d are 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Bowers, And every Bush bears a Garland of Flower•• I can't, for my Life, what it means, understand; There's some Rural Festival surely at Ha•••••• Nor Harvest nor Sheep shearing, now can••••ake Place— But Phillis will tell me the Truth of the Case.

PHILLIS.

The Truth, honest Lad!—Why you surely hou'd know, What Rites are prepar'd in the Village below; Where gallant young Thyrsis, so fam'd and ador'd, Weds Daphne, the Sister of CORIN, our Lord, That Daphne, whose Beauty, Good Nature and ••ase, All Fancies can strike, and all Judments can please: That CORIN but Praise must the Matter ••ive o'er, You know what He is, and I need say ro more.

COLIN.

Young Thyrsis too claims, all that Horo••r can lend; His Countrymen's Glory, their Champion and Friend; Tho' such slight Memorials scarce speak 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Deserts; And trust me, His Name is engrav'd o••••••eir Hearts.

PHILLIS.

But hence to the Bridal, behold how they throng; Each Shepherd conducting his Sweethea•••• along: The joyous Occasion, all Nature inspire, With tender Affections, and chearful Des••••es.

DUETTO

Ye Pow'rs that o'er Conjugal Union or side, All gracious look down on the Bridegroom and Bride: That Beauty, and Virtue, and Valour may shine, In a Race, like themselves, with n••••••••nd to the Line, Let Honour and Glory, and Riches, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Praise. Unceasing attend them thro' numer•••• Days:

And while in a Palace Fate fix••s their Lot, Oh! may they live easy as those in a Cot

SEMI CHORUS of NYMPHS.

While the Dancers are 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the Wreaths of Flowers about the Bri••eg••••om and Bride. Fast the b••••••ming Vi••gin ••••e, No 〈◊〉〈◊〉 b••••ea••h the Roses ••••e.

SEMI CHORUS of SWAINS.

R••u••d the H••••o ••wi••tly move! Glory bind to facred Love

GRAND CHORUS as the Dance concludes.

B••ess'd for ever ma•• they be! Ever Bound, yet ever Free.

SNOG XX. LIBERTY.

To the Tune of "HEARTS OF OAK."

COME chear up, my Lads, to our Country be firm, A King of the Ocean we'll weather each S••orm; In egrit•• cal••s oat•••• Fair Liberty see, "Waves her Flag o'er our Heads, and her Words are, "BE FREE

CHORUS.

Hearts of O••k are we ••ill, for we're Sons of those Men, Who a••w••••s were ready, Steady, Boys, stead••, To fight for our Freedom again and again.

To King GEORGE, as true Subej••ts, we loyal bow down, And hope we ma•• call MAGNA CHARTA our own: Let the rest of the World slavish Worship decree, English Genius has ordered her Sons shou'd be free.

CHORUS, &c.

Poor Esau his Birthright gave up for a Bribe, But Englishmen scorn the mean Soul selling Tribe; Beyond Life our Birthright of Freedom we prize. Which in Death we'll defend, and a••jure an EXCISE.

CHORUS, &c.

On our Brows while we lawrell'd crown'd Liberty wear,

All that Englishmen ought, we as Englishmen dare; Tho' Tempests and Terrors around us we see, Bribes nor Fears can't prevail o'er the Heart which is Free.

CHORUS, &c.

With Loyalty, Liberty let us entwine, Our Blood shall for both flow as free as our Wine; Let u••ser an Example, w••at all Men shou'd be, And a Toa•••• give the World—Here's to those dare be Free.

CHORUS, &c.

SONG XXI. The RURAL BRIDE.

Sung by Miss Wright.

MY Sheperd so handsome and gay, Made Love to me just at Sixteen, In Words that were charming and pretty; I listen'd to what he might say; When met on the Mead or the Green, He kiss'd, and how pleas'd was his Betty!

He brought me the Turt••e Dove's Nest; My Lambkin with Flow'rets he deck'd: And braded my Locks that are jetty: Sweet Lillies he plac'd on my Preast, He gave me a Trush that was speck'd, And hop'd it would sing like his Betty.

But once as we walk'd through the Grove; As blithe as each Linnet was there, We met both young Nancy and Hetty: The former had once been his Love, The other came in for her Share; But all is now center'd in Betty.

To-morrow our Wedding will be; The Church-Path with Roses is strown, Where nothing is wanton or petty;

Our Lives shall glide gentle and free, Care ne'er shall see us with a Frown; My Shepherd brings Smiles to his Betty.

SONG XXII. A favourite SONG.

THE World my Dear Myra, is full of Deceit, And Friendship's a Jewel we seldom can meet, How strange does it seem that in searching around, This Source of Content is so rare to be found, Oh Friendship thou Balm and rich sweetner of Life, Kind Parent of Ease and Composer of Strife, Without thee alas, what are Riches and Pow'r But empty delusions the Joy of an Hour,

How much to be priz'd and esteem'd is a Friend On whom we may always and safely depend, Our Joys when extended will always Increase, And Griefs when divided are hush'd into Peace When Fortune is Smiling what Crouds will appear, Their Kindness, to offer and Friendship sincere, Yet change but the Prospect and point our Distress, No longer to court you, they eagerly press.

SONG XXIII. HYMEN, A new occasional INTERLUDER,

Sung by Mr. ARNE,

HOW pleasing, dear Wedlock, appear thy Domains! How soft are thy Fetters, how easy thy Chains! No Pleasure on Earth is so perfect as thine, Thy Joys with the Virtuous are almost divine; For Friendship and Love here together unite The Raptures of Sense with supernal Delight.

Hymen awake!—The God of Love attend! What Cause propitious brings my dearest Friend! Joy and Pleasure, great and free, Fill my Breast at Sight of thee!

Tell me, gentle God of Love, Why you visit Hymen's Grove? Dreadful War, the human Foe, Leaves to Peace the World below; Discord quits the frighted Land, Banish'd by the Victor's Hand. See around in ev'ry Grove, Mirth, Tranquility, and Love; Take thy Torch and Golden Carriage, Now's the Reign of Love and Marriage. Love rewards the Soldier best; Hymen makes the Virgin blest; Then, O Venus, haste away, For 'tis Hymen's Holiday.

Hymen, the sacred Rites of Love prepare! I will—But first, O Queen, for whom declare! For one divinely sent Mankind to please, Form'd to command with Dignity and Ease; Of Manners pleasing, God like where he can, A Prince! a Hero, and a worthy Man.

What but lovely blooming Youth, Grac'd with all the Charms of Truth, Fair with matchless Elegance, Can the Hero recompence.

Who around the spacious Earth, Bright with Beauty, great by Birth. Should, but she, such Merit share, Who's as virtuous as she's fair?

Jove smiles Approval from above, And gratulates connubial Love; Auspicious Fate the Union wills, And in the Pair sweet Hope instills. The Fire I've kindled! light thy Torch again: 'Tis done; and now we'll form the Marriage Chain: Bless, O Jove, the Pair we join, And with Friendship Love entwine; Realize their fancy'd Hope,

And to Rapture give full Scope; That they soon may feel with Pleasure, Joys parental without Measure. Nymphs and Shepherds, quick advance! Join the festive Song and Dance! He the Kind, and She the Fair, Blessing thus the happy Pair. We consign the bright Pair, O Great Jove! to thy Care: Deck them with Honour's glorious Crown, And make immortal Joys their own.

SONG. XXIV. The BRITISH MUSE,

Sung by Mr. Lowe.

1.

ON the white Clifts of Albion, see Fame where she stands, And her shrill swelling Notes, reach the neighbouring lands, Of the Natives Free born and their Conq••st she sings, The happiest of Men with the greatest of Kings.

2.

GEORGE the third she proclaims, his vast Glory repeats, His undismaid Legions, invi••cible Fleets; Whom nor Castles or Rocks can Honour retard, Since even Death for their King they will scorn disregard.

3.

O! but see a Cloud burst, and an Angel appears, 'Tis Peace, lovely Virgin, disolved in Tears; Say, Fame, cr••••'d the Maid, is't not Time to give o'er, With Sieges and Famine, Explosions and Go••e?

4.

His Just Rights to assert, hath the King amply triy'd, Nor his Wisdom, or Strength, can Opponents abide, Then no longer in Rage let dread Thunders be hurl'd, But leave him to me, and give Ease to the World.

5.

'Tis done, and Great GEORGE is to Mercy inclin'd, The bless'd Word is gone forth, for the good of Mankind,

'Tis the Act of a Briton to beat, then to spare; And our King is a Briton, deny it who dare.

6.

To Hodgson and Keppel let Bumpers then smile, And to all our brave Troops, who have taken Belleisle, May they meet just Reward, and with Courage advance, Still to humble the Pride and the Power of France.

7

Charge your Glasses Lip high, and drink Health to the King, To the Duke, and the Princess, and make the Air R••ng; May the Days of Great GEORGE be all happy and long, And the* 1.1 Man still be right, who yet never was wrong,

SONG XXV. The ABSENT LOVER.

sung by Mr. Tenducci.

COME ye Hours with Joy replete, When I may sigh at Cael••••'s Feet. Cease, ye feather'd Choirs, your Strains, Your chearful Notes augment my Pains; Or with me in Anguish mourn, Till the lovely Nymph return.

Not on Beauty's transient P••e••sure, Which no real Joys impart; Nor on Heaps of sordid Treasure, Did I fix my youthful Heart. 'Twas not Chloe's perfect Feature, Did the sickle Wand'rer bind; Nor her Form, the Boast of Nature; 'Twas alone, her spotless Mind.

Not on Beauty's, &c.

Take ye Swains the real Blessing That will Joys for Life ensure, The virtuous M••od alone possessing Will your lasting Bliss secure.

Not on Beauty's, &c.

SONG, XXVI. A new SONG,

Sung by Mr. Lowe, at Vauxhall,

SEE Royal Charlotte come! Sound Trumpet, beat the Drum! Britons rejoice: Whilst Bells me—lo—dious ring, We'll all in cho—rus sing, God save Third George our King, And bless his Choice.

With George we'll Charlotte join; From their united Line May Princes spring! Whose godlike Acts may claim, The sweetest Voice of Fame; Thence each deserve the Name, Of Patroit King.

O may the Royal Pair, Whilst they in Glory share, In Love increase! To them fill Bumpers round; Ye Skies, their Healths resound! And may these joys be crown'd With lasting Peace.

SONG XXVII. The PHOENIX. A new Song.

A MANDA's fair by all confess'd, Her Skin soft snow—y white; As Down that clothes the Turtles Breast. Her Eyes like Diamonds bright, Yet farther still the Nymph ex—cells, In each celestial Grace, That 'midst the Heart's soft Lab'—rinth dwells, or in the Soul takes Place.

How much superior Beauty was, The coldest Bosom's find;

But with resistless Force it draws, to Sense and Virtue join'd. The Casket where to outward show, The Artest's Hand is seen, Is doubly valu'd, when we know, It holds a Gem within.

SONG XXVIII. PHYLLIS.

By J. Cunningham,

I SAID,—On the Banks by the Stream I've pip'd for the Shepherds too long: 'Oh grant me, ye Muses a Theme 'where Glory may brighten my Song." But Pan bade me stick to my Strain, Nor Lessons too lofty rehearse; Ambition befits not a Swain, And Phyllis loves pastoral Verse.

The Rose, though a beautiful red, Looks faded to Phyllis's Bloom; The Breeze, from the Bean-flower Bed, To her Breath's but a feeble perfume; The Dew-drop so limpid and Gay, That loose on the violet lies, (though brighten'd by Phaebus's Ray) Wants Lusture compar'd to her Eyes.

A Lilly I pluck'd in full Pride, Its Freshness with her's to compare; And folishly thought (till I try'd) The Flow'ret was equally fair. How, Corydon, could you, mistake? Your Fault be with Sorrow confess'd! You said the white Swans on the Lake. For softness might rival her Breast.

While thus I went on in her Praise, My Phyllis pass'd sportive along; Ye Poets I covet no Bays, She smil'd—-a Reward for my Song!

I find the God Pan in the Right, No Fame is like the Fair-one's Applause, And Cupid must Crown with Delight The Shepherd that sings in his Cause.

SONG XXIX. A Fvourite SONG.

YE Shepherds attend to my Strain, Attend to my Woe and Despair; Your Sorrows will lessen my Pain, And your Pity alleviate my Care: Then I'll throw, all distress'd and forlorn, My Pipe and my Numbers aside; For the Sun that enlighten'd this Morn, Saw Delia, gay Corydon's Bride.

For him the bright Goddess of Dawn Enliven'd with Crimson the Skies, And for him o'er the sad dusky Lawn The Shad••s of pale Eve will arise: On Damon no Comfort must shine, While, Corydon, Joy wai••s on thee; And the Night which to Bliss you consign, Brings Anguish and Horror to me.

Ah Delia! my foolish fond Heart Your Beauties unknowingly stole; And without the Resources of Art, Unheeding you conquer'd my Soul: Your Charms were the Joy of my Sight, O'er each Feature my raptur'd Eye run; You was fair, and I gaz'd with Delight! You smil'd, and my Heart was undone

So pleasing, so sweet was the Pain, And my Mind could no Danger foresee, That with Transport I bow'd to the Chain, And never once wish'd to be free: Too late my pass'd Error I prove,

For alas! now I feel to my Cost, That when Damon submitted to Love, His Peace and his Pleasures were lost.

But Shepherds, let Delia ne'er know The Pangs I am doom'd to endure, Lest a Drop from her bright Eyes should flow, For Sorrows she never must care: Better Thousands, like Damon distress'd, In Silence those Sorrows should bear, Than a Sigh swell my Delia's soft Breast, Or her Cheek feel the Weight of a Tear. Ye Woods and ye Meadows adieu, My Flocks are dispe••s'd on the Plain; My Woes now, young Shepherds, ye view, Then attend to the Close of my Strain. When Love first your Bosom alarms, The to pleasing Poison, ah shun! She was sair, and I gaz'd on her Charms! She smil'd, and my Heart was undone.

SONG XXX. On a sensible, but ordinary Lady,

SAY, why must the Poet's soft Lays To Beauty be always confin'd? Or why not the Tribute of Praise Be paid to the Charms of the Mind?

Why need we observe (what all know) That Beauty will quickly decay; Like Flow'rs, which as soon as they blow, Droop, wither, and then fade away? Tho' not blest with that ravishing Form Which blooming Lucinda can boast, Shall we treat Celia's Friendship with Scorn? Shall we hate her because she's no Toast?

No, surely, for all must revere The Charms of her Temper and Mind; Her Judgment so solid, yet clear,

Her Tast so correct and refin'd.

Ye Swains then be prudent and wise, Nor listen to Beauty's false Voice; A Happiness pure if ye prize, Let Merit alone claim your Choice.

SONG XXXI. A new SONG,

sung by Mr. Tenducci.

IN vain to keep my Heart you strive, And seek your own uncoing, 'Tis Kindness keeps the Flame alive, But Ri—gour proves its Ruin; Would you the Ro ver should re-turn. Be courte-ous and comply-ing, No Heart did e'er with rapture burn, That met with cold de—nying.

Come prithee leave this prudish Air, Give o'er this Affectation; Hypocrisy with all the Fair, Is now quite out of Fashion; While Love and Youth are in their Prime, Enjoy these fleeting Treasure, The envious Hand or creeping Time, Destroys all Joy and Pleasure.

Kind Nature every Charm supplies, And all her Gifts discloses, With Love inflames thy sparkling Eves, And paints thy Cheeks with Roses; And shall those Roses fade away, Their fragrance yet untasted? Shall all thy Charms through Time decay, And Nature's Gifts be wasted?

Behold the Birds in yonder Grove, In h••••py Pairs combining, The Season hail of Joy and Love,

In sweetest Concert joining; But if they find a Mate too coy, And proffer'd Bliss rejected. To kinder Females soon they fly, And leave her quite neglected.

SONG XXXII. A SONG. Inscribed to Liberty:

THE Court were all met, And the Judges were set, And the Jury were sworn on the Bock, Sirs: When against Robert W—, The Charge was made good, That he W—s's Papers had took, Sirs. Then the Sons of the Law, With a Hem and a Ha, Wou'd have prov'd that the Thing was no Sin, Sirs: But after much Pain, They found 'twas in vain, For the Jury wou'd not take it in, Sirs. Then the worthy Chief Justice, In whom our Trust is, Summ'd the Evidence up in a Speech, Sirs; And made it appear, In a Manner most clear, That the Deed of the Peace was a Breach, Sirs: Till the Jury return'd. Lor••! how all of us burn'd With Impatience to know the Event, Sirs! But the Moment the Law Gave us Leave to Huzza, In a Body to W—s's we went, Sirs. And there all rej••cing, Each raising his Voice in A Manner he ne'er did before Sirs; To W—,P—, and G—n, And-I hope 'tis no Sin— But I wish of such Men we had more, Sirs.

SONG XXXIII. On the Prince and Princess of BRUNSWICK'S Departure. To the AIR of "IN INFANCY, &c."

WHEN Flora, with her plighted Love, From Thames's Bark withdrew, She sent a Lo••k to Richmond's Grove, And breath'd a Sigh o'er Kew: Oft with that Breath the Woodbine-Flow'r, The Roses, bloom'd more sweet; Now, conscious of the parting Hour, They wither at her Feet.

No more, with Song of Nymps and Swains, The sprightly Morn shall rise; Love far retreats from Richmond Plains To reign in Flora's Eyes: Thames, plantive like Euphrates, mourns His Eden's desart Sh••re, No Zephyrs blow, no Spring returns, When Flora smiles no more.

Yet her the Muse still fondly roves, At Corfeu's solemn K••ell; Where oft the Genius of the Groves Thus sings from Merlin's Cell:— —Go, happy Nymph, tho' doom'd to shine No more on Albion's Sphere; New Regions feel thy Ray divine, New Edens flourish there.

SONG XXXIV.

by Mr. SMART

WHERE shall CELIA fly for Shelter, In what secret Grove or Cave; Sights and Sonnets sent to melt her,

From the Young, the Gay, the Brave. Tho' with prudish Airs she starch her, Still she longs, and still she burns: Cupid shoots, like Hayman's Archer. Wheresoe'er the Damsel turns.

Virtue, Youth, good Sense, and Beauty, If Discretion guide us not, Sometimes are the Ruffian's Booty, Sometimes are the Booby's Lot: Now they're purchas'd by the Trader, Now commanded by the Peer; Now some subtle mean Invader, Wins the Heart, or gains the Ear.

O Discretion! thou'rt a Jewel, Or our Grand-Mammas Mistake; Stinting Flame by bating Fuel, Always careful and awake: Would you keep your Pearls from Tramplers, Weigh the Licence, weigh the Bands; Mark my Song upon your Samplers, Wear it on your Knots and Fans.

SONG XXXV. The DRUNKEN WIFE o Galloway, A SCOTS Sang.

DOWN in yon Meadow a Couple did tar—ry, The Wife she drank nathing but Wine and Ca—na—ry; To her Friends he complain'd of her right air—ly, Oh! Gin my Wife wad drink hoo ly and fairly,

She's drunken her Stockings, sae has she her Shoon, And she has drunken her bonny new Gown; She's drunken her Sark, that cover'd her airly, Oh! Gin my Wife, &c.

First she drank Crummy, and then she drank garrie; Syne she has drunken my bonny gray Marie,

That carried me thro' the Dub and the lairie, Oh! Gin my Wife, &c.

Wad she drink but her ain Things, I wad na much care, But when she drinks my Claithes that I canna well spare, When I'm wi' my Gossips, it angers me fairly, Oh! Gin my Wife, &c.

My Sunday's Coat she has laid it a wad, The best blue Bonnet e'er was o my Head; At Kirk and at Market I'm cover'd but barely, Oh! Gin my Wife, &c.

The very gray Mittons that g••id o my Hands, To her Neighbour's Wife she has laid them in Pawns, My bane headed Staff that I loo'd so dearly, Oh! Gin my Wife, &c.

When there's any Siller she maun keep the Purse, Gin I seek but a Bawbie she'll scauld and she'll curse; She lives like a Queen, I scrimpit, and sparely, Oh! Gin my Wife, &c.

I ne'er was inclin'd to wrangling or Strife, Nor wad I refuse her what's needful for Life; Ee'r we come to War I'm ay for a Parly, Oh! Gin my Wife, &c.

A Pint w••' her Kimmers I wad her allow, But when she sits down she drinks till she's Fow; And when she is sow, she is unco camstairie, Oh! Gin my Wife. &c.

When she ga's to the Cas'ay she roars and she rants, Has no Dread of Neighbour's nor minds the House Wants; Roars some foolish lilt like up thy Heart Charlie, Oh! Gin my Wife, &c.

And when she comes Hame she lays on the Lads; She ca's the Lasses baith Limmers and Jades; And me my sell nought b••t auld Cuckold Carlie. Oh! gin my Wife wad drink hooly and fairly.

SONG XXXVI. In What we must all come to.

TO Dance, and to Dress, and to flaunt it about, To run to Park, Play, to Assembly and Rout, To wander for ever in whim's giddy Maze, And one poor Hair torture a Million of Ways; To put, at the Glass, ev'ry Feature to School And practise their Art on each Fop and each Fool, Of one Thing to think, and another to tell; These these, are the Manners of each giddy Belle. To smile and to simper, white Teeth to display; The Time in gay Follies to trifle away; Against ev'ry Virtue the Bosom to Steel, And only of Dress the Auxie••ies feel; To be at Eve's Ear, the infidious Decoy, The Pleasure ne'er taste, yet the Mischief enjoy, To boast of soft Raptures they never can know, These, these are the Manners of each giddy Beau.

XXXVII.

Sung by Miss Brown, at Sadlers Wells.

MY Da—dy was gone to the Mar—ket two Mile, My Mammy was gone to the Millers the while, My Mammy was gone to the Millers the While, In came my dear Joh—ney and this was his Say—ing, Lay by your Wheel Bet—sy, come hi—ther a May—ing. Lay by your Wheel, Bet—sy, come hi—her a May—ing,

I answer'd him no it 'twas a Folly to ask, My Mammy had set me to spinning a Task, Quoth he, cut the tether, dear, set the Cow straying; We'll tie her up safely, whilst we are a Maying.

His Method I took then, how could I forbear? I lov'd him too well to think falsely he'd swear; He press'd my Lips gently, the Fool fell to playing, The Time ran so sweetly we did not go a Maying,

My Daddy ne'er ask'd me a Word where I'd been, My Mammy I told I'd the Cow to fetch in; She said she was sure I'd been somewhere delaying, But never suspected that I'd been a Maying.

If Johnny proves true, as I think that he will, The Market I'll bless' and Ill honour the Mill, That kept my old Daddy and Mammy so staying, When I was persuaded by Johenny a Maying.

SONG XXXVIII. To the HEROES of the BRITISH NATION.

A LADY, possess'd of a handsome Estate, With a Pedigree pleasing, tho' not very great; With a Person so handsome 'twill pass in a Croud; With a Tongue, tho' 'tis glib, not improperly loud! With each Quallification would suit in a Wife, Will be glad to engage with a Hero for Life; Tho' her Virtue's too dear to be fondly betray'd, With Submission she'd chuse—not to die an old Maid.

Be the Hero possess'd with Good-nature and Sense, And of Courage enough for the Fair one's Defence: Not a Coxcomb in Dress, nor in Politics loud, Of his Person not vain, of his Merit not proud: Then of Women and Wine be must wholly be free, Or else I declare he's no Husband for me. If his Birth is genteel, (not too low in Extraction) If polite in Address, 'tis a full Satisfaction.

Should his Fortune be small, no Objection to me, If his Principles answer in ev'ry Degree. If such Heroes there are, he that merits it most, Must answer me quickly by return o' th' post. Then away to old Hymen—in Raptures we run, To be happy for e'er, or for e'er be undone.

SONG XXXIX. BELL••ISLE MARCH, or the REVIEW, As sung at Marybone Gardens.

ALL hail to the King, That in Youth's ear-ly Spring,

Such a promise of Glo—ry dis••plays, May his Race still extend, Freedom's Cause to defend, And the Fame of Old Eng-land to raise. May our Edwards of old, And our Har—ry's so bold, In his Is—sue a gain and a gain be renew'd, That our Sons on the Main, May their Empires main-tain, And Commerce in Safe—ty pur—su'd.

With many a Scar, Behold from the War, The brave Legions of Britain advance; From Minden they come, Swell the Fife, beat the Drum; From Minden, the Terror of France, See the brave hardy Crew, As they pass in Review, How they smile on their King's Royal Train, When these their Looks say, Call us forth, we obey, And we'll fight all our Battles again.

From the East to the West, British Valour, confess'd, Standeth first on the Records of Fame; Let Williamsdorf's Plain, And the Borders of Spain, British Faith, British Courage proclaim; From the dangerous Sword, Of Oppression restor'd, Fair Freedom again shall display In Safety her Wings, For Protection while Kings. Grateful Homage to Britain shall pay.

The Feats that were done, By Philip's mad Son, Were but Tristes to Glories like these;

For Ambition he fought. And the Lust only sought Of his blood-thirsty Rage to appease: But Britons, more brave, Draw the sword but to save, From such Tyrants, the Rights of Mankind; And the Weapon again, When their End they obtain, Is in Peace to the Scabbard consign'd.

A full flowing Glass Now to Granby we'll pass. And to each valiant Leader beside; Nor forget the brave Crew, That with ••••earts firm and true, For their Country all danger defy'd, Let the Drum beat a Charge, And the Nation at large Rend the wide-vaulted Sky with their song, Till eccho the Sound From her Grotto rebound, And the loud Gratulation prolong.

SONG XL. A new SONG.

SINCE Time shall steal each tempting Rose, Each Lilly that thy Cheeks disclose, That lovely languish from thine Eyes, And all thy Smiles and Gaities, For present bliss by Heaven design'd, Oh hasten Fair one, to be kind!

For when thy jetty Curls grow Grey, That now adown thy shoulders play. When laughing Swains sorfake thy Shrine, Nor call thee Angel, nor divine; Then Fair ••••e, wilt thou change thy Mind. And wish, too late, thou hadst been kind.

SONG XLI. On seeing the NORTH BRITON burnt, A SCOTS Epigrim.

AH mickle in the Power and Force that lies, In Numbers, and their hidden Que••••ies. In curst fifteen was many a lov••l ••••••an, Hung, gibe••••••d, and qu••••••••••d to a Man From thrice 〈…〉〈…〉 Return'd the 〈…〉〈…〉 Curst Forty 〈…〉〈…〉 And by thy 〈…〉〈…〉 Brion burn.

SONG XLII. An ODE,

MY Be••sy flies me like a Fawn, Who scuds across the pathless Lawn, Seeking her Dam, with causless Fear, Of ev'ry whisp'ring Blast of Air; She trembles in her Heart and Knees, If Leaves but stir with gentlest Breese; Or lurking Lizards chance to Shake, The rustling Shrubs, or move the Brake, I seek thee not, O cruel Fair! Like savage Beast, thine Heart to tear! Come, Betsy, follow me, no more prove Coy, But Dove-like taste the Sweets of nuptial Joy,

SONG XLIII. FEMALE ADVICE,

PUR—SU—ING Beau-ty Men de-scry, The distant Shore and long to prove Still ••icher in va—ri—e—ty, The Treasures of the Land of Love, We Women like weak Indians trade, Inviting from cut golden Coast,

The wand'ring Rovers to our Land; But she who trades with them is lost

With humble Vows they first begin, Stealing unseen into the Heart; But by Possession settled in They quickly act another Part.

For Beads and Baubles we resign, In Ignorence our shining Store, Discover Nature's richest Mine, And yet the Tyrants will have more.

Ye Fair take Heed, to forbear to try, How Men can Court, or you be won; For Love is but Discovery; When that is made, the Pleasure's done.

SONG XLIV. What's LITTLE is PRETTY

NATURE's fairest Charms we see Centur'd in Epitome; Little Stars the brightest Bla••e, Small the Gem of purest Rays; Nature's favorite Child, the Rose, In Miniature, how beauteous blows? And breathes the sweet unrivali'd Note From Philomela's slender Throat; Thus in Human Race we find Thee small of Body great in Mind; No Volumes writes immortal Gray, Short but honied every Lay, The Drops how loth to fall away! The Macedonian glorious Elf Conquer'd all Things-but himself, And Prussia's gallant Imp of Fame Fills the wide World, a deathless Name! And Child of Beauty, Queen of Grace, My little Delia's smirking Face,

From the bright Conquest's of her Eye. In Fame, with either Chief may vie.

SONG XLV.

By Signora GALLY

WHEN first I saw thee graceful move, A••! me What When first I saw, Ah! me what meant my throb—bing Breast; Say soft Con—fu—sion, Meant my throb—bing Breast; Say, soft Con—fu—sion,

Art thou Love, if Love thou art, Then fare-well Rest, Art thou Love: If Love thou art, Then fare well Rest.

With gentle Smiles ass••age the Pain, Those gentle Smiles did first crea••e; And, though you cannot love again, In Pity, ah! forbear to ha••e.

SONG XLVI. From St. GELA••••.

ONE Day behind my Lad••'s Back My Lord attack••d her Maid; And stole a Kiss, which she repaid, And gave him Smack for Smack.

Pert with such Freedoms, pray, said she, Who kisses with the greaten Gl••e; Is it my Lady? is i••••l? 'I is you no doubt, he made Reply.

Why, in good Faith, it must be true. Resum'd the wanton Dame; For Tom a••d J••hn, and Chaplain too, All say the same.

SONG XLVII: The VIRGIN UNMASKED,

IT is I be—lieve, Next Hollantide Eve, A Twelvemonth since first I be—gan, To hold up my Head, In Love to be Read, And to construe the Looks of a Man, And con—strue the Looks of a Man,

Young Damon I saw, ••e k••ss'd me, Oh la! I vow thro' my Bos••m it ran; My Lips he so pros'd, 'Tis true I pro••est, I thought him a Duce of a Man,

Philander the gay, I met at the Play, My Heart beat a furious Ratan; Because you must know, I some Time ago, Had Hopes of his being the Man,

Brisk Strephon come next, But then I was vex'd, He play'd with Mi••s Phill••'s Fan; I own to be su••e I could not endure To see myself rob••'d of a Man.

My Mother and Aunts, Sti••l watching my Haunts, Obstruct me as much as they can; But what do I care, I vow and declar••, I'll fit myself soon with a Man.

SONG XLIX. The HAPPY SHEPHERD.

YES, Phillis, we'll trip o'er the Meads, And hasten away to the Pain; Where Shepherds at••end with their Reeds, To welcome my Love and her Swain,

The Lark is exalted in Air, The Linnet sings perch'd on the spray, Our Lambs stand in Need of our Care, Then let us not lengthen Delays,

The Pleasure I feel with my Dear, While gamesome young Lambs are at Sport Exceeds the Delight of a Peer, That shines wi••h such Grand••er at Court.

When Collin and Strephon go by, They form a Disguise for a While; They see how I'm bless'd with a Sigh, But Envy forbids them to Smile.

Let great Folks of Liberty Prate, T' enjoy it take infinite Pains, But Liberty's primitive State, Is only enjoy'd on the Plains.

With Phillis I rove to and fro, With her my gay Minutes are spent; 'Twas Phillis first taught me to know, That Happiness flows from Content.

SONG L. The LOVER's RESOLUTION,

I Own I love; but then my Heart, A servile Awe disdains: If Cupid cannot Peace impart, I'll shun his treach'rous Chains: No beauteous Nymph shall joy inspire,

In spite of Reason's Ru••e••; I le••ve the Star••s of wild Desire, To Madmen a••d ••o Fools

When Pleasure's Path but ends in Woe, Who'd tread t••' aluri••g Wa••; Who Would not all her Cha••ms forego, A••d dread her fa••al Sway: To Virtu••'s happy Fields repair, Wh••••e pure ••••••ten••ment reigns; Where constant Joy excludes Despair, Where s••••ing peace remains.

Can Love to Reason then submit, (••ome am'rous vou••h exclaims) O••es, his Love their ••••rded Heat, At he•• civiner Flames. This ••••••xim then at once receive, And m••ts ••ruth confide, Lov••'s Pa••hs can ••e'er your Feet deceive, When Reason is your Guide.

SONG LI. LOVE at FIRST SIGHT.

THE Sur's gav Metal, shining Gold, In many Sh••pes is shewn; The Form though varied, in the Mould, The Standard Worth's ••il known.

So I, my Fair to please and gain, Would many Changes pr••ve; Thr••ugh all a cons••ant Heart maintain; That Heart should all be Love.

She replies,

The Knot once tv'd, t••o of•• we find, A change soon foll••w in the Mind. O•• each ••oung sighing Lover, The Nymph be••••v••d, once made a Wife, Finds all her Pleasure turn'd to S••rife, And Spouse an arrant Rover.

SONG LII. A New Favorite SONG.

NOW the Wood land Choirists sings, Beauty takes her radiant Sphere: Love adorns the smiling Spring; Love and Beau••y gild the Year, Seize the Minutes as they fly, Jocund Hours, and festive round: Innocence, with Virgin Eye, Comes with rural Chaplets crown'd,

Awful Virtue keeps her State, In the Cot, or on the Throne: Liberty enjoins her Mate, As fair Honour holds the Zone: Love and Beauty on the Wing, Sweep the Globe, and conquer all: Poet, Hero, Sage, and King, At their Shrine submissive fall.

Where should Honour love to dwell, But in Freedom's happy Isle? Virtue here enjoys a Cell, More than in Tyrant's Smile. Where should Beauty fix her reign, But on Love, that Pow'r defies? Innocence shall crown the Scence. Where Ambition droop•• and dies.

SONG LIII.

Tune Go, happy Flower.

MY conquer'd Heart I freely yield, And Celia now is Fate; My Mind, so late with Frolic fill'd, Contemns the fickle State, Then swiftly, Time, ••our Pinions move, Ye laz•• Minutes fly! Propitious prove, O God of Love, Or let thy Vot'ry die.

SONG LIV. PEGGY; a New Song.

TO the Wood Ro-bin-red breast is fl••wn, The dai—ry he A-fits no more; The Vi—olets and Cows—lips are blown, The Cuckow's heard ev'ry Field o'er.

Thro' the Grove swells the Black-bird's strong Note, In concert with softer ton'd Trush; The Lark stretches wide his sh••ill Throat, And Linnets are heard in each Bush.

The Hawthrons are powder'd with May, The Meadows arrayed are in green; The Ewes with their Lambs are at Play. Ah Nature!—how lovely the Scene!

Yet alas! what the beauties of Spring, For my ease, ah too soon are they come! They bear the Commands of the King, To march after Bagpipe and Drum.

And Donald, my darling, must go, It may be for ever we part; But, when that sad Tale I shall know, That Moment breaks Peggy's poor Heart.

SONG LV, On the Reduction of MARTINICO.

WHAT Nation sh••ll da••e with Old England compare, Our Atchievements our Courage have shewn; Let us Dance, let us Sing, and Huz—za for our King, Mar—ti—nico, my Boys, is our own. Let us Dance, let us Sing, and Huz za for our King, Mar—ti—ni—co, my Boys is our own.

Bold Monckton, whose So••l no•• a Fear can controul, And Ro••ney of Spirit so great, Have convinc'd, the proud Slaves, that we Lords of the waves

When we please can determine their Fate.

Chorus. Have convinc'd, &c,

Ev'ry warm British Pill was se••t forth with such Skill, As must Fame ••ve lasting produce ye. They kept out a good Look, yet in Hurry we took, Their Tobago, Cape Vincent, St. Lucia.

Chorus. They kept out, &c.

Dela ouche was sincere, when he flew to St. Pierre, With Design to take Care of the Pelf, Though courageous and stout, yet he could not hold out, All for Reasons best known to himself.

Chorus. Though couragious, &c.

Had you seen our bold Tars, who despise Wounds and Scars, Aloft on each Emi••ence soa••; With our Cannon yare ho! you'd confess it I know, That you never saw Lions before.

Chorus. With our Cannon, &c.

Now to Spain we'll proceed, she shall smart for each Deed, That like France wou'd our Ru•••• endeavour; Heav'ns bless our bold Train, both on Land a••d the Main, And King George and Queen Charlotte for ever.

Chorus. Heav'ns bless, &c.

SONG LVI. CONTENT.

By J. Cunningham.

O'ER Moorlands and Mountains rude, barren and bare, A wi••der'd and wea••ied I roam, A gentle young Shepherdess sees my Despair, And leads me o'er Lawns to her H••me. Yel••ow ••••ea••••, ••r••m rich Cere••, her C••••••age ••ad crown'd, Green Rushes were shrew'd on her ••lo••r, Her Cal••••ne ••••weet W••••doi••••es crept••••y antonly round, And deck•••• the Sea Seat•• a•• her D••or.

We s•••• ou••selves down to a cooling Repast, Fresh Fruits! and she c••l••'d me the best:

Whilst, thrown from my Guard by some Glances she cast, Love slily stole into my breast. I told my soft Wishes—she swea••ly reply'd (Ye Virgins, her V••ice was divine!) I've rich Ones r••jected, and gr••at Ones deny'd, Yet take me fond Shep••er••—I'm thine.

Her Air was so Modest, her Aspect so Meek, So simple, yet sweet were her Charms, I kiss'd the ripe Roses that glow'd on her Cheek, And lock'd the love'd Maid in my Arms. Now j••cund together we tend a few Sheep; And, if—on the banks by the Stream, Reclin'd on her B••s••m I si••k into Sleep, Her Image still softens my Dream.

Together we range o'er the slow-rising Hills, Delighted with Pastoral Views. Or rest on the Rock whence the Streamlet distills, And mark out new Themes for my Muse. To Pomp or proud Titles she ne'er did Aspire; The Damsel's of humble Descent! The Cottager. Peace, is well known for her Sire, And Shepherds have nam'd her Content.

SONG LVII. PEGGY WYNNE. A NEW SONG.

THE Poets, in Conscience, have teas'd us too long, With Phillis, and Chloe in e—very Song; Quite tir'd of such Nonse••se, new Themes I be—gin, And sing of the beau—ties of sweet Peg—gy Wynne.

They tell us of Venus, and Juno of old, But one was a J••••t, and the other a Scold; To s••••n naughty Goddesses nothing Akin Is gentle, and modest, and sweet Peggy Wynne.

A Thousand Times Cupid has strove to ensnare, And make me an amo••us Slave to the Fair; But never could get me entrapp'd in his Gin,

Till baited at last with my dear Peggy Wynne.

That Zephyrs are soft and are sweet I must own, And Lillies and Roses are pretty when blown; But match'd with her Breath, or compar'd with her Skin, Believe me, they're nothing to dear Peggy Wynne.

Should Fortune think proper to better my Fa••e, And make me a Lord, with a noble E••tate; For all her fine Favours I'd not give a Pin, Unless she'd bestow on me sweet Peggy Wynne.

All Charms she possesses, Shape! Features! and Size! And then such a tempting dear Look with her Eyes; Well! Heav'n forgive us, if wishing's a Sin. When we gaze on the Beauties of sweet Peggy Wynne.

SONG LVIII.

Sung by Mr. DEARLE,

ON Pleasure's smooth Wings, how old Time steals away Ere Love's fatal Flame leads the Shepherd astray! My Days, O ye Swans were a round of De-light From the cool of the Morn to the still-ness, of Night; No Care found a Place in my Cottage, or Breast But Health and Content all the Year was my Guest. No Care found a Place in my Cot-tage, or Breast But Health and Content all the Year was my Guest. Twas then no fair Phillis my Heart cou'd ensnare With Voice or with Feature, Dress or with Air: So kindly young Cupid had pointed the Dart, That I gather'd the Sweets, but I miss'd of the Smart, I toy'd for a While, then I rov'd like a ••ee; But still all my Song was, I'll ever be free. 'Twas then every Object fresh Raptures did yield: If I stray'd thro' the Garden, or traver••'d the Field. Ten thousand gay Scenes were display'd to my Sight; If the Nightingale sung. I could listen all Night; With my Reed I could pipe to the Tune of the Stream, And wake to new Life from a rapturous Dream, But now, since for Hebe in secret I sigh,

Alas what a Change! and how wretched am I! Adieu to the Charms of the Valley and Glade! Their sweets now all sicken, their Colours all fade: No Muse I find in soft Philomel's Strain, And the Brook o'er the Pebbles now murmurs in vain. They say that she's kind, but no kindness I see; On others she smiles, but she frowns upon me: Then teach me, bright Venus, Persuasion's soft art, Or aid me, by Reason, to ransom my Heart, To crown my Desire, or to banish my Pain, Give Love to the Nymph, or give ease to the Swan.

SONG LIX. Sung at the Musicial Entertainment, given at the Queen's Pallace.

LET Harmony reign, And let Pleasure abound; While in sparkling Champain, This Health goes round:

The King may his Birth Day successively smile, With joy on himself, and with Peace to his Isle! All whi••e be his Moments and bear on their Wing, In the brightness of Summer the softness of Spring! May she, who bestow'd him on Briton this Morn, Live long, his mild Sway to applaud and adorn! May each Royal Guest, that around him is seen, Embrace as a Sister, whom Love made his Queen!

Then let Harmony reign, Then let Pleasure abound; While in sparkling Champain, These Wishes go round!

SONG LX. The PATROIT KING, or GEORGE the third.

THree Georges now, for Britain's Welfare born, The latest Times our Annals will adorn. The first, tho' view'd with Party's envious Eyes,

Contending Factions own, was good and wise. Tho' a long Reign, brave, Mild, and just approv'd, We stile the Second George-the Well-belov'd. Behold a young Youth now Mounts the British throne, Whom every Royal Virtue calls her own! Proceed, great Prince, a Patroit King compleat, And George the Third henceforth be George the Great:

SONG LXI. A SMILE

SAY, Lovely Polly, have you never seen, (Tis by the Way of a Smile I mean;) The Farmer's Wife, upon a festive Night, To grace her Board her Christmas Candle Light; Upon some Pedestal advance it high, With a sew taper rush Lights standing by, Which dimly mimic its superior ray, And in a Sort of envy soon decay? So, when you visit any Publick place, And there display the beauties of your Face, All other Females round you faintly shine, Lost is their lustre in your Blaze divine.

SONG LXII.

WAnton Cupid, sooth my anguish. Pow'rful Cupid, now befriend me! Straight thy aid vouchsafe to lend me! Soon a Parent's pity move! Son of Venus, Step between us, Give me Freedom and my love!

SONG LXIII.

Sung by Mr ANDREWS at Sadlers-Wells

BOUND out on a Cruise, no Tar wou'd refuse, I've stow'd in compleatly my Store, Two Hundred bold Men, I Command once again, And shall shortly fall down to the Nore, the Nore, Shall shortly fall down to the Nore,

I've Room for a Score or two, Enter Boys quick, A Pound to a Shilling we'll make the Dogs sick, I've Room for a Score or two, Enter Boys quick, A Pound to a Shilling we'll make the Dogs sick,

In Days of Queen Bess,-we now are no less, Spain's vaunting ARMADA we beat, And at it poor France, strait fell into a Tra••ce, That she has'nt recover'd of yet. I•• puffs only rich, of her treasure she's rid. We'll deal she same Cards, to the Dons of Madrid.

Midst Fire and Smoke, when we give 'em a stroke, The ••awney Bravado's shall fly, Nor Priest, Bell, or Book, shall secure 'em good Luck, As sure as they face us, they die. Saints, Wasers, and Rags, shall be blown into Air, When once we have brought but our Bull Dogs to bear.

Safe Anchor'd my Boys, in Port of our Joys, Snug under the Guard of our Guns, Their Convents we'll strip, and Freight the rich Ship, With the Plunder of Priests, and of Nuns. Then speed the new Terrible well, and Huzza. And send her safe in the pround PANAMA.

SONG LXIV. A new SONG

WHEN the Nymphs were contending for Beauty and Fame, Fair Sylva stood foremost in right of her Claim, When to Crown the high Transp••ts dear Conquest excites, At Court she was envy'd and toasted at Whi••e's.

But how shall I whisper this fair one's sad Case? A cruel Disease has spoil'd her sweet Face; Her Vermillion is chang'd to a dull settled red, And all the gay Graces of beauty are fled.

Yet take Heed all ye Fair how you triumph in Vain, For Sylvia, tho' alter'd from pretty to plain, Is row more engaging since Reason took Place,

Than when She possess'd the Perfections of Face.

Convinc'd She no more can coquet it and teaze, Instead of tormenting—She studies to please; Makes truth and Discretion the Guides of her Life, And tho' spoil'd for a Tost, She's well form'd for a Wif••

SONG LXV. A SONG for the MALL.

YE foplings, and prigs, and ye would-be smart things, Who move in wide commerce's round, Pray tell me, from whence this absurdity Springs, All Orders of Rank to confound? What means the Bag-wig, and the Soldier-like Air, On the Trademan obsequious and meek? Sure Sabbaths were meant for retirement and Pray'r, To amend the past Faults of the Week.

The Youth, to whom Battles and Dangers belong, May call a fierce look to his aid; Lace, bluster, and Oaths, and a Sword an Ell long, Are samples he gives of his Trade: But you, on whom London indulgently Smiles, And whom counters should guard from all lil••, Should slily invade with humility's Wiles, Lest Splendor deter us from Bills.

Old Gresham, whose Statue adorns the Exchange, Displays the grave Cit to our View, And silently frowns at a Conduct so strange, So remote from your In••'rests and you: Then learn from his Gesture, grave, decent, and Plain, To copy Fair Prudence's R••les; For frugality's Ga••b will conceal your vast Gain, And secure ye the Plunder of Fools.

The ease of a Court, and the Air of a Camp, Are Graces no Cit can procure; Monsieur Jourdain Still plods in the Spital-fields tramp Nor can Hart the grown aukwardness Cure:

Thus if, Apes of the Fashion•• St. James's you croud, And Press onwards, in Spite of all S••ops, The Mall you may fill, and be airy and loud, But, trust me, you'll ••e'er fill your Shops,

SONG LXVI.

ATtend all ye fair, and I'll tell ye the Art To bind ev'ry Fancy with ease in your Chain•• To hold in soft Fetters the congugal Heart, And banish from Hymen his Doubts and his Pains.

When Juno accepted the Cestus of Love, At first She was Handsome; She charming became; With skill the soft Passion it taught her to move, To kindle at once, and to keep up the Flame.

Tis this gives the Eves all their magic and Fire; The Voice melting Accents Impassions the Kiss; Confess the sweet smiles that awaken desire. And plants round the fair each incentive to bliss.

Thence flows the gay Chat more than Reason that charms; The Eloquent Blush, that can Beauty improve; The fond sigh, the fond Vow, the soft touch that alarms. The tender disdain, the renewal of Love.

Ye fair take the Cestus, and practise its Art; The Mind unaccomplish'd mere Features are vain, Exert your sweet Power, you conquer each Heart, And the Loves, Joys, and Grace shall walk in your Train:

SONG LXVII. A new SONG.

WELL—Gentlemen, since you will needs have a Song, The subject to this Present Club shall belong; I'll shew that no Folks are so happy as those, Who are still Free and Easy while under the Rose.

Derry Down, Down, Derry Down.

Tis a maxim with us, That each Drink as he will;

He may toss off his Bottle, or sip up his Gill: He may stay, if he likes it; if not—why he goes: So Free, and so Easy, we're under the Rose

Derry Down, &c.

Of this Thing, or that Thing, we freely debate; And Sometimes we settle th' Affairs of the State: Then wh••tever is Spoken let no one disclose, But Remember—What's said, is said under the Rose.

Derry Down, &c.

Our Mirth to disturb, and our Peace to invade, We will never allow any quarre son••e Blade; With a Kick on the Breech and a tweak by the Nose We at once will expel him from under the Rose.

Derry Down, &c.

Then let this be our Toast, if the President please, "May each Member for ever have Freedom and Ease;" May our Wives too, and Sweethearts, (to come to a Close) Be, like us, Free and Easy—but under the Rose.

Derry Down &c.

SONG LXVIII. A new SONG.

THO' Strephons Heart from Loves A—larms, Dear Ce—lia long was free, Dear Ce—lia long was free, Now touch'd by thy re-fist-less Charms, It sighs and Pants for thee, It sighs and Pants for thee,

For when Bright Virtue shines Confest, With sweet Discretion Join'd, When Mildness sways the Peaceful Breast, And Wisdom guides the Mind.

When Charms like these Dear Maid Inspire, Our Eyes the form Approve, They move the Soul with Chaste desire,

And Kindle Virtuous Love.

With this Pure Flame his Bosom glows For thee! Alone i•• Burns, While Hopes and Fears like Friends and Fee••. Revive and kill by Turns.

Since then Dear Nymph thou first cou'dst raise. This Passion in his Breast, Tis Thou alone can'st give him Eas••, And make him truly Blest.

SONG LXIX. Advice to PHILLIS.

HOW sweet are the Roses of June, The Pink and the Jessamine Gay, But strip'd of their Blossoms how soon, How sudden those Sweets will decay, Just such is the Maid in her Prime, Adorn'd with the Bloom of Fifteen, But robb'd of her Beauty by Time, No Traces of Youth can be seen.

Then Phillis be wise whilst you may, To Damond's Addresses prove kind, Relent or believe what I say, Too late you will alter your Mind, When next the fond Youth shall declare, The Passion that glows in his Breast, With him to the Altar repair, Nor longer refuse to be blest.

SONG LXX

By a young LADY.

REflections that makes Mortals w••••••, Give, me the greatest Pain; The Doubts that in my Breast arise; Of meeting thee again. Absence, for ever Foe to Love, The thought distracts my Mind.

Lest you a fairer Nvmph approve, And she like me be kind.

Then to my humble ••o••t re••••••'d, To search and with for Peace, No more with mor••al Charms I'm fir'd, But wan my kind Re ease. Secluded far from Human Sight, Attend my fleecy Care. But till my Eves are seal'd in Night, Thou shalt partake my Pray'r.

My Cottage on a Rising Ground, Near to a friendly Snade A ruin shall my Prospect Bound, With Greens that never fade. Some murm'ring Brooks within my view, That not too Lifeless flow. Whilst I the Paths of truth Pursue, Both Time and Chance will shew.

But if thou bring'st thy Heart again, Untained and sincere, I'll Laugh at my present Pain, And banish every Fear. Then like a Ship the Tempest tost, I'll bless the friendly Snore, Forget the Dangers that are past, But Venture out no more.

SONG LXXI. The BLEEDING HEART.

WHARE is he gone whom I adore, The go••like Man I see no more, Yet with at R••••t, his tyrant Charms, Beat in my Breast, will new A••arms.

Honour assist, the Danger share, E••se I'm lost with all m•• Care; Tear his Idea from my Breast, Tho' with it I am more than blest.

My Reason too prepare your Arms, Lean ••e should with greater Charms, Love's ••••••al deep im••ris••n'd Dart, Draw from my tender bleeding Heart.

SONG IXXII. The RESPECTFUL LOVER.

LET others more ••••••ward behave, With easy f••miliar Air, For my P••••t, I cannot believe That B••skness and Brass win the Fair

Of her I adore, ev'ry Glance A tender Confusion inspires; Her Charms so m••jes••ie at once Invi••e, and yet awe my Desires.

How often, in vain, the whole Day My Fassion to speak have I strove, Then taken some round about Way To tell her how ardent my Love?

How I foncled and fl••ter'd the Rose To day in her Breast that she wore; She certainly c••uld not suppose I ever once thought on the Flower.

I threaten'd to pluck off its Head, Attempted its Leaves to de••r••••; For when a feign'd Struggle we made, Her B••••om I touch'd by the by.

Alo••e w••en I gaze on her Cha••ms, How sa••n wo•••••• I ravisn a K••••? How sain casp her Shape to my Arms? But I dread she would take it amits.

Tho' mode•• perhaps to a Fault, Tho' bathful and aukward my Air; Ye•• my Heart with tr••e P••ssion is Fraught, And I will not submit to Despair.

SONG LXXIII. ROSABEL.

MY Love my Rosabel. Oh say wha•• Magic Spell. Does in each Feature dwell,

O•• that dear Face,

Sure Copid in Dit use, Lu••ks in those speaking Eyes; 'Tis he each Part supp••e••,

With winning Grace.

When my blest E••es I raise, On all thy Charm•• to gaze, My Soul lost in a Maze,

Ap••ears to F••y

O'erpower'd with keen Delight, My strength forsakes me quite Clouds Swim before my Sight,

I ••aint I die,

Let others Joy and Peace, In Wealth and Honour Place, My Joy my Happiness,

Center in thee:

While thus each happy Hour, I love the more and m••••e, The Word and all its Power.

Is Dirt to me.

SONG LXXIV. CHLOE.

Tune, The Bi••k, of I••ver••••a.

TO thee, my fair, the Muses sing; To thee the grate••ul Tribute bring; Kindl•• accept my so ••m•• La••s, That yield Instruction more than Praise. Fair Summer, and hor ••mi••ing Train,

Even now forsakes the naked Plain; The blooming glories of the Year, No more, my Chloe, now appear;

No more the Lilly Charms the Eye; No Ro••es blush with scarlet Dye; They with their Seasons pass away, Sad Embl••ms of our own Decay: For blooming Youth must shortly yield, To wasling A••e, the varying Field; Each lovely Charm, each sprightly Joy. Voracious Time will soon destroy.

Ah mournful Thought! where shall he find Some sweet Supporter of the Mind? Where shall the sov'reign Blam be found, With power to heal the bleeding Wound? Virtue the sacred Cure supplies; She ever lives though Beauty dies; The lovely Soul which Virtue warms Can please with everlasting Charms.

Ev'n thou, ah me! delightful Maid, And all thy beauty's Charms must fade; But not my Love, while still I find A brighter glory in thy Mind. 'I is that which makes thee heav'nly fair; That Glory Time can ne'er impair: While that continues I shall be Bless'd in my Love, and true to thee.

Then let us tast, my charming Chloe, Each pure Delight, each virtuous Joy; And seize the Moments kindly given, To bless our Love, by bounteous Heav'n, Let Innocence crown every Day, And drive each gloomy Thought away: Virtue, dear Fav'••ice of the Sky, Nor scorns to live, nor fears to die.

SONG LXXV. CUPID's REVENGE,

ON the Slope of a shady Mountain, As I walk'd musing t'other Day; In Shape a Baby beside a Fountain, Love on Verdure Sleeping lay,

Intent I view'd the beautious Creature, Ah me 'twas rashly tempting Fate, Methought I spy'd in every Feature, The Scornful Nymph I'd sworn to hate.

His Crimson Lips like Rubies glowing, On his Cheeks Rose with Li••lie•• strove; I drapt a Tear and sigh'd unknowing. He wak'd—a Breath awakens Love.

With Anger pale aloft he bounded, And rising aim'd a vengeful Dart, At once the twaning Bow String sounded, The Shaft unerring pierc'd my Heart,

Go seek thy Silvia, kneel before her, Still sue he cry'd that scornful Breast, While Life's in thee, thou shalt adore her, For having dar'd to break my Rest.

SONG LXXVI.

LET sweet MAY her Flow'rets boast, And JUNE her ripen'd Rose; Which Poets may compare to Nanny: But be mine the happy Toast, Where Sense with Beauty glows, And ev'ry Charm combines in FANNY.

Northern Shepherds oft' have sung, Their Lyres they oft' have strung, In Praise of some fair blooming Annie: But be mine the pleasing Lay, When soon the Priest shall say, Honour and love the charming FANNY.

SONG LXXVII.

WHen pleasing Cares disturb the youthful Breast, When ardent Signs speak forth the Heart's Desire, When Hopes and Fears consume the Hours of Rest, Then Venus sets the Lover's Soul on Fire.

Then would I scorn the Wealth which many choose, And look on ga•• plum'd honour with Disdain; Th' inspired Mind a nobler Aim pursues, And Venus's Slave submits to Venus's Chain.

Should Fame, or Pow'r, or Wisdom, plead, to move A Lover's Mind, with all their specious Show, While Venus sooths me with the Smiles of Love, Like Paris, ever at her Shri••e I bow.

While CELIA here rolls her love darting Eyes, Here let me kneel, no other Boon I claim; Beneath the Sun the Phoenix burns and dies, Beneath her Charms I burn with grateful Flame.

But spare, O CELIA! spare my tender Heart; Love, too much Love, is all thy Suppliant's Crime; Wound not my Breast with such a cruel Smart, Nor blast with killing Scorn my youthful Prime.

Sweet are thy Smiles, O fair-one; and bestow New Life, beneath the Sunshine of thine Eyes; Deadly the Shaft of Scorn form Cupid's Bow, And when it strikes the hapless Lover dies.

The Merchant dreads the Rage of Winter-seas, And fearful Cares surround the Tyrant's crown; The Mother hears of War with trembling knees; I know no danger but in CELIA'S Frown.

A Lover prays, O CELIA! lend thine Ear, Be kind as beautiful; then shall I joy A sweeter Music than proud Arts to hear, And for the fairest Form my verse employ.

SONG LXXVIII.

A Wake, my Lyre! thy sadly pleasing Strain Shall sooth my Anguish, while thy Numbers flow, Awake, my Lyre! it fits thee to complain, In Sounds according with thy Maller's woe.

Like CELIA'S, sweet thy Voice, my tuneful Lyre, And Y••••u••ns and Maids a te••d thine am'rous Lay; Like CELIA, still you seed her Lover's Fire, But yield no Hope his Torment to allay.

In vain great Hermes destin'd thee to charm. In vain the Muses taught their Bard to sing; The Pow'rs of Love the Pow'rs of Art disarm, And all thy Magic can no comfort bring.

Phoebus in vain would wake thy joyful Sound, To calm the tumults of a Lover's Br••a••; The God of Love each captive be••se h••••n bound In cruel Chains, nor gives his Victim rest.

Yet shall thy sad solemn M••sic say How mu••h! s••ffer, and how much I love; Perhaps fair CELIA may thy ••ong repay With pity, where her Charms destructive prove.

SONG LXXIX. The EXTACY of LOVE.

Sung by Miss CATLEY, at MARYBONE-GARDENS.

WHILST on thy dear B••som lying, Celia who can speak my bli••s; Who the T••ansp••rts I'm ••••jo••ing, When thy ba••my Lips I kits:

Ev'ry Lock with Love inspires me, Ev'ry ••ouch my B••som warms; Ev'ry me••ting Murmur fi••es me, Ev'ry Joy is in your Arms.

SONG LXXX.

Sung by Miss SMITH at MARYBONE-GARDENS••

LAST Holiday Eve how gaily were seen, The Lads and the Lasses abroad on the Green; Young Colin came to me and sat by my Side, And whisper'd me often, he wish'd me his Bride.

Oh! P••oeoe (said he) would you pity my Pain, Nor treat my fond Passion with Slights and Disdain; But believe that my Tongue and my Heart are allied; Then kindly consent to become my sweet Bride.

Behold my Distress, and relieve my sad Heart; Believe me sincere, and a Stranger to Art: No Offer can draw my fix'd Passions aside, If now you will promise to make me your Bride.

I thought as I'd teaz'd my poor Swain a long while, Instead of a Frown, I should now wear a Smile; Well, Collin, said I, since you won't be deny'd, In short, I'll consent to be none but your Bride.

SONG LXXXI. The FAER DIVISION.

WHEN Beauty appears, In it's Graces and Airs All bright as an Angle new dropt from the Skies, At Distance I gaze; And am aw'd by my Fears, So strangely you dazzel my Eyes.

But when without Art Your kind thoughts you impart, When your Love runs in Blushes through every Vein, When it darts from your Eyes, When it pants in your Heart, Then I know you're a Woman again.

There's a Passion and Pride, In our Sex the reply'd And thus might gratify both I would do; Still an Angel appear, To each Lover beside, But Still be a Woman to You.

SONG LXXXII. POWER of WINE.

WITH Roses and with Myrt'es crown'd, I Truimph; let the Glass go round. Jovial Bacchus, ever gay, Come, and crown the happy Day; From my Breast drive every Care; Banish Sorrow and Despair: Let social Mirth, and decent Joy, This delightful Hour employ.

Haste, attend us, Wit refin'd, Thou sweet Enlivener of the Mind! And while the copious Bumper's crown'd, Bid the free jovial Laugn go round.

Come, Good-nature, show thy Face With open Smiles and sweetest Grace; For ever gay: come, lovely Youth! With honest Freedom, candid Truth; Come; for without thee Mirth's a Pain; And Wit without thee flows in vain: Chase Melancholy far away; Bid all be chearful, Sweet, and Gay.

See the fragrant Rosy Wine Purpled deep with Charms divine; Shewing, though the crystal Glass, The Beauties of my lovely Lass.

For Chloe be the Bumper crown'd, While Love and Friendship bear it round.

Her let every Muse declare, Gentle, modest, good and fair.

By Wine the Miser generous grows; By Wine the Poet's Breast o'erflows; Wine fires the Warrior's Soul with Rage, Wine gives the Bloom of Youth to Age. Bright Wine can make the Coward bold; Wine fills the Heart with Joys untold; Wine can tame the Fierce and Wild; Wine can make the Savage mild; On us each social Joy bestows, And kindly softens all our Woes.

Then let's be Happy while we may, Despising Care, forgetting Sorrow; Enjoy the pleasures of to-day, Nor fear what Ills may come to-morrow.

SONG LXXXIII. AMINTA. A new SONG.

ON a Bank beside a Willow, Heav'n her Covering Earth her Pillow, Sad Aminta sigh'd alone, From the chearless Dawn of Morning, Till the Dews of Night returning, Singing thus she made her Moan, Hopes are banish'd, Joys are vanish'd, Damon my belov'd is gone.

Time I dare thee to discover, Such a Youth and such a Lover, On so true so kind was he, Damon was the Pride of Nature, Damon liv'd alone for me, Fondly toying, Never cloying, Who so liv'd and lov'd as me.

When asunder, ever mourning, How we bless'd the Hour returning, Sweetest converse to bestore, But vain Thoughts off former Pleasures. Vain are those of Ship-wreck'd Treasures, All my Joys of Life are o'er. To befriend me, Death Oh: end me, Love and Damon are no more.

SONG LXXXIV. A Pastoral BALLAD.

HOW vain are the Efforts of Art? How vain are the smooth study'd Lay? Ev'ry Language but that of the Heart, Must fail in my Phyllida's Praise. How modest, yet free, is her Air? Her Words with what softness they flow? She has fill'd ev'ry Heart with Despair; She has made ev'ry Shepherd my Foe.

For since she appear'd on our Plains, On me she has lavish'd her Smiles; I'm the Envy of all the young Swains, To supplant me they're fruitful in Wiles But let me their Passions despise, Their Proceedings I never will mind, If my Phillis approve with her Eyes, If my Phillis continue but kind.

I watch ev'ry Glance of her Eyes, Ev'ry Blush that but dawns on her Cheeks; How I tremble if ever the sighs! How I'm raptur'd if ever she speaks! If she talks, it is Heav'n to hear; If she Smiles, it is Heav'n to see; How soft, how engaging, how dear, How all over Heaven to me!

My Fields, and my Orchards are small, Yet planted, and cultur'd with Care; My Groves they are lofty and tall, And a Sweetness is found in the Air. She admires the Increase of my Fields, She admires the still Gloom of the Woods, The Sweetness the healthful Air yields, And she likes the wild Fall of the floods.

We have wander'd along the green hills, Thro' the plains ever vernal with flow'rs, Thro' the lawns ever gleaming with rills, By the banks ever shady with bow'rs; There my charmer still ••ais'd such wild strains, As wantonly melt in the throat, Resounding thro' Woods, and thro' plains, Sweet Echoes prolong'd each breath'd Note.

We stray at the Dew of the Dawn, Thro' Field; where the west wind has flown, Collecting the Flow'rs on the Lawn, By the Warmth of the Gale newly blown. What Beauty is found in their Dyes, While attended by Health thus we rove, And I see in my Phyllida's Eyes, Content, soft Associate of Love?

Already our Flocks jointly feed. They never are separate seen. Together they Sport on the Mead, And crop the soft Herbs of the Green: And hence all the Shepherds foresee, That Phillis will quickly be mine; Oh! Thought full of Transport to me, For the Day how I eagerly pine.

SONG IXXXV. A Scotch SONG.

SWEET Annie slowly left the Shore Where Damon clim'd the Vessel's Side,

Alas! my Heart knows home no more, Since Damon's toss'd along the Tide Yet shall my Heart still faithful prove, For faithful ever is my Swain; Absent, he thinks on Annie's Love, And foreign Beauties charm in vain.

His Gold let wealthy Strephon show, And the smooth Arts of Flattery try, And praise the Polish of my Brow, And praise the Lustre of mine Eye. What though, to distant Regions born, My Lover rides the awful Deep? I'll wait, and hope for his return, And all my Heart for Damon keep.

No more, false Corydon, no more For Annie frame the luring Lay; Your Damon would be troubled sore, Did you his Confidence betray. Your luring Lays are all in vain, Your false Designs disgrace your Art; But melting sweet is Damon's Strain, His Strain bespeaks the faithful Heart.

O smile, ye Skies, around my Love; Gen••ly, ye prosp••rous Breezes, blow; Far off, ye savage Storms remove, Nor cloud my future Days with Woe, Full long, alas! will be his Stay; But let me not at Fate repine: I'll keep my Heart, and wait the Day, When Damon shall again be mine.

SONG LXXXVI.

A new SONG.

SEE how Saphira'mid the Croud appears! Around her all the Loves and Graces play; Thus, o'er the lowly Weeds the Lilly rears

Its virgin Head, with snowy Beauty gay: Too much, bright Maid! the distant prospect warms; Then what's the present Influence of thy Charms?

So from thy rosy portals of the Morn, Cloth'd in sweet Majesty, do we behold The rising Sun the happy Earth adorn, While Heaven's pure azure flames with living Gold; And from the Splendor of his Morning rays, We guess the force of his Meridian Blaze.

SONG LXXXVII:

Tune, The MAN That's CONTENTED.

A Whimsical lover's a prey to each Care; He's lost to himself, while he lives to the Fair; He dreams all the Day, and he wakes all the Night; His Sorrow is lasting, and short his Delight.

The sparking Charms of the full-flowing Bowl Inspire us with Friendship, and brighten the Soul; Then pox on all Care! come, fill up the Glass, And round the blythe Circle, my Boys, let it pass.

Let my pretty Molly go round for the Toast; I'm pleas'd if she's Mine, and the same if she's lost: As long as she loves me, I know she'll be true; And if she should alter—why! so will I too.

Should she be Inconstant, why should I be Sad? 'Tis Time to grow wiser, and not to go Mad; If generous and good, she will value true Love; And the loss of a Jilt is a blessing, by Jove.

The loss of a Mistress shall never destroy The blissful Tranquillity which I enjoy: Whatever may happen, I'll wisely prepare Indifference, that Sovereign cure of all care.

SONG LXXXVIII. A Favorite SONG.

GODDESS, forsake thy fav'rite Shades, The sacred Mount, th' Aonian Glades, And hither wing thy Way: Thy Voice unheard, has ceas'd too long, Whilst A**** demands the Song, Whilst C**** claims the Lay.

Now Hymen bids thee strike the Lyre, With chearful Accents swell the Quire, Which Nuptial Tapers guide: Where Mirth and sportive Dance resound, And smiling Damsels hast around, To hail the welcome Bride.

The Roman Eagle o'er her Head, With Azure Crest and Plumage spread. Displays his conscious State: Triumphant o'er the Rival Band, Who vainly hop'd and strove to stand, Against superior Fate.

With unknown gentle Flames inspir'd, Her Lover's Form the Nymph admir'd But more his gen'rous Mind: Then to the soft perswasive Art Of native Eloquence, her Heart, A willing Prize resign'd.

Hence may the Years auspicious flow, And on each blissful Hour bestow Peace, Harmony, and Love: Hence may a num'rous happy Race Their Parents bright Example trace, And ev'ry Joy improve.

SONG LXXXIX. WILL SHIM.

NO more I shall dread the Disaster, A Lover compleat ne'er to find. My Heart has at last found a Master, Will Shim is the Man to my Mind,

A Sundays he does look so clever, His Hat lac'd with Gold round the Brim? How happy shall I be whenever, I wed my accomplish'd Will Shim.

To him when he shines in his Glory, The bright Sun at Noon-day is dim•• Not all the fam'd Heroes in Story, Can vie with my gallant Will Shim.

To see him so spruce and so shining, The Men all with Envy look grim, The Maidens can't view without pining, The Charms of my gallant Will Shim,

They're blest if they can get but nigh him, To touch of his Garment the Rim. All fain from my Love would decoy him, All die for my gallant Will Shim.

Dick Simmons to fight once defy'd him But Will soon his Jacket did Trim: And 'while with the Cudgle he ply'd him, Crowds clap'd my accomplish'd Will Shim.

Last Tuesday he came to my Dairy, And help'd me the Milk Bowles to skim, We chatted:—I never am weary; Of chatting with gallant Will Shim.

Tight dress'd in span new Leather Breeches, He look'd so genteel and so slim, Had I of fair India the Riches: I'd share them with gallant Will Shim:

A Song while he sweetly did warble, My Senses in Raptures did swim, 'Twould warm a Heart colder than Marble, The Voice of my gallant Will Shim.

He pres••'d so to Kiss me I let him, I hate to be prudish, and prim: And Oh! I could half Way have met him And hug'd my accomplish'd Will Shim.

All Virtues in bright William center, He's free from all Vice and all Whim: Thro' Land and thro' Sea at a Venture, I'd follow my gallant Will Shim.

I'll trifle no longer and tarry, Will, soon shall be mine every Limb: Next Sunday I fairly will marry, My dear my accomplish'd Will Shim,

SONG XC. A PASTORAL BALLAD.

HOW could you deceive me, my fair? How tell me you Openness lov'd? How persuade me my sad pensive Air Was by you not disdain'd, but approv'd And yet the Delusion had pow'r For to charm my whole Senses away; I gaz'd on you Hour after Hour, And to please fram'd the rude Rural lay.

While my Soul was all melted in Love, While each Nerve and each Pulse wildly beat, You a Passion as strong seem'd to move; Who e'er could have dream'd 'twas Deceit, When I fault'ring attemped to speak, My Confusion was cor'd with a Smile, You strove my fond Silence to break; Yet this was all meant to b••gui••e,

How oft have we carelessly stray'd, While the Moon feebly Lighted the vale, And under the cool ev'ning Shade, Prolong'd the soft amorous tale? Then the Wind could not shake the light leaf, Nor the River roll loudly along, Nor the Nightingale breathe out her Grief But you fearfully clasp'd me more strong.

Those Days are still fresh in my View, When I search'd where the Voilet blows, And tore from the Spot where it grew, The Briar, or wild spreading Ro••: You was pleas'd with the Trifles I cull'd, And urg'd to repeat the fond Task, And still, though I frequently pull'd, You, frequent delighted, would ask.

Now far other Transports are mine, Far other Employments I find; No more I your Garland entwine, You oft have refu••'d it, unkind: Each Moment I pour forth my Fears, Tales of Woe to the Woods I impart, Which, though oft interrupted by Tears, Yet mournfully sooth my sad Heart.

Now I see that Unfaithfulness reigns, That a fond constant Nymph is a Dream; Deceit is found roving the Plains, And winding along ev'ry Stream: Of the Change, ah, ye Shepherds, beware, Nor trust the Allurements of Art; Believe not the false smiling Air, Since the Tongue's not allied to the Heart!

Farewell to the Flocks I have sed! Farewell to the Flow'rs I have rear'd! Farewell to the sweet-breathing Mead, Where so often with you I've appear'd!

I fly, yet I love you, my Fair; Perhaps you'll repent when I'm gone; My Bosom shall nourish Despair, And I'll sigh that all Pleasure is flown.

SONG XCI. KITTY.

KITTY, think, though every Grace, Sparkles in thy charming Face, Though thy fine complexion shows, Lilies blending with the Rose, Though thy Features gaily shine, Though thy Form's almost Divine; Yet shouldst thou, (which kind Heav'n avert) With an unrelenting Heart, Cloth'd with cruel killing Airs, Laugh at all thy Lovers Prayers, Kitty now so mild, so good, Should become an arrant Prude, Peevish as three score and ten, Scorn of Virgins Jest of Men,

Think not, fair One, that your Slave, Vainly means in Verse to rave; Friendship only bids me say, Love and Beauty have their Day.

SONG XCII. Answer to the Foregoing.

HAPPY Bard, who without Fear. Durst approach sweet Kitty's Ear; Gaily indolent couldst say, "Love and beauty have their Day.

Though I've studied to obtain, Freedom from vile Envy's Pain, Yet it rises in my Breast, When I think that thou'rt so blest, As to talk to her with Ease,

Gentle as soft Vesper's Breeze, Yet alas indeed so fair, As to load my Heart with Care; Whi••st I, love sick wander o're Scenes I Jovial trod before.

But if (as I suspect) 'tis true, Fond, disembling Swain, that you, Under Friendship's sober name, Slily hide an amrous Flame, Envy flies, and I poor Elf, Pitty one wretched like my self.

SONG XCIII. WHAT MED'CINE.

WHAT Med'cine can soften the Bosom's keen Smart, What Le••he can banish the Pain, What Cure can be met with to sooth the fond Heart, That's broke, broke by a faithless young Swain.

In hopes to forget him how vainly I try, The Sports of the Wake and the Green, When Colin is dancing I say with a Sigh, T'was here first my Damon was seen.

When to the pale Moon the soft Nightingales moan In Accents so piercing and clear, You sing not so sweetly I cry with a Groan, As when my dear Damon was here.

A Garland of Willow my Temples shall shade, And pluck it ye Nymphs from yon Grove, For there to her cost was poor Laura betray'd, And Damon pretended to Love.

SONG XCIV. ROSY WINE.

THE wanton God who pierces Heart, D••ps in Gall his pointed Darts,

But the Nymph disdains to pine, Who baths the Wound with rosy Wine, Rosy Wine, rosy Wine, Who baths the Wound with rosy Wine,

Farewell, Farewell Lovers when they're cloy'd, If I am scorn'd because enjoy'd Sure the squeamish Fops are tree, To rid me of dull company, Sure they're free, sure they're free, To rid me of dull company.

They have their Charms while mine can please, I love them much but more my Ease Jealous fears me never molost, Nor faithless Vows shall break my rest.

Why, why, why should they e'er give me Pain, Who to give me joy disdain, All I ask of Mortal Man, Is but to love me while he can.

SONG XCV. FAIR NANNY

SO brightly sweet fair Nanny's Eyes, Their rising Beams display, That like the Sons of India, We e'em dread the coming Day,

For if her morning Rays, With such un—u—sual Vigour stream, How will the wond'ring World, Withsland her full meridian Beam.

If now she innocently kill, With an unaiming Dart, Who shall resist her when with Skill, She levels at the Heart.

Since with each smile the pretty Nymph, Now captivates the Sense, What when her Beauty's at the height, Will be its Influence

SONG XCVI.

YOU tell me, dear Tom like a faint Hearted Toad, You're spris'd I'm so chearful when going abroad, That, for your Part, you'd have, if you were in my Case, A compos'd pensive Mind, and a grave serious Face,

Derry Down, &c.

No Doubt, you're a Gentleman prudant and cool, And I can't deny but I've oft play'd the Fool; Yet here I maintain that my System's the best; For a Phiz of Solemnity, Sir, I detest,

I'm always so jocular, happen what will, I scarce seem to know what's good from what's Ill; Yet now you imagine I should be sedate, Since I'm wholly uncertain of what may be my Fate.

But why should Anxiety vex us, my Friend? What the Devil care I how the Sisters intend: If I'm knock'd o' the Head, to new Regions I'll go And be as merry there as I can you well know.

SONG XCVII. DEAR CLOE.

DEAR Cloe come give me sweet Kisses, For sweeter no Girl ever gave, But why in the midst of my Blis-ses, Do you ask me how ma—ny I'd have, I am not to be stinted in pleasure, Then prithee dear Clo—e be kind, For since I love thee be—yond measure, To numbers I'll ne'er be confind.

Count the Bees that on Hybla are playing, Count the Flow'rs that enamel the Fields,

Count the Flocks that on Tempe are straying, Or the grain that rich Sicily yields Count how many Stars are in Heaven, Go number the Sands on the Shore, And when so many Kisses you've given, I still shall be asking for more,

To a Heart full of Love let me hold thee, A Heart which dear Cloe is thine, In my Arms I'd for ever enfold thee And twist round thy Neck like a Vine, What Joy can be greater then this is, My life on thy Lips shall be spent, But the Wretch who can number his kistes, Will always with few be content.

SONG XCVIII. The HYPOCRITE

YE Am'rous Youths whose tune—ful Lays, Replete with Love and sprightly Wit, Each Nymph be-deck with la—vish Praise, But ne—ver Sing the Hy—po—crite.

A mom••nt cease while I rehearse, In artless strains but faintly Write, My hapless Loves in Plaintive Verse, I mean to sing the Hypocrite.

Cou'd Words express each blooming Charm, Or Pencil from the Favorite, Each Heart I wou'd with Love alarm, For this bewitching Hypocrite.

Were I to paint an Angel sair, And could compleat Ferfection hit, I'd give the World a Picture rare, The Copy of this Hypocrite.

In tender sighs I breath'd my Flame, My Vows to Heav'n I did submit,

That I no more might hear her Name. If e're I play'd the Hypocrite.

But now no more her Eyes I see, With looks of Love expressive Writ, She Vows she will be ever free, No longer play the Hypocrite.

SONG XCIX. A DAWN of HOPP

A dawn of hope my Soul revives, And ba—nish—es Despair, If yet my dearest Damon lives, If yet my dearest Damon lives, Make him ye Gods your care, If yet my dearest Damon lives, Make him ye Gods your care. Make him ye Gods your care.

Dispell those gloomy shades of Night, My tender Grief remove, O se••d some chearing Ray of Light, And guide me to my Love.

Thus in secret friendly Shade. The pensive Daelia mourn'd. While courteous Eccho lent her Aid. And sigh for sigh return'd.

When ••••dden Damon's well known Face, Each rising fear disarm'd, He eager springs to her Embrace, She sicks into his Arms.

SONG C. LOVELY NANCY.

HOW can you lovely Nancy thus cru-el-ly slight A Swain who is wretched when banish'd your sight. Who for your sake alone thinks Life worth his Care, But which soon if you frown on must end in Despair.

If you meant thus to tortur Oh! why did your Eyes, Once express so much Softness and sweetly Suprise, By their L••stre i••flam'd I c••u'd not believe, As they shed such mild Influence, they e'er wou'd deceive.

But alas! like the Pilgrims bewilder'd in Night. Who perceives a fa••se Splendor at Distance invite, Overjoy'd he ha••tes on pursues and dies, A like ruin attends me if away Nancy flies.

O forget not the Raptures you felt in my Arms, When you call'd me dear Angel and unvell'd all your charms When you vow'd lasting Love and swore with a Kiss, That in my fond embraces was center'd all Bliss.

Fairest but most obdurate corsider that Woe, Will like sickness neglected more desperate grow, That your Heart may relent I implore the kind Powers, Since I'm constant as your Sex be not fickle as ours.

SONG CI.

By Mr. TRAVERS.

WHEN Vernal Airs perfume the Fields, And pleasing Views the Landscape yields, And Pretty Birds wi••h warbling Notes, In Raptures swell their little Throats,

When Shepherds pass the pleasing Hours, Under the Trees on fragrant flowers, And ev'ry one doth take his Lass, And gay••y Dances and gally Dances on the Grass.

Then, then let me wander thro' the Fields, Where Nature all her beauty yields, Where Sheep do feed, fat Oxen low, And Reapers do the Harvest Mow.

And where the pretty, pretty little Lambs, Forsake their Food, to meet their D••ms, Or where the fragrant Flow'rs do spring, And where the Nightingale doth Sing.

SONG CII. My fond SHEPHERDS.

MY fond Shepherds of late were so blest, Their fiar Nymphs where so Happy and Gay, That each Night they went safely to Rest, And they merrily Sung thro' the Day, But ah! what a Scene must appear, Must the sweet rural Pastime be o'er, Shall the Tabor, the Tabor no more Strike the Ear, Shall the Dance on the Green be no more.

Will the Flocks from their Pas••ure be led, Mu••t the Herds go wild straying abroad, Shall the Looms be all stop'd in each Shed, And the Ships be all Moor'd in each Road, Must the Arts be all scatter'd around, And shall Commerce grow Sick of it's Tide, Must Religion expire on the Ground, And shall Virtue sink down by her Side.

SONG CIII.

Sung by Mr. JAGGER.

IN Infancy our Hopes and Fears, Were to each other known, No fordid Inc're••t then appears, Affection Rules alore, Affection Rules alone; As Friendship ripen'd with our Youth, The Fruit was gather'd there, Bright wisdom and fair Blooming 'Truth, Subsides ev'sy Care, Subsided ev'ry Care.

Ah! happy more than happy Stute, Where Hea•••• are twin'd in on•••• Yet ••ew (to ri•••••• is our ••••te) May wear the ••••••der Crown. By one rude touch the R••ses sall; And all their Beauty's fade; In Vain we ••••gh, in Vain we Call, Too 〈◊〉〈◊〉 is H••••an Aid.

SONG CIV. JAMIE GAY.

AS Jamie Gay gang'd blyth his way, A long the Banks of Tweed; A bonny Lass as ever was, Came tripping o'er the Mead.

The hearty Swain untaught to feign, The boxom Nymph survey'd, And full of glee as Lad could be, Bespoke the pretty Maid.

Dear Lassy tell, why by thine sell, Thou lonely wanderest here, My Ews she Cry'd are straying wide, Canst tell me Laddy where.

To Town I'se hie, he made reply, Some Muckle Sport to see, But thou'rt so sweet, so Trim, so near, I'se Seek thy Ews with thee.

She gin her Hand, nor made a stand. But lik'd the Youth's Intent, O'er Hill and Dale, o'er Plain and Vale, Right merrily they went.

The Birds Sung sweet, the Pair to greet, And Flow'rets bloom'd around, And as they walk'd, of Love they talk'd, And Lovers Joys when Crown'd.

And now the Sun had Rose to Noon, The Zeolth of his Power, When to the Shade, their Steps they made, To pass the Mid day Hour.

The bouny Lad, row'd in his Plad, The Lass whom scorn'd to frown, She soon forgot the Ews the sought, And he to gang to Town.

SONG CV. The CHARMS of SYLVIA

ALL Nature blooms when you appear, The Fields their Richest Liv'rys weat, Oaks, Elms and Pines blest by your View, Shoot out fresh Green, and Bud a new: The various Seasons you supply, And when you're gone, they Fade and Die: The various Seasons you supply, And when you're gone, they Fade and Die.

Sweet Philomel in mournful Strains, To you appeals, to you Complains; The tow'ring Lark on Rising Wing, Warbling attempts your praise to Sing, He cuts the yeilding Air, and Flys To Heaven, to type our future Joys.

SONG CVI. A NEW SONG

NATURE gave all Creatures Arms, Faithful guards from hostile Harms, Jaws the Lyon brood defend, Horrid Jaws that wide distend; Horns the Bull resistless Force, Solid Hoofs the vig'rou Horse, Nimble Feet the fearful Hare, Wings to fly the Birds of Air, Wings to fly Wings to fly the Birds of Air, Wings to fly, Wings to fly the Birds of Air.

To the Fox did Wiles ordain, The crastiell of the Sylvan train; T••••sks she gave the grunting Swine, Quilts the fretful Porcupine; Fins to Swim the wat'ry kind, Man the Virtues of the Mind;

Nature lavishing her store, What for Woman had she more. Helpless Woman! to be fair, Beauty fell to Woman's share, Beauty that nor wants or fears Swords, or Flames, or Shields or Spears, Beauty stronger aid affords, Stronger far than Shields or Swords, Stronger far than Swords or Shields, Man himself to Beauty yields.

SONG CVII. NANCY

'TWAS underneath a May blown Bush Where Violets Bloom, and sweet, Primroses, with Voice melodeous as a Trush, Young JOHNNY sung Collecting Pofies; Those to the Breast must be convey'd, Of her who sways my warmest Fancy, The tender Hashing Blooming Maid, My smiling Mild good Natur'd NANCY.

I know that some her Youth will Jear, And call me wittless Auff and Zani, But I from constant Heart declare. I ne'er will wed except my NANNY; I envy them nor Pomp nor Dress, Nor Conquest gain'd o'er Hearts of many, The study of my Life's to bless And please my dear my grateful NANNY.

How much unlike my Fair to those, Whose wanton Charms are f••ee to any, I'd give the World could I disclose, A sistieth Part the worth of NANNY. Let Bucks and Bloods in burnt Champaign, Toast Lucy Charl••••te Poll and FANNY, At Notions so absur'd and Vain, I smile and Clasp my blumeless NANNY.

SONG CVIII. The WISH

Set by Mr. Battishill at Vauxhall.

GRANT me ye Pow'rs a calm Repose, Exempt from Noise, and Strife and Pride, Where I may pity human Woes, And tast•• the Pleasures you provide, And taste the Pleasures you provide.

Unenvy'd by the Proud and Great, My Hours shall sweetly glide away; While Conscious of my still Retreat, Chearful I hail the opening Day.

And if I may select the Maid From all the softer Sex below; May Stella be alone convey'd, Whose Beauties bid my Bosom glow.

At length when Life is in decline, Celestial Ma••sions let me View; With out a groan my Breath resign, And Peaceful bid the World adieu.

SONG CIX. The HIGHLAND QUEEN.

NO more my Song shall be ye Swains, Of purling Streams or Flow'ry Plains, More pleasing Beauties now inspire, And Phoebus deigns the warbling Lyre, Divinely aided, thus I mean To Celebrate, To Celebrate my Highland Queen.

In her sweet Innocence I find, With beauty truth and Freedom joyn'd Strict Honour fills her spotless Soul, And gives a Luster to the whole, A matchless Shape and lovely m••in,

All center in Highland Queen.

No sudden Rush no trifling Joy, Her settl'd calm of Mind destroy, From Pride and Affectation free, A like she Smiles on you and me, The brightest Nymph that trips the Green, I do pronounce my Highland Queen.

How blest that Youth whom gentle fate, Has disten'd to so fair a Ma••e, With all those wondrous Gifts in store, While each returning Day brings more, No Man more happy can be be seen, Possessing thee my Highland Queen.

SONG CX. MYRTILLA

YE chearful Virgins have ye seen my fair, Myrtilla pass the Green, To Rose or Jess'mine Row'r, To Rose or Jess'mine Bow'r; Where dose she seek the Woodbine Shade, For sure ye know the blooming Maid, Sweet as the May born Flow'r, Sweet, Sweet as the May born Flow'r.

Her Cheeks are like the Maiden Rose, Join'd with the Lillies as it Blows, Where each in sweetress vie, Like Dew-drops glist'ning in the Morn, When Phoebus Gilds the Flow'ring Thorn, Health sparkles in her Eye.

Her Song is like the Linnet's Lay, That warbles che••••••ul on the Spray, To hall the vernal Beam. Her ••eart is b••yther than her Song, Her Passions gently move along, Like the smooth gliding Stream.

SONG CXI. The FLIRTATION

YE dear pretty Ladies Who now in your Gay Days So merrily take your Diversion Sure there is no Sporting, Compared to Courting, And having a little Flirtation.

For what signifies All the Charms of your Eyes, Your Wit and your good Education, Your Dressing so neat, And your looking so sweet, Where it not for a little Flirtation.

The Antiquated Prude, She will swear those are rude, That enjoy but the least Recreation Was she in her Prime, She would think it no Crime, To partake in a little Flirtation.

In Church or in Street, Or where ever you meet. The Object of your Inclination, Oh! i•• it not pleasure, Beyond any Measure. To have a Dear little Flirtation.

What tho' now you call, An Assembly or Sall, A pleasant and sweet Recreation, How soon wou'd you treat it, As dull and insipid, Had you not a little Flirtation.

There's you and there's you, And there's you madam too,

And there's you in your sly Situation, Tho' you all lock so shy, Yet you cannot deny, That you're fond of a little Flirtation.

But Ladies beware, Of your Hearts pray take care, Nor attend to each fond Declaration, Tho' they swear they shall Die, Yet believe me they Lye, They mean only a little Flirtation.

SONG CXII. The CORNER.

Sung by Mr. Atkins

YOUNG Fanny once all pensive sat, I cou'd not guess the Matter; My Fancy ran on this and that. And Fain I'd have been at her, Fain, fain I'd have been at her, With Joy I View'd the many Charms, That brightly did adorn her. And thought I'd have her in my Arms, If I'd got her in a Corner, I'd have her in my Arms, If I'd got her If I'd got her, If I'd got her in a Corner.

Fair Maid, I cry'd, so Young you seem, You surely han't been marry'd? The Wise say Love's an idle Dream, Perhaps you've there miscarry'd? From Wedlock I'm at present Free, Reply'd the beauteous Mourner; Hah! hah! thought I, 'twill do for me, When I get you in a Corner.

My Dear, I cry'd, you give me Grief, Come change your Pain to Laughter;

If I don't give you some Relief, Then trust me never after; What e'er the Cause, believe but this, You cannot seem forlorner; And then I gave the Fair a Kiss, And coaxt her in a Corner.

What there was done you'd have me sing, But faith it can't be granted; I Found a Husband was the Thing, The Thing the Damsel wanted; So odd, I told her, was my Way, If wedded I might scorn her, And ever since we Kiss and Play, When I get her in a Corner.

SONG CXIII. COLIN

Sung by Miss Falkner at Marybon-Garden.

OH! pity Colin! cruel Fair Think on his Sighs and Tears His Sighs regardless as the Air, And without Hope his Fears; Oh! Colin was once the happiest Swain, That e'er in Albion dwelt, He laught at Love, and mock'd at Pain, Love's Pangs he ne'er had felt.

The Neighbouring Nymphs had often try'd, With Love to lure the Swain, But he as oft their Suit deny'd, For Love return'd Disdain, But ah! how chang'd his former State, With folded Arms he walks, Upbraids the Gods and curses Fate, And like a Madman talks.

Nor can soft Musick's Flatt'ring Charm, Give now the least Delight,

No more the Bowl his Bosom warm, Or Rural sports invite. Relent fair Maid, e'er Colin Dies, Let him not Mourn in vain, His hopeless Love, regardless Pangs, And unrewarded Pain,

Oh! think Myrtillo, on his Grief, And on your cruel Hate, Reward his Love, and bring Relief, Before it is too Late.

SONG CXIV.

Sung by Mr. Beard.

WE'VE Fought; we have Conquer'd, An England once more; Shall flourish in Fame as she flourish'd before, Our Fears all are fled, with our Enemies slain, Cou'd they Rise up a new we wou'd, slay them again, Cou'd they Rise up a new we wou'd, slay them again.

His Monarch to serve or to do himself Right, No Englishman yet ever Flinch'd from the Fight, For why Neighbours all we are free as the King: 'Tis that makes us brave and 'tis that us Sing.

Our Prince too for this may be thankful to Fate, It is in our Freedom he finds himself Great, No Force can be wanting nor meaner Court Arts, He is Master of all who will Reign in our Hearts.

Should Rebels within or should Foes from without, Bring the Crown on his Head or his Honour in doubt; We are ready still ready and boldly foretell, That Conquest shall ever with Liberty dwell.

And now bring us forth as the Crown of our Labour, Much Wine and good Chear with the Pipe and the Tabor, Let our Nymphs all be kind and our Shepherds be gay; For England, old England is happy to Day.

SONG CXV. LOVE's true OBJECT.

WHILE Youthfull Bards in Lyrick Lays, A Brilliant Train of Beauties praise, And each, and each prefers his own; Be mine the Task to sing the Fair, Whose Charms engage bevond compare, The lovely, lovely BETSY STONE.

For Beauty Venus was Renown'd, And dignity Saturnia Crown'd, In sense Minerva shone; But would you in one Object find, Those great perfections all combind, Observe my BETSY STONE.

Not rich Arabias fragrant Dews, Nor sweets that Primroses Beds diffuse, By vernal Zephirs blown; Not all the Flowrets of the Field, Can such reviving Odours yield, As charming BETSY STONE,

While some in Quest of sordid Gain, In Vessels cross the Brainy Main, To distant Climes unknown; I'd give up India's precious Store, With fertile Peru's Golden Ore, To purchase BETSY STONE.

Though other Charmers may Impart, True bliss to Man, my constant Heart, Is fix'd on her alone; To her I'll ev'ry thought apply, Oh! many I live, ye Gods! and die, With lovely BETSY STONE

SONG CXVI. The LASS with the DELICATE Air.

Sung by Mr. LOWE.

YOUNG MOLLY who lives at the Foot of the Hill. Whose Fame ev'ry Virgin with envy does fill Of Beauty is bless'd with so ample a Share, That Men call her the Lass with the delicate Air. Of Beauty is bless'd with so ampel a Snare, That Men call her the Lass with the delicate Air.

One Ev'ning last May as I travers'd the Grove, In thoughtless Retirement not dreaming of Love, I chanc'd to espy the gay Nymph I declare, And really she'd got a most delicate Air.

By a murmuring Brook on a green mossy Bed, A Chaplet composing the fair one was laid, Surpriz'd and transported I cou'd not forbear, With Raptures to gaze on her delicate Air.

For that Moment young Cupid selected a Dart, And Pierc'd without pity my innocent Heart, And from thence how to gain the dear Maid was my Care, For a Captive I fell to her delicate Air.

When she saw me she blush'd and complain'd I was rude, And begg'd of all Things that I wou'd not intrude I answer'd I cou'd not tell how I came there, But laid all the Blame on her delicate Air.

Said her Heart was the Prize which I sought to obtain. And hop'd that she'd give it to ease my fond Pain. She neither rejected nor granted my Pray'r, But fir'd all my Sou! with her delicate Air.

A thousand Times since I've repeated my Suit, But still the T••rmentor affects to be mate. Then tell me ye Swains who have conquer'd the Fa••r, How to win the dear Lass with the delicate Air.

SONG CXVII. A HUNTING SONG.

THE Sun from the East tips the Mountains with Gold, And the Meadows all spangled with Dew-drops behold, Hear the Lark's early Mattin proclaims the new Day, And the Horns cheerful Summons rebuke our delay With the Sports of the Field there's no Pleasure can vie, While jocound we follow the Hounds in full Cry.

Let the Drudge of the Town make Riches his Sport, And the Slave of the State hunt the Smiles of the Court, No Care nor Ambition our Patience annoy, But Innocence still gives it rest to our Joy.

Cho: With the Sports &c.

Mankind are all Hunters in various degree, The Priest hunts a Living, the Lawers a Fee, The Doctor a Patient, the Courtier a Place, Tho' often (like us) they're flung out with Disgrace.

Cho: With the Sports &c.

The Cit hunts a Plumb, while the Soldiers hunts Fame, The Poet a Dinner, the Patroit a Name; And the artful Coquet tho' she seem, to refuse, Yet in spite of her Airs she her Lover pursues.

Cho: With the Sports &c.

Let the Bold and the Busy hunt Glory and Wealth, All the Blessings we ask is the Blessing of Health; With Hounds and with Horns to the Woodlands to roam, And when tir'd abroad, find Contentment at home.

Cho: With the Sports &c.

SONG CXVIII. The Ecchoing Horn in THOMAS and SALLY

THE Ecchoing Horn calls the Sportsmen abroad: To Horse my brave Boys and a way. The Morning is up and the Cry of the Hounds.

Upbraids our too tedicus Delay; What Pleasures we seel in pursuing the Fox, O'er Hill and o'er Valley he fles; Then follow, we'll scon overtake him, Huzza! the Traitor is seiz'd on and Dies; He Dies the Traitor is seiz'd on and Dies; Then follow, we'll soon overtake him, Huzza! the Traitor is seiz'd on and Dies.

Triumphant returning at Night with the Spoil, Like Bacchanals shouting and Gay; How sweet with a Bottle and Lass to refresh, And lose the Fatigues of the Day; With Sport, Love, and Wine fickle Fortune defy, Dull Wisdom all Happiness sours; Since Life is no more than a Passage at best, Let's strew the Way over with Flow're With Flow'rs Let's strew &c.

SONG CXIX. Flat BOTTOM'D BOATS.

Sung by Mr. Green at Sadlers Wells,

OUR Glory, renown'd on the Ocean and Shore, To Ages for Aye shall be told, Hawke, Howe and Boscawen, Wolfe, Amhurst and Moore, In the List of fair Fame be entoll'd; In Praise of such Leaders then Open your Throats, And Laugh at the French Flat Bottom'd Boats.

While Barrington swept off the Table Basterre, At Minden we got the odd trick; Skew'd Conflans a Trump or two made him look queer, And won all they had at Quebeck; Then Sing and be Jolly Boys open your Throats, And Laugh at the French &c.

We're Ignorant what may betide us this Year, But certain of this we are all; Her Course how she will let kind Providence fleer,

For Freedom we'll Fight and we'll fall; For King George and Prince George then open your Throats, And Laugh at the French &c:

Like Grevhounds half slarv'd they squint at our Food. And fain from our Beef wou'd be fed: You're welcome Monsieurs, if you'll wade to't in Blood, I see you are far better Bred, Poltroons! how they run! then open your Throats, And Laugh at the French &c.

SONG CXX. The KENNEL RAKER.

THO' I sweep to and thro' old Iron to find, Brass Pins Rusly Nails they are all to my mind, Yet I wear a sound Heart true to George our King, Tho' Ragged and poor with clear Concience can sing, Tho' I sweep to and thro' yet I'd have you to know, There are sweepers in high Life as well as in low.

The Statesman he sweeps in his Coffers the blunt, That shou'd pay the poor Soldiers that Honours does hunt, The Action tho' dirty, he cares not a Straw, So he get's but the ready, the Rabble may jaw, Tho' I sweep &c.

I'm told that the Parson (for I never go, To hear a Man Preach, what he never sticks to,) 'Tis all for the Sweepings he tip's ye the cant, You might Preach by your selves, else depend Sirs upon't, Tho' I sweep &c.

One sweep's you from this Life, you cannot tell where, And to what place you go too the Doctor don't care, So he brings in his Bill your long Purses to broach. Then he Laugh's in his Sleve, as he Rides in his Coach. Tho' I sweep &c.

Your Counsel may plead but pray what is it for, His Eye's on your sob whilst he chatters the Law, Tongue padding he Rakes you and sweeps you quite clear.

Of what's better than Iron you need not to fear, Tho' I sweep &c. But honesty's best in what Station we are, For our Grand Sweeper Death we can better prepare, Your Statesmen your Parson your Physick and Law, When Death takes a Sweep are no more than a Straw, Tho' I Sweep &c.

SONG CXXI. A new HUNTING SONG.

THE Morning is charming, all Nature is gay, Away, my brave Boys, to your Horses away; For the Prime of your Pleasure, and questing the Hare, We have not so much as a Moment to spare. Hark! the lively toned Horn, how melodious it sounds, How melodious it sounds, To the musical Song, To the musical Song of the merry-mouth'd Hounds.

In yon Stubble Field we shall find her below; Sono! cries the Huntsman Hark to him Soho! See, see where she goes and the Hounds have a View; Such Harmony, Handel himself never knew;

Cho.

Gates Hedges and Ditches to us are no Bounds, But the World is our own while we follow the Hounds.

Hold, Hold 'tis a double; hark, hey! Bowler, hey! If a thousand gainsay it a thousand shall lye; His Beauty surpasing his Truth has been try'd, At the Head of the Pack an infallible Guide;

Cho.

At his Cry the wide Welking with Thunder resounds The Darking of Hunters the Glory of Hounds.

O'er Highlands and Lowlands and Woodlands we fly, Our Horses full speed and our Hounds in full cry So matcht in their Mouths and so even they run, Like the turn of the Spheres and the Race with the Sur

Cho.

Health Joy and Fericity dance in the Rounds, And bless the gay Circle of Hunters and Hounds.

The old Hounds push Forward a very sure Sign

That the Hare tho' a stout one begins to decline, A Chace of two Hours or more she has led, She's down, look about ye, they have her, where dead;

Cho.

How glorious a Death to be honour'd with Sounds Of Horns, and a Shout to the Chorus of Hounds.

Here's a Health to all Hunters, and long be their Lives, May they never be crost by their Sweethearts or Wives; May they rule their own Passions, and ever at Rest. As the most happy Men, be they also the best:

Cho.

And free from the Care, which the many surrounds Be happy at last, when they see no more Hounds.

SONG CXXII. A NEW SONG, Sung by Mrs. C••bber.

YE fair marrie'd Dames who so often deplore, That a Lover once bless'd is a Lover no more, No more, no more, is a Lover no more;

Attend to my Counsel nor blush to be taught, That Prudence must cherish what Beauty has caught Attend to my Counsel nor blush to be taught That Prudence must cherish what Beauty has caught.

Use the Man that you wed like you fav'rite Guittar, Tho' Musick in both they are both apt to Jar, How tuneful and soft from a delicate Touch, Not handled too roughly nor play'd on too much.

The Linnet and Sparrow will feed from your Hand, Grow fond by your kindness and come at Command, Exert with your Husband the same happy Skill, For Hearts like your Birds may be tam'd to your will.

Be gay and good humour'd complying and kind, Turn the chief of your Care from your Face to your Mind, 'Tis there that the Wife may her Conquest improve, And Hymen will rivet the Fetters of Love.

SONG CXXIII. The VIRGINS COMPLAINT.

A Virgin like me sure was ne'er so distress't, Oh! how shall I tell what I feel in my Breast, I must tho' asham'd for I'm sadly afraid, I'm doom'd gainst my will to die an Old Maid, a Maid, A Maid, I'm doom'd gainst my will to die an Old Maid.

I have done all I can and who could do more, A Husband to gain Sparks I've had three or four, Have Danc'd Laught and Sung and went smartly Array'd, Yet I fear after all I shall die an Old Maid.

To Assembly's, the Park, and the Play I oft went, But alass nought was there yet could give me content, The Fops all around me soft silly Things said, But I found for all that I might die an Old Maid.

So fond were they all of themselves and fine Cloathes, Of Gaming and Raking of trifling and Shows, That a Wifes but a Cypher when her Fortune is paid, And if this is call'd Marriage let me die an Old Maid.

Our young King Oh! bless him who sits on the Throne, To all his good Subjects a Pattern has shown, Since George and sair Charlotte have Hymen obey'd, Sure for shame we shant see in this Isle an Old Maid.

A Peace he has sign'd let each Virgin Rejoice, All Join in Petition with Hearis Hand and Voice, Which granted due Homage will truly be paid. That Old England throughout there mayn't live an Old Maid.

Let him tax but Single, Rich, Poor, High, and low, The Soldier, the Sailor, the Clown, and the Beaux, What ever's their Station Profession or Trade, T'will be hard in one Year if there's left an Old Maid.

To all those brave Heroes who have ventur'd their Lives, Let him give the best Fortunes and all the best Wives, Then the Fools who with Time and themselves have long play'd May be glad if at last they can catch an Old Maid.

SONG CXXIV. Sung by Mr. Lowe in the Character of Colonel Bully, The PROVOK'D WIFE.

YE Subjects of Bacchus who laught at dull thinking And place all your Wisd••m in Whoring and Drinking, Pursue your Delights and behold with Emotion Your Deity smiles and approves your Devotion Drink, drink then and laugh at the folly's of Life Forget all your Sorrows Death Devil and Wife Here's a G•••••• to Confusion may order decline And every Distinction be drown'd in good Wine.

May all Things be now, as in days of Old Adam When the Beasts too got Drunk, with Master and Madam May Pimps, Bawds, and Bullys like Birds of a Feather Drink, Laugh. Sing, and Play, and be happy together For such as live Sober poor pitiful Elves May they Guzzel small Beer, and dispute by themselves.

Here's Glass &c.

Our Motto shall be Drawer bring t'other Fiask, Our Arms jo••ly Bacchus, bestriding his Cask; And he that shall flinch or these Orders think much on May dye and be Damn'd with a blot in his Scutcheon While each jolly Toper, with six Bottles more Supported shall stand, till he falls on the Floor.

Here's a Glass &c.

SONG CXXV. The ORIGIN of ENGLISH LIBERTY.

ONCE the Gods of the Greeks, at Ambrosial Feast, Large Bowls of rich Nectar were Quaffing, Merry Momus a mong them was sat as a Guest, Homer says the Celestials lov'd Laughing, Octaves on each in the Synod the Humorist Droll'd, So none could his Jokes disapprove, He Sung Reparteed and some smart Story's told,

And at last thus began upon Jove, And at last thus began upon Jove.

Sire, Atlas who long has the Universe bore, Grows greviously tir'd of la••e, He says that Mankind are much worse than before, So he begs to be eas'd of t••eir weight; Jove knowing the Earth on poor Atias was Hurl'd, From his Shoulders commanded the Ball, Gave his Daughter Attraction the charge of the World, And she hung it up high in his Hall.

Miss pleas'd with the Present review'd the G••••••e round, To see what each Climate was worth, Like a Diamond the whole with an Atmosphere bound, And she variously Planted the Earth: With Silver, Gold, Jewells, she India endow'd, France, and Spain, she taught Vineyards to rear. What suited each Clime on each Clime she bestow'd, And Freedom she found flourish'd here.

Four Cardinal Virtues she lest this Isle, As Guardians to Cherish the Root, The Blossoms of Liberty gayly did smile, And Englishmen fed on the Fruit: Thus fed and thus bred from a Bounty so rare, O preserve it as free as 'twas give'n, We will while we've Breath, nay we'll grasp it in Death. Then return it untainted to Heaven.

SONG CXXVI. WOMAN for MAN.

Address'd to the Batchelors.

WINE. Wine we allow the brisk Fountain of Mirth, It frights away Care, and gives Jolli••y Birth; Yet while we thus freely great Bacchus approve, Lets pay the glad Tribute to Venus and Love, For do what you will nay or say what you can;

Who loves not a Woman the Wretch is no Ma••, For do what you will nay or say what you can; Who loves not a Woman the Wretch is no Man.

To the Charms of that Sex let us chearful resign Our Youth and our Vigour, they're better than Wine; There's Merit I own, in a gay sparkling Glass, But can it compare with a lovely kind Lass? No, it cannot compare, you may say what you can, Who presers not a Woman the Wretch is no Man.

CHO. No, it cannot, &c.

The Enchantments of Beauty what Force can repell, The Eyes pow'rful Magic, the Bosom's soft Spell, The Look so endearing, the kind melting Kiss! The Enjovments of Love, are all Raptures and Bliss, Then who Woman refuse rejects Nature's Plan, He may say what he will but the Wretch is no Man.

CHO. Then who Woman, &c.

May Scandal, Misfortune and direful Disgrace, Be the Portion of all, the Effeminate Race; Like Britain what Nation on Earth can they find Whose Nymphs are so fair so inviting and kind? Then who Women refuse, or reject Nature's Plan, May they suffer like Brutes, nor be pity'd by Man.

CHO. Then who Women, &c.

From a striking Example Moral shall spring, Who'd act like a Man, let him copy his King; Like George in his Youth, the gay spring tide of Life, Let ev'ry good Fellow, now take him a Wife, When by Hymen you're blest, rest securely for then, You'll have nothing to do, but to prove yourselves Men.

CHO. When by Hymen, &c.

SONG CXXVII. MAY the Mother of LOVE.

THE Virgin when softned by May, Attend to the Village's Vows,

The Birds fondly bill on the Spray, And Poplars Embrace with their Boughs; On IDA bright VENUS may reign, Ador'd for her Beauty above, We Shepherds that dwell on the plain, Hail May as the Mother of Love.

From the West as it wantonly blows, Fond Zephyr Caresses the Vine, The Bee steals a Kiss from the Rose, And Willows and Woodbines entwine: The Pinks by the Rivulets side, That Border the vernal Alcove, Bend downward and kiss the soft Tide, For May is the Mother of Love.

May tinges the Butterflies Wing, He Flutters in Bridal Array, If the Larks and the Linnets now Sing, Their M••sick is taught them by May: The Stock Dove recluse with her Mate, Conceals her fond Bliss in the Grove, And murmuring seems to Repeat, That May is the Mother of Love.

The Goddess will Visit ye soon, Ye Virgins be sportive and Gay, Get your Pipes oh! ye Shepherds in Tune, For Musick must welcome the May: Would DAMON have PHILLIS prove kind, And all his keen Auguish remove, Let him tell her soft Tales and he'll find, That May is the Mother of Love.

SONG CXXVIII. The LOVERS WISH.

THE Blooming Spring makes Joy appear, The pleasant Month of May is near, The pleasant Month of May is near?

When I and Betsy may again; Wander o'er each Hill and Plain, Wander o'er each Hill and Plain.

And daily find new Paths to tread, (By Love and Incocence be led) O'er flow'ry Meads or verdant Hills, Near murm'ring Brooks or cooling Rills:

Or to some pleasing soft retreat, Where Sylphs or Fairias nightly meet, Where zephyr's fan the Air around, And Birds with warbling notes are found.

Or if the Sun with intense pow'r, Shall force us to some shady Bow'r, Where the giantick woodbines grow, And the more fragrant Vi'lets blow.

There dearest Betsy thou shalt prove, That I no other Nymph do love, In rural Scenes no Joy I see, My Betsy is all Joy to me.

SONG CXXIX. A BACCHANALIAN SONG.

Set by Mr. Moze.

OLD Care begone thou churlish guest, Here's none but flowing Bowl's, Thou'rt only made for selfish Churls, Be gone we're none but Souls, Ana-Creon bids thee quite the shrine, Nor dare approach his School; For Wine inspire's the Soul of Man, Then who wou'd drink by rule, by rule, Then who wou'd drink by rule.

No turbid Thoughts perplex the Brain, We Cy••ic rules dec••••••e, Give me your Joyous drinking Blades,

And Cellars stor'd with Wine. With Grapes my Temple•• wr••••ath all round, An Hogs-head striding o'er, A Rummer fill'd with gen'rous Wine, Ye Gods I ask no more.

In truimph then Oh! how I'd Quaff, Amidst each toping Son, I should like Bacchus self appear, Astride the Jolly Tun. Ye learned Asses rail your fill, Your maxims we despise, If shunning Wine is Wisdom call'd, Oh! let me ne'er be wise.

The difference View 'twixt sons of Care, And Lads of rosy Hue, Your sober Joy's are still the same, But drinking's ever new. Go on and level us with Breast, Great Bacchus we adore, And free as Air we'll drink and sing, Till Time shall be no more.

SONG CXXX. DAMON and FLORELLA.

DAMON.

CAST, my Love, thine Eves around, See the sportive Lambkins play; Nature gavly decks the Ground, All in Honour of the May: Like the Sparrow and the Dove, Listen to the Voice of Love.

FLORELLA,

Damon, thou hast found me long I ist'ning to thy soothing ••ale, And t••y soft persuasive Song, Often held me in the Dale: Take oh! Damon, while I live,

All which Virtue ought to give.

DAMON,

Not the Verdure of the Grove, Nor the Garden's fairest Flow'rs. Nor the Meads where Lovers rove, Tempted by the vernal Hours, Can delight thy Damon's Eye. If Florella is not by.

FLORELLA,

Not the Wa••er's gentle Fall, By the Bank with Poplars crown'd, Not the feather'd Songsters all, Nor the Flute's melodious Sound, Can delight Florella's Ear, If her Damon is not near.

BOTH.

Let us love, and let us live Like the chearful Season gay, Banish Care, and let us give Tribute to the fragrant May: Like the Sparrow and the Dove, Listen to the Voice of Love.

SONG CXXXI. EXCUSE for a LOVE SLIP.

WHAT means that tender Sigh my Dear, Why silent drops that Chrystal Tear What Jealous Fears disturb thy Breast, Where Love and Peace Delight to Rest What tho' thy Jockey has been seen, With Molly sporting on the Green 'Twas but an artfull Trick to prove, The matchless Force of J••n••y's Love.

'Tis true a Nosegay I address'd To grace the wi••ty Daphne's Breast, But 'twas at her Desire to try If Damon cast a Jealous Eye,

Those Flow'rs will fade by Morning Dawn Neglected scatter'd o'er the Lawn, But in thy fragrant Bosom lives A sweet Persume that never dies.

SONG CXXXII. The STOCKING.

SILVIA whose Eyes kill sure as any Gun, Set Basking in the Sun, One Stocking off the other on, The Reason why the Fair was minded, To repair a breach her fragrant Foot had made, The lusty Damon, by her Side, With Joy the Fair one eyed, And thus he Sung or said.

O Nymph of every Grace, Nice in Finger nice in Face, Behold thy Lover pale and shocking; And worn as thin as any Stocking, Pitty the Pain thy Lover feels, And darn a Heart that's out at Heels, Then fondly take thy Lovers part, And kindly Garter up my Heart.

SONG CXXXIII. A new SONG JESSY.

THOUGH Kitty and Lucy are fair, And beautiful Jenny bears Sway; Yet none of them all can compare With Jessy, my Queen of the May.

Her Breath like the Violet so sweet, Her Face is as fair as the Day; The Swains of the Village greet My Jessy, the Queen of the May:

Her looks are as mild as a Dove, Her Eyes dart a soft killing Ray;

My Jessy, I'm destin'd to love, She shall ever be Queen of the May.

When she comes to the Dance on the Green, Not one of the Nymphs are so Gay: Youth, Beauty, and Modesty's seen In Jessy, my Queen of the May.

To Musick her Notes I prefer, In Raptures I jo••n in the Lay! But lost! in attend to her; My Song is—••he Queen of the May.

If over the Meadows we rove Where Lambkins so wantonly play, Not a Word can I talk but of Love To Jessy, my Queen of the May.

If e'er I prove false to my Maid, May the Birds cease to sing on each Spray; For Virtue and Truth are display'd In Jessy, my Queen of the May.

SONG CXXXIV.

Sung, by GILBERT COOPER.

DEAR Chloe, what means this Disdain, Which bla••••s each Endeavour to please? Though Forty, I'm free from all Pain; Save love, I am free from Disease. No Graces my Mansion have fled, No Muses have broken my lyre; The love•• Fro••ick still round my Bed, And Laughter is chear'd at my Fire.

To none have I ever been cold. All Beauties in vogue I'm among; I've Appetite e••en for the old, And Spirit enough for the young. Believe me, sweet Girl, I speak true, Or else put my love to the Test; Some other have doubted like you. Like them do you bless and be blest.

SONG CXXXV.

WHILE Poets tune their monthly Lays, And snatch at thee instead of Bays, Stoop down to hear my Strain; My hobling Muse attempts thy Praise, 'Twixt Prose and Verse she sings or says, O B—y, ease my Pain.

That Vermil Cheek, that ruby Lip, Those Snowy Pi••lows, e'en the tip Of that sost Ear so charm me; Not Venus, were her Goddes-Ship From Heaven to take another Trip, Could half so much alarm me.

With all their Elegance and Ease, Your sighing Fellows ne'er can please, Scorn the dull Men of Merit; Their solemn Courtship only teize, The Golden now then B—y seize, And bless a Lad of Spirit.

I'll talk of Operas and Plays, Of Laces, Fans, and Negligees, Of Lap-Dogs and of Ladies; At Ranelagh we'll thread the Maze, And chequer Life ten thousands ways, Our Days shall be gay Days.

My Fortune is not large, 'tis true, But your's tack'd to't, you know, will do, And sure we'll spend it freely; On second thoughts, faith, thus to woo May seem a little odd to you, But hang the Mouth that's mealy.

'Mongst Country Girls and Country Swans, Let puling Lovers pipe their Strains, Till Marian's Breast high swells; Such Conquests are not worth the Pains.

Nor such the Tourd Address, that gains The Heart of loftier Belles.

On musty Greek let Parsons pore, Or Thumb their Bibles o'er and o'er, Can they be fram'd for loving? Close-fetter'd to their clafick Lore, Ulysses like, they beed no more The Svren-voice, though moving.

They all a down a River's side, Where Little Fishes they do glide, May Sing their Songs of Sion, On couch of moss with dazies pied, Stretch'd out, all Luxury deride, Give me a Bed lie on.

Full eight long Stanzas having Wrote, (A thousand such not worth a Groat) My Pegasus grows jaded; Each cranny of my Brain I've sought, Nor find one single lurking Thought By Phoebus left unaided.

Yet sure before your Eyes I've set, That on Love's Score you're in my Debt, Ah! can you longer doubt me? Then take, O take my Lovely B—t, Thy beft, thy second Colinet, Or he must live without thee.

SONG CXXXVI. A new SONG.

Sung by Mr. VERNON, at Vauxhall.

WHEN Fanny to Woman is growing a Pace, The Rose-bud beginning to Blow in her Face, For Mamma's wise Precepts she cares not a Jot, Her Heart pants for something she cannot tell what.

No sooner the Wanton her Freedom obtains, Than among the gay Youths a Tyrant she Reig••s, And, finding her Beauty such Power has got, Her Heart pants for something but cannot tell what;

Though all Day in Splendor she flaunts it about, At Court, Park, and Play, the Ridotto, and Rout, Though flatter'd and envy'd, yet Pines at her Lot, Her Heart pants for something but cannot tell what.

A touch of the Hand or a Glance of the Eye, From him she likes best makes ber ready to Die, Not knowing 'tis Cupid his Arrow has Shot, Her Heart pants for something but cannot tell what.

Ye fair take advice and be bless'd while you may, Each Look, Word, and Action, your Wishes betray, Give E••se to your Hearts by the Conj••gal Knot, Tho' they pant e'er so much you'll soon know for what.

SONG CXXXVII. A new SONG.

FROM Lincoln to London rode forth our young Squire, To bring down a Wise, whom the Swains might admire; But in spite of whatever the Mortal cou'd say, The Goddess objected the length of the way.

To give up the Op'ra. the Park, and the Ball, For to view the Stag's Horns in an old Country-Hall; To have neither China nor India to see! Nor a Lace Man to plague in a Morning not she.

To forsake the dear Play House. Quin, Garrick, and Clive, Who by dint of meer Humour had kept her alive; To forego the full Box, for his lo••e••••me abode, O Heav'ns! she should Faint, she should Die on the Road.

To forget the gay Fashions and gestures of France, And to leave dear Auguste in the midst of the Dance, And Harlequin too! 'twas in vain to require it; And she wonder'd how Folks had the Face to desire it.

She might yield to resign the sweet Singers of Ruckholt, Were the Citizen Matron seduces her Cuckold; But Ranelagh soon would her Footsteps recall, And the Musick, the Lamps, and the glare of Vauxhall.

To be sure she could breathe no where else than in Town. Thus she talk'd like a Wit, and he look'd like a Clown But the while Honest Harry despair'd to succeed, A Coach with a Coronet trall'd her to Tweed.

SONG CXXXVIII The ROSE BUD.

SEE, Daphne, see, Florelio cry'd, And learn the sad Effects of Pride; Yon shelter'd Rose, how safe conceal'd How quickly bla••ted, when reveal'd.

The Sun with warm attractive Rays Tempts it to wanton in the Blaze; A Gale succeeds from Eastern Skies, And all its blushing radiance Dies.

So you my Fair, of Charms divine; Will quit the Plains too fond to shine Where Fame's Transporting Rays allure, Tho' here more happy, more secure.

The Breath of some neglected Maid Shall make you sigh you left the Shade; A breath to Beauty's Bloom unkind, As, to the Rose, an Eastern Wind.

The Nymph reply'd You first, my Swain, Confine your Sonnets to the plain; One envious Tongue alike disarms, You, of your Wit, me of my Charms.

What is, unknown, the Poet's skill? Or, what, unheard, the tuneful Thrill! What, unadmi'd, a charming mien, Or what the Rose's blush, unseen.

SONG CXXXIX.

SYLVAN and CYNTHIA:

SWEET Summer is coming, the Peach T••ees in Bloon The Lay lock's array'd, for its Leaves are just come Then, Cynthia, remember your Swain's usual Lay; Consent, be united, for life's but a Day.

CYNTHIA.

Fly hence, O false Sylvan, to Mira the gay, To her repeat all the fine Things that you say, With Joy she may hear you, and list' to your Lay, For love like to Life is with you but a Day.

SYLVAN.

Unjustly, dear Cynthia, your Sylvan. you blame, I continue still constant, does Cynthia, the same? Tho' to Dor••la's Co••tage your Fl••ck did once stray Was the Sheep then in Fault, or my Cynthia, I pray.

CYNTHIA.

Accuse me not, Sylvan, nor strive to beguile; With a Frown I demand it and banish a ••mile, To ••da's sweet Mountains your ••l••••••s you may le••d With Mi••a who credits what ever you plead.

SYLVAN.

Not so, my dear Cynthia, with you I will stray; You add to all Pleasure, and brighten the Day; Without thee unhappy must Sylvan, ••••ma••n, Oh! tell me, you'll have me, and ri•• me o•• Pain.

CYNTHIA.

Then, Sylvan, be happy, tho' in Fetters remain; I'll free you from Bondage, but not ••••••n your Chain; Then there is my Hand, to the church lead the Way, Be easy and chearful I'll ever obey.

BOTH.

Come, come, all ye N••mp••s, with yo••r Shepherd repair, With Garlands of Myrt••e to Crown the ford Pair; May happiness grow as our Love doth increase, And Hymen supply us w•••••• Plenty and Peace.

SONG CXL. A PASTORAL SONG.

COME, dear Pastor••, come away! And Hai•• the c••enful Spring; Now s••agrant B••••si••ns crown the May, And W••oes win Love Notes ring: Now P••oebus to the West decends, And shads a fainter Ray; And, as our rural Labour ends, We bl••••s the closing Day.

In yonder artless Maple Bow'r, With blooming Woodbines twin'd; Let us enjoy the E••••••ang Hour, On Earth's soft, ••••••p reclin'd: Or where you Poplash verdant Boughs The Cr••stal ••urrent shade; O deign, fair Nymph, to hear the Vows My faithful Heat has made.

Within this Breast no s••ft Deceit, No artful Flau'ry 'bides But Truth, scarce known among the Great, O'er ev'ry Thought presive••: On Pride's false Grave I lo••k with Sc••rn, And all its plit••ring Train; Be mine the P••easares which adorn This ever peaceful Plain.

Come then, my fair, and with thy Love Each ••ising Care subdue; Thy Presence can each Grief remove, And ev'ry Joy renew: The ••ily sades, the Rose grows Faint, Their tra••sient B••oom is vain; But lasting Truth and Virtue Paint Pastora of the Plain.

SONG CXLI. LOVE IN LOW LIFE.

YOUNG Jockey he couried sweet Mo••gy so fair, The Lass she was lovely, the Swain deb••••air; They hugg'd and they cuddel'd, and ta•••••• with their Eyes, And look'd, as all Lovers do, wonderful wi••e.

A Fortnight was spent e're dear Moggy came to, For Maidens a Decenc•• keep when they woo; At length she consented, and made him a Vo••••, And Jockey, he gave for a Jointer, his Cow.

They pannel'd their Dobbins, and rode to the Fair, Still kisting and fondling until they came there; They call'd on the Parson, and by him were wed, And M••ggy she took her d••ar Jockey to Bed.

They staid there a Week, as the Neighbours all say, And none were so happy, and gamesome as they; Then home they return'd, but return'd most unkind, For Jockey rode on and left ••••ggy behind.

Surpris'd at this Treatment, she cried, Gaffer Jock, Pray what is the Reason that M••ggy you mock; Quoth he, Goase, come on, why you now are my Bride, And when Volk are wed, they set Fooling aside.

He took home his M••ggy, good Conduct to learn, Who brush'd up the House, whele he thatch'd the old Barn; They laid in a Stock, for the Cares that ••••sue, And now live as Man and W••••e usually do.

SONG CXLII.

SWEET as th'enamele'd Meads appear When Flora crow••s the p••rpled Year With every pleasing Hue: So sweet nay sweeter e'en than these That vest the Lilly and the Rose The Smiles of lovely Sue.

Blest fair! in whom we see combin••••d Such matchless Beauties with a Mind Corfessedl••, akid! In Heaven such Angels are no doubt Their Clothing g••••rious all without All Purity within.

SONG CXLIII. A NEW SONG. Sung at Mr. Low••, at MARYBONE ••A••DENS.

AMONG all the Arts, which to please we pursue, Our furest Success still attends on what's NEW; 'Tis Novelty pleases alike one and all, From the High to the Low, the Great and the Small: To your Services bound, to your Preasures still true, We humbly now offer you something that's NEW.

To obtain this great Point, tho' often we try, Our flower-drest Sonnets soon Languish and Die; The soft Arts of Love and the Heroes due Praise Have long been worn out and unfir for our Lays; Yet still as your Pleasure is all we've in view. What we offer at present we hope will be NEW.

Ye Wits and ye Critics, ye Belles and ye Beaus, Ye Lovers of Wine, and ye Lovers of Cloatins; Ye Love••s of Women, of T••••tle and Wit, To each and to all our Song is now writ: To please all alike we endeavour to do, And that you'll agree would be NEW, very NEW.

When the Wits cease to censure this unthinking Age; When Cri••cs in praise of the Moderns engage; When F•••••• cease admiring their Dress and their Parts; When Belles cease their ogling, and angling for Bearts; When the Poper his Bottle shall cease to pursue. You all will agree this is NEW, very NEW.

When the Laughter shall coase to be pleased with a Joke,

When the courage of Braggarts shall cease to be Smoke; When Misers forget their old H••ards to increase; When Party and Rave through the Nation shall cease; When all ma••tied Folks to each other are true. You will readily cry this is NEW, very NEW.

When Gamesters grow Honest, and quit Card, and Dice; When Prudes shall cease calling of We••ching a Vice; When Tathers shall cease at each other to rail, And Truth, Honest Truth, shall o'er Scandal prevail: When all this shall happen, I doubt not but you Will strait clap your Hands, and allow this is NEW.

SONG CXLIV. To Miss. POLLY JOHNSON.

OH! Polly throw by that contemptible Air, Which you'd studiously seem to despise; Nor injure a Face so amazingly fair, With a Pair of such merciless Eyes.

When you hear of Dis••resses you ne'er think to cure, With Mildness a Lover reject; Politeness, sweet Ma••d, will entide him sure, To be treated with common Respect.

How cruel the study to Teize and Perplex A Slave whom your Beauty secures; And use him below all the rest of his Sex, If he calls you the Pa••rest of yours.

What Beam of a true and lasting Content Can that Bosom expect to enjoy, Whose Pleasure cons••••is in a With to Torment, And whose Pride is Hope to destroy.

Good Nature, my Dear, the most beautiful Face With a Lustre divine can improve; Bestow e'•••• a Charm to the Cheek of a Grace, And a Dart to the Eye of a Love.

But, trust me, the Maid who from this can depart, Thro' a Passion from Triumph alone; Will find, while she Tortures an innocent Heart. That she only debases her own.

SONG CXLV. COLMA, A Song from the Original of Ossan The SON of FIN••AE.

'TIS Night; and, on the Hill of Storms Alone doth Colma stray; While round her shriek fantastick Forms Of Ghost, that hate the Day.

O'er Rocks the Torrent roars amain, The Whirlwind's Voice is high: To save her from the Wind and Rain, No friendly Shelter nigh.

Rise, Moon! kind Stars! appear a while, And guide me to the Place; Where rest my Love, o'ercome with Toil, And wearied with the Chace.

Some light! direct me, helpless Maid! Where, si••ting on the Ground, His Bow unstrung is near him laid, His panting Dogs around.

Else by the Rock, the Stream beside, I here must sit me down; While howls the Wind, and roars the Tide, My Lover's call to drown.

Ah! why, my Salgar! this delay? Where stray thy ling'ring Feet? Didst thou not promise in the Day Thy love at Night to meet.

Here is the Rock, and here the Tree, Thine own appointed Spot; Thy Promise canst thou break with me? And is my Love forgot.

For thee I'd dare my Brother's Pride; My Father's House would fly; For thee forsake m•• Mother's Side; With thee to live and die.

Be hush'd, ye Winde! how loud ye brawl! Stream! stand a moment still, Perhaps my Love may hear me call, Upon the Neighbouring Hill.

Ho! Salgar! Salgar! mend thy Pace; To Colma haste away. 'Tis I, and this th' appointed Place: Ah! wherefore this delay.

Kind Moon! thou giv'st a friendly Light; And lo! the Glassy Stream, And the grey Rocks, through dusky Night Reflect thy Silver Beam.

Yet I descry not Salgar's From: No Dogs before him run. Shall I not perish by the Storm, Before To-morrow's Sun.

But what behold I, on the Heath? My love! my Brother! laid O speak, my Friends! nor hold your Breat, T' Aff••ight a trembe••ing Maid.

They answer not they Sleep they're Dead, Alass! the horrid Sight. Here lie their angry Swords, still red And Bleeding from the Fight.

Ah! whe••efore lies, by Salgar slain, My Brother, Bleeding here?

Why Salgar murder'd, on the Plain, By one to me so near.

Friends of my Choice! how lov'd were both! Who now your Fame shall raise? Who sing my Lover's p••ighted Troth; My Brother's Song of Praise

Of Thousands lovely, Salgar's Face Was love jest to the ••ight: Re••own'd my Brother for the Cha••e. And terrible in Fight.

Sons of my love! Speak, once again Ah no!—to De••ta a Prey, Silent they are, and must remain; For cold their Breasts of Clay.

But are their fleeting Spirits fled Across the Plan so ••••on? Or shun the Shadows of the Dead The G••impses, of the Moon.

Speak, where on R••ck or Mountain grave, Still c••••sh your Souls of Fire, Or reco ci••'d, in s••me dark Cave Your peaceful Ghosts retire.

Ah! where her Friends shall Colma find, Hark—No—he••'re silent still No muttering Answers brings the Wind; No Whisper o'er the Hill.

Fearless, yet over whelm'd with Grief, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 sit all Night in ••ears; Hope ess of Comfort or Re••ief, When Mor••ing Light appears.

Yet, raise, ye Friends of those the Dead; On this sad Spot their Tomb; But close not up their narrow bed, Till hapless Colma come,

For why behind them should we stay, Whose Lite is now a Dream? Together here our Corses lay, Beside the Murmuring Stream.

So shall my shivering Ghost be seen, Lamenting o'er the Slain; As Homeward hies the Hunter keen, Benighted on the Plain.

Yet shall he, fearless pass along, And lend his Listening Ear: For Sweet, though sad, shall be my Song, For Friends I lov'd so Dear.

SONG CXLVI. DIANA. A CANTATA.

THE Sun was now descended to the Main, When chaste Diana, and her virgin Train, Espied, within the Covert of a Grove, The Little Cupids and the God of Love All fast a Sleep stretch'd on the mossy Ground: Surpris'd, a while the Goddess gaz'd, Then gently thus her Accents rais'd: "Fell Tyrants of each tender Breast Sleep on, and let Mankind have Rest: For On, soon as your Eyes unclose. Adieu to all the World's Repose. Hush—softly tread, and Silence keep; The wanton Gods are all asleep; Let's Break their Darts and Bows, So in our Turn We'll make them Mourn, And give the World Repose. 'Tis done: for scarce the Goddess spoke, But lo! their Darts and Bows are broke; Their Quivers hang in Triumph high, When thus the Nymphs express their Joy: Our Victory's great,

Our Glory's compleat, No longer shall we be alarm'd, Then sing and Rejoice, With one Heart and Voice, For Cupid at length is disarm'd, Ye Nymphs and ye Swains, Who dwell on these Plains, And have by fond Passions been harm'd, Secute of your Hearts Now laugh at his Darts, For Cupid at ••ength is disarm'd. Rouz'd with the Noise, the God in wild affright Awakes; but Oh! what Objects shock his Sight! His dreaded Arms in scatrer'd Shivers thrown; O cruel Goddess—but I scorn to Moan. Revenge be mine—still one unbroken Dart Remains—He said, and lanc'd it thro' her Heart. Beware how you the God of Love provoke; Ah! what avail a Thousands Arrows Broke, If one remains to Waft The dire Heart-Wounding Shaft! Ah! what avail a Thousands Arrows broke If one remains to Waft the fatal Stroke.

SONG CXLVII.

TO Peace and Love, in Courts but seldom seen, This Smiling Day has sacred been: And may they here, united reign, While Winter chills, or Summer warms the Plain.

May SHE, whose D••ty is her Joy, Still, still on Tasks of Love her Hours employ To chear her King, to charm her Friend: On his and Bri••a••n's Hope, with Heasure tend.

That lovely, that unfolding Rose, With care to watch, and cherish, as he Grows; While, with a Mother's soft S••rprize, She sees, in him renew'd, his Parent Rise.

SONG CXLVIII.

Sung by Miss Thomas.

HEAR me gallant Sailor hear me, While your Country has a Foe, He is mine too, never fear me, I may weep but you shall go.

Though this flow'ry Season woes you, To the peaceful sports of May, And Love sighs so long to loose you, Love to Glory shall give way.

Can the Sons of Britain fail her, While her Daughters are so true, Your soft Courage must avail her, We love Honour loving you.

War and Danger now invite us, Blow ye Winds auspicious blow Ev'ry Gale will most delight us, That can wast us to the Foe.

SONG CXLIX.

Sung by Sigra Galli.

THE Shepherd's plain life, Without Guilt without strife, Can only true Blessing impart, As Nature, directs, That Bliss he expects, From Health and Contentment of Heart.

Vain Grandeur and Pow'r, Those Joys of an Hour, Tho' Mortals are Toiling to find, Can Titles or Show, Contentment bestow, All Happiness dwells in the Mind.

Behold the gay Rose, How lovely it Grows, Secure in the Depth of the Vale, Yon Oak that on high, Aspires to the Sky Both Lightning and Tempests assail.

SONG CL.

Sung by Mr. Wilder.

ADIEU for a whise to the Town and its Trade, Adieu to the Meadows and Rake, Our Country my Boys calls aloud for our Aid, And shall we that Country forsake.

It ••ever was known, that true Hearts like our own, From hardships or Hazards wou'd Flinch Let our Foes then unite: we will shew them in Fight, What BRITONS can do at a Pinch.

A Slave may he be who will not agree, To join with his Neighbours and sing, That the Brave and the Free such BRITONS are we, Live but for their Country and King.

SONG CLI.

Sung by Miss Young.

THOSE best Sons of Britain bold open and brave, Who dare the loud Tempest and stem the rough Wave, Theirs is the Sound Bottom on which to rely, And theirs the firm Heart that will conquer or Die.

'Tis our Country that calls us her Voice we obey, When she wants our Aid shall a Sailor say nay, With the Foes of Old England our Rulers may cope, While a Sword we can brandish or handle a Rope.

Dare the Coxcomb in Heart dare the capering Slave, Despise us plain Fellows whom Freedom make brave, For Britain shall find us both Body and Soul, As true to her cause as the Steel to its Pole.

Huzza, Huzza gallant Hearts let the Triflers behold S••en Englithmen now as they fled from of old, From the Mistress we own from the Monarch we serve. No distance no Danger shall e'er make us swerve.

Let Landmen delight in Deceit and Grimace, Attempt at your Throat while they laugh in your Face. Too honest for Art and too gallant for Guile, We from where we hate as we love where we Smile.

SONG CLII. Sung in the Mask of Alfred

WHEN Britain first, at Heaven's Command, This was the Charter of the Land, Rule Brittannia, Brittannia, rule the Waves, For Britons never will be Slaves.

The Nations, not so blest as thee, Must, in their Turns to Tyrants fall; While thou shalt flourish great and free, The Dread and envy of them all.

Still more majestic shalt thou rise, More dreadful from each foreign Stroke; As the loud Blast that tears, the Skies, Serves but to root thy native Oak.

Thee haughty Tyrants ne'er shall tame, All their Attempts to bend thee down, Will but arouse thy generous Flame; But work their Woe, and thy Renown.

To thee belongs the rural Reign, Thy Cities shall with Commerce shine; All thine shall be the subject Main, And every Shore it circles thine.

The Muses, still with Freedom found, Shall to thy happy Coast repair; Blest Isle with matchless Beauty crown'd, And many Hearts to guard the Fair.

SONG CLIII.

IF those who live in Shepherds Bower, Press not the gay and stately Bed; The new mow'n Hav and breathing Flow'r, A softer Couch beneath them spread, If those who sit at Shepherd's Board, Sooth not their Taste by wanton Art, They take what Nature's Gifts afford; And take it with a chearful Heart.

If those who drain the Shepherds Bowl, No high and sparking Wines can boast, With wholesome Cups they chear the Soul, And crown them with the Villiage Toast, If those who join in Shepherd's Sport Dancing on the daisi'd Ground; Have not the Splender of a Court Yet Love adorns the merry Round.

SONG CLIV.

Set by Mr. Howard, Sung by Mr. Beard, at Ranelagh.

HE that a Cuckold is let it not grieve him, For in his Wants there is one to relieve him; He may sleep quietly when his Wife's waking, And may be free from Care, void of Pains taking: And his Condition is not to be scorned, Caesar and Pompey were both of them horned.

The Captain upon the Sea, prays for fair Weather, While his Wife and Mate sail both together; Star-gazing on her Back, at the Moon's Motion, While the poor Cuckold is at his Devotion; Yet his Condition is not to be scorned, Caesar and Pompey, were both of them horned.

The Merchant upon the Sea searching for Treasure, What tho' his Merchandize be out of Measure; Yet if he kiss a Girl, while he is ranging,

His Wife repays him a Bill of Exchange, in. But his Condition is not to be scorned, Caesar and Pompey, were both of them horned.

The greatest Lawyer that ever was sent us, Often returns his Wife, non est inventus; And though he never so wife in his Place is, She will still find that a Flaw in his Case is; Yet his Condition is not to be scorned, Caesar and Pompey, were both of them horned.

The greatest Statesman, that e'er was applauded, Need not to laugh at a Citizen horned; For if 'tis true, as in ancient Relations, The City Dames, still obey the Court Fashions; Yet his Condition is not to be scorned, Caesar and Pompey, were both of them horned.

While the poor Parson with Zeal is expounding, Telling the People their Sins are abounding; Some one, perhaps, pays his Tyhes to his Wife, Heedles of Rules for Amencment of Life; Yet his Condition is not to be scorned, Caesar and Pompey, were both of them horned.

You that are Cuckolds, let this be your Comfort, There are few others between this and Rumsor••; Brethern all in a Row, shake H••nds together, And never disdain to wear the Bull's Feather; For your Condition is not to be scorned, Caesar and Pompey, were both of them horned

SONG CLV

Sung by Miss Formantel, at R••nelagh.

ONE Midsummer Morning when 〈…〉〈…〉, The Bi••os 〈◊〉〈◊〉 S••••g, and the 〈…〉〈…〉, When Earth seem'd to answer the 〈…〉〈…〉, And a••l I rings proclaimid it the 〈…〉〈…〉; My M••t•••••• 〈◊〉〈◊〉, Nancy, came past to the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 It the Corn be not ground, you may Rod if you 〈◊〉〈◊〉,

The Freedom to use my Tongue, pleas'd me, no doubt, A Woman alas! would be nothing without: I went towards the Mill without any Delay, And conn'd o••er the Words I determin••d to say; But when I came near i••, I found it stock still, Bless my Stars now! cry'd I, huff them rarely I will.

The Miller to Market that Instant was gone, The Work it was left to the Care of his Son; Now though I can scold well as any one can, I thought 'twould be wrong to scold the young Man; I said, I'm surpriz'd you can use me so ill, I must have my Corn ground, I must and I will.

Sweet Maid, cry'd the Youth, the Fault is not mine, No Corn in the Town I'd grind sooner then thine; There's no one more ready in pleasing the Fair, The Mill shall go merrily round I declare, But hark how the Birds sing, and see how they bill, I must have a Kiss first, I must and I will.

My Corn being done, I towards home bent my Way, He whisper'd he'd something of Moment to say; Insisted to hand me along the green Mead, And there swore he lov'd me indeed, and indeed; And that he'd be constant, and true to me still, And since that Time I've like'd him, and like him I will.

I often say, Mother, the Miller I'll huff, She laughs, and cries, go Girl, ay plague him enough; And scarce a Day passes but by her Desire, I ge•• a sly Kiss from the Youth I admire, It Wedloch he wishes, his Wish I'll fulfil, And I'll answer, O yes, with a hearty good Will.

SONG CLVI.

Set by Mr. Worgan. Sung by Miss Stevenson.

I MET in our Village a Swain t'other Day, He stop'd me, and beg'd me a Moment to stay; Then Blash'd, and in Language I ne'er heard before,

He talk'd much of Love, and some Pains that he bore. But what was his Meaning I know not, I vow; Yet, alas! my poor Heart felt, I cannot tell how.

Each Morning the Jessamine, Vi'let and Rose, He brings me, with ev'ry sweet Flower that grows, The sweetest, and gayest he picks from the rest, And beg, me to wear the fine Things in my Breast: But what is his Meaning, I know not, I ••aw; Yet, alas! my poor Heart feels I cannot tell how.

At my feet the young Shepherd for ever I see, Protesting he never lov'd and but me; He gazes with Transport and ••••sses me too, And swears that he'll ever be constant and true; But what is his Meaning, I know not, I vow; Yet, alas! my poor Heart feels, I cannot tell how.

I oft see the Tears streaming fast from his Eyes, And hear him, poor Youth, breathe a thousand of Sighs; He tells me no Nymph in the World is like me, Nor Shepherd alive so unhappy as He: But what is his Meaning I know not, I vow; Yet, alas! my poor Heart feels, I cannot tell how.

Why does the dear Shepherd to me thus complain, And say, that my Eyes are the Cause of his Pain; Indeed ever since his sad Fate I deplore, And I wish I knew how he might suffer no more. I'll do all I can to relieve him I vow, If he will be so kind, as to teach me, but how.

SONG CLVII.

Set by Dr. Arne. The Words by Mr. Prior.

AS Chloe came into the Room t'other Day, I peevish began, where so long could you stay? In your Lite-time you never regaroed ••••ur Hour, You promis'd at two, but, look Child! 'tis your: A Lady's Watch needs neither Figures or Wheels, 'Tis enough that 'tis loaded with Baubles and Seals;

A Temper so heedless no Mortal can bear; Thus far I went on with a resolute Air.

Lord, bless me! says she, let a Body but speak. Here's an ugly hard R••se bud sall'n into my Neck; It has hurt me, and vex'd me, to such a Degree, Look here! for you never belive me, pray see! On the left Side my Breast what a Mark it has made; So sa••ing, her Bosom she careless display'd: That Scene of Delight, I with Wonder survey'd, And forgot ev'ry Word I design'd to have said.

SONG CLVIII.

CUPID, the sl••est Rogue alive, One Day was plundering of a Hive; But as with too much eager haste, He strove the liquid Sweets to taste; A Bee surpriz'd the heedless Boy, And rob'd him of th'expected Joy.

Soon as the Urchin felt the Smart, Of the envenom'd, angry Dart, He kick'd, he slung, he spurn'd the Ground; He blow'd and then he chaf'd the Wound: He brow'd and chaf'd the Wound in vain! His madness but encreas'd the Pain.

St••ait to his Mother's Lap he hies, With swelling Cheeks and Blubber'd Eyes Cry'd she what does my Cupid ail? ••e sobb'd and told his m••umful Tal••. A little B••rd they call a Bee, With Yellow Wings, has Murder'd me.

And are you not, reply'd his Mother, For all the World just such another? When e'er you aim a poi••••••us Dart, Against some poor, unguarded Heart; How little is the Archer found•• And yet how deep his Arrows wound.

SONG CLIX.

BOast not mistaken Swain thy Art, To please my partial Eyes; The Charms that have subdu'd my Heart, Another may despise.

Thy Face is to my Humour made, Another it may fright: Perhaps by some fond Whim betray'd, In oddness I Delight.

Vain youth to your Coufusion know, 'Tis to my Loves Excess; You all your fancied Beauties owe, Which sade as that grows less.

For your own Sake if not for mine, You shou'd preserve my Fire; Since you my Swain no more will shine, When I no more admire.

By me indeed you are allow'd, The Wonder of your Kind, But be not of my Jad••ment proud, Whom Love has render'd blind.

SONG CLIX. A new SONG.

DID you see e'er a Shepherd ye Nymphs pass this Way, Crown'd with My••th••t, and all the gay Verdure of May 'Tis my Strephen O bring him once mote to my Eyes, From his Lucy in search of new P••easure he flies; All Day have I trave••l'd, and toil e'er the Plains, In pursuit of a Rebel that's scarce worth the Pains.

Take Care, Maids, take Cate when he flatters and swears, How ye trust your owe Eyes, or believe your own Ears, Like the Rose bud in June ev'ry Hand ne••ll invite, But wound the fond Heart like Thorn out of sight,

And trust me who e'er my false Shepherd detains, She will find him a Conquest that's scarce worth the Pains.

Three Months at my Feet did He languish and sigh, Ee'r he gain'd a kind look, or a tender Reply; Love, Honour and Truth, were the Themes that he sung, And He swore that his Soul was akin to his Tongue, T•••• soon I believ'd and reply'd to his Strains: And resign'd him too frankly my Heert for his Pains.

The Trisle once gain'd, like a Child at his Play, Soon the wanton grew weary, and threw it away; Now clov'd with my Love from my Arms does he fly, In search of some other as silly as I; But, trust me who e'er my false Shepherd detains, She will find him a Conquest that's scarce worth the Pains.

Beware then ye Nymphs how ye sooth the fond Flame, And believe in good Time all the Sex are the same; Like Strephon from Beauty to Beauty they'll range, Like him will they flatter, dissemble, and change; For do what we can still this Maxim remains, That a Man when we've got him is scarce worth the Pains.

SONG CLXI.

WHAT means that Throb said I my Heart, When fore'd from Mersey Banks to part, A brighter Lass in Town you'll find; Than geotle Peggy left hehind, Go mid' the Ci••c••es of the Fair; Go and forget your fondness there, Chloe at once the Prize will win; From Peggy's lowly chape and Mein.

My fluttering Heart reply'd in vain, You hope the Fair will cure my Pain, The painted Face and gaudy Gown; Will make me sad and hate the Town, When Peggy talk'd or lightly play'd, How fast the Summer Suns decay'd?

Can Chloe's Wit or artful Smile: The livelong Day like her beguile.

If Fate commands you far away, Ah! let me here with Peggy stay. At your return a constant Guest; I'll take my Mansion in your Breast: Won by his Promise I grew kind, And left my foolish Heart behind; Should Peggy holds it fast in Chains, I'll let her keep it for her Pains.

SONG CLXII. FAIR HEBE.

FAIR Hebe I left with a Cautious Design, To escape the Joint Power of Beauty and Wine; But found my self burn, when I came to depart, With the Wine in my Head, and with Love in my Heart.

I repair'd to my Reason, intreated its A••d, Who pa••s'd on my Case and each Circumstance weigh'd, Then gravely pronounc'd, in return to my Prayer, That Hebe was fairest, of all that was sair.

That's a Truch, reply'd, I, I've no need to be taught, I came for your Counsel, where to find out a Faust; If that's all, quoth Reason, re urn as you came, For to find Fault with Hebe, would forfeit my Name.

What Hopes then, alass! of Relief from my Pain, While, she drives like a Tempest thro' each throbbing Vein: Since my Senses surpriz'd in her Favour take Arms, And Reason but serves me to Point out her Charms.

SONG CLXII. The INTRIGUE.

MAKE haste, and away mine only Dear; Make haste and away, away, For, all at the Gate, your true Lover does w••i••••; And I Prithee make no delay.

O how sha'l I steal away my Love? O how shall I steal away; My Daddy is near, and I dare not for Fear, Pray come then another Day.

O this is the only Day my Love, O this is the only Day! I'll draw him aside, while you throw the Gates wide; And then you may steal away.

Then Prithee, make no delay, dear Boy! Then Prithee, make no delay: We'll serve him a Prick, for I'll slip in the Nick; And to my true Love away.

O Cupid befriend this Loving Pair, O Cupid befriend 'em, I pray! May their Stratagem take, for thine own sweet Sake And Amen! let all true Lovers say.

SONG CLXIII. HAPPY MYRTILLO.

ON a Grassy Pillow, The Youthful M••rtillo! Transported was laid, In his Arms a Creature, Whose E'ery Feature; For Conquest was made: To his Side he C••••sp'd her, And Fondly Grasp'd her, While she cry'd Oh! Dear! Oh! Dear My••ti••••o! Had I known your will Oh! I'd never come hear.

Streams gently Flowing, And Zephyr blooming, and Zephyr &c. Ambrosial Breeze; A Swain admiring, And all Conspiriog, and all &c

The Charmer to please: The dear Nymph Complying, No more denying, no more &c. A ••••ien•• Grove; Oh! blest Myrtillo! You may if you will O, you &c. Be happy as Jove.

Now the Devil's in it If such a Minuse, if such &c. The Shepherd could lose; No, no, no Myrtillo Has better skill O, has &c. His Moments to Chuse: The delightfull Treasure, Of Lov, and Pleasure, of Love &c. He bold'•• seiz'd! And like Myrtillo; He had his Fill O, he had &c. Of what he pleas'd.

SONG CLXIV.

A Merry Lard by this Light, We Laugh at our own undoing, And Labour with all our Might, For Slavery and Ruin. New F••ctions we daily raise, New Maxims we've ever i••stilling, And him ••••at to Day we Praise, To Morrow's a Ro••ue and a Villain.

The cunning Politician, Whose 〈◊〉〈◊〉 is to gull the People, Begins ••is Cant of ••edition, With Felks ••••••e a c••••••••e of the Steeple, The Populace this A••arms, They Bluster, they ••••unce, and they Vapour, The Nations up in Arms, And the Dev•••••• ••••••ins to Caper

The Statemen rail at each other, And tickel the Mob with a ••tory, They make a most damnab••e Pother, Of National Int'rest and Glory. Their Hearts they are bi••er as Gall, Th•••• their Tongues are s••eeter than Honey. They don'•• care a Figg for us all, But only to finger our Money.

If my Friend be an honest Lad, I never ask his Religion, Distirctions make us all Mad, And ought to be had in Derision. They Christen us sories and Whigs, When the best ot••em both is an Evil, But we'll be no Party Prigs. Let sach Godfathers go to the D—I.

Too long have they had their Ends, In setting u•••• one against t'other, And sow••og, such Strife among Friends, That Brother hated Brother, But we'll for the future be wise, Grow ••••ciable, honest and hearty, We'll all their Arts despise, And Laugh at the Name of a Party.

SONG CLXV. The MIDSUMMER WIS••,

Set to M••sick by Mr. Ca••ey.

〈…〉〈…〉 me s••me s••ft and C••••••••ng Bre••ze, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 〈◊〉〈◊〉 inf••••'s Shad•• kind Retreat: W•••••••• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Scenes, wide spre••••ing Trees, ••••••pil the ••aging D••g Star's Hear••, Where ••••••ted G••••s•• and M••sly Beds, Afford a r••tal calm R••p se•• Where Woodbires hang their dewey Heads, And Fragrant sweets around diselese.

Old oozy Thames, that flows fast by, Along the smiling Valley plays; His glassy Surface chears the Eye, And thro' the flow'ry Meadow strays. His fertile Banks, with Herbage green, His Vales with Golden Plenty swell: Where e'er his purer Stream is seen, The Gods of Health and Pleasure dwell.

Let me thy clear, thy yielding Wave, With naked Arm once more divide: In thee my glowing Bosom Love, And stem thy gently rolling Tide. Lay me, with damask Roses crown'd, Beneath some Oziers dusky Shade: Where Water Lillies paint the Ground, And bubbling Springs refresh the Glace.

Let chaste Clarinda too be there, With azure Mantle lightly Drest: Ye Nymphs, bind up her silken Hair, Ye Ziphyrs, fan her painted Breast. Oh! haste away, fair Maid, and bring, The Muse, the kindly Friend to Love; To thee alone the Muse shall sing, And warble thro' the vocal Grove.

SONG CLXVI.

A BALLAD, by Mr Carey.

THO' cruel you seem to my Pain, And hate me because I am true, Yet Phillis you love a false Swain, Who has other Nymphs in his View; Enjoyments a Trisle to him, To me what a Heav'n would it be, To him but a Woman you seem, But ah, you're an Angel to me.

Those Lips which he touches in haste, To them I for ever could grow,

Still clinging around that dear Waste, Which he Spans as beside him you go, That Hand like a Lilly so White, Which over his Shoulders you lay; My Bosom could warm it all Night, My Lips they could press it all Day.

Were I like a Monarch to reign, Were Graces my ••••bjects to be. I'd leave 'em and fl•• to the Plains, To dwell in a Cottage with thee, But if I must feel your D••fdain, If Tears cannot Cruelty drown, O let me not Live in this Pain, But give me my Death in a Frown.

SONG CLXVII.

SAD Musidora all in woe, A silent Grotto seeks, No more herself on Plains, does show, But sighing thus she speaks; Why was I born of a high Degree? An humble Shepher••••is, Had been ma••h Happier far for me, Than all 〈◊〉〈◊〉 gaudy Dress.

A semtuous Palace full of Joy, ••o ••e a Dangeon is, And all that Mir••h does me a••noy, Wh••••h other count for Blits: Then lo••d in Grief the I vely Maid, Retir'd from all the Throng, And on a Bank recli••'d her Head, While Tears ran trickling down.

SONG CIXVIII.

A SONG Set by Mr. Carey

SAW you the N••mph whom I adore: Saw you the Goddess of my Heart,

And can you bid me Love ao more, Or can you think I feel no Smart.

So many Charms around her shi••e, Who can the Sweet Temptation fly, Spite of her Scorn, she's so Divine, That I m••st love her, tho' I Die.

SONG CLXIX. The KIND INCONSTANT.

Set to Musick by Mr. Arne.

WHY Cloe still those Jealous Heart, And why that falling Tear, The Heart that to a Thousand beats To one may be sincere; To sweeten Autumns milder Reign, The sultry Summers glows. And chilling Dews and beating Rain. Give freshness to the Rose.

So I my Cloe to endear, To meauer Beauties ••••ray. And call December to my Year, To brighten up the May, Then weep not that my Hearts inclin'd To ev'ry Face that's new, I wander to return more kind, And change but to be true.

SONG CLXX. DAMON

Sung by Miss Thomas.

SURE Damon is the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Swain, That ever trod the Lea; His l••••nest Heart ne'er gave me ••ain, It ever dwells with me: When e'er I wander in the Grove, He's always in my Mind; I think on all our former Love, Damon the dear the kind.

When Ev'ning comes we two repair, To some cool, peaceful Shade, There breath in private all our Care, And toy upon the Glade, If for my Share of Happiness, Kind Heav'n would him bestow, With other Blessings, great or less, Let all Mankind o'er flow.

SONG CLXXI. A TOUCH on the TIMES.

Set to Musick by Mr. Arne.

COME Listen and Laugh at the Times, Since Folly was never so ripe, For ev'ry Man laughs at those Rhime, That gives his own Follies a Wipe, We live in a kind of Disguise, We Flatter we Lye and protest, While each of us craftily trie, On others to fasten the Jest.

The Virgin, when first she is woo'd, Returns ev'ry Sigh with Disdain, And while by her Lover pursu'd, Can laugh at his Folly and Pain; But when from her Innocence won, And doom'd for her Virtue to mourn. When she feels herself lost and undone, He laughs at the Fool in his Turn.

The Fools who at Law do contend, Can laugh at each others Distress, And while the dire Suit does depend, Ne'er think how their Substance grows less, Till hamper'd by tedious Expence, Alcho' to Compound they are loath. The Lawyers sit Laughing at both.

But while we perceive it the Fashion, For each Fool to Laugh at each other, Let us strive with a gen'rous Compassion, To correct not contemn one another; We all have some Follies to hide, Which known, wou'd dishonour the best, And Life, when 'tis thoroughly try'd, Like Friendship, will seem but a Jest.

SONG CLXXII. Sollicitude A PASTORAL.

Set to Musick by Mr. Thomas.

WHY will you my Passion reprove, Why term it a Folly to grieve, E're I tell you the Charms of my Love, She is fairer than you can believe; With her Mien she enamours the Brave, With her Wit she engages the Free: With her Modesty pleases the Grave, She is ev'ry way pleasing to me.

When Paridel tries in the Dance, Some Favour with Phillis to find, O, how, with one trivial Glance, Might she ruin the peace of my Mind, Might she &c. In Ringlets he dresses his Hair. And his Crook is bestudded around, And his Pipe Oh! may Phillis beware Of a Magic there is in the Sound, Of a Magic &c.

Let his Crook be with Hyacinths bound, So Phillis the Trophy despise; Let his Forehead with Laurets be crown'd, So they Shine not in Phillis's Eyes, So they &c. The Languge that flows from the Heart, Is a Stranger to Paridel's Tongue, Yet may she beware of his Art, Or sure I must envy the Song, Or Sure &c.

SONG CLXXIII. The TEMPEST of WAR.

LET the Tempest of War, Be heard from afar, While the Trumpets, and Cannons, Alarms. Let the Valleys around with Echo resound, And a terrible Claspin of Arms. Let Rivers of Blood run down in a Flood, While Mortals are Gasping for Breath, Let the Brave if they will. By Honour and Skill, Seek Glory and Conquest in Death. To live safe and retire, Is all my desire, With my Flocks and my Cloe possest: For with them we obtain True Peace, without Pain, And a lasting Enjoyment of Rest. In a Cottage, or Cell where Shepherds do dwell, In Innocence Freedom and Ease: We lead peaceable Lives who are blest with good Wives, That study their Husbands to please; What Blessings below can Heaven Bestow, Excelling, such quiet as this, No Affliction come here no Grief interfere, To lessen our Measure of Bliss.

SONG CLXXIV.

MY Banks they are furnish'd with 〈◊〉〈◊〉, Whose Murmur invites one to sleep; My Grottos are shaded with Trees, And my Hills are white-over with Sheep: I seldom have met with a Loss, Such Health do my Mountain bestow; My Fountains all border'd with Moss, Where the Hare bells and Violets grow.

I've found out a Gift for m•• Fair, I've found where the Wood-Pidgeons Breed; But let me that Plunder forbear, She'll say 'twas a barbarous Deed, He ne'er cou'd be true, she averd, Who cou'd rob a poor Bird of its Young, And I lov'd her the more when I heard, Such Tenderness fall from her Tongue.

But where does my Phillida stray; And where are her Grots and her Bow'rs Are the Groves and the Vallies as gay, And the Shepherds, as gentle as ours: The Groves may perhaps be as fair, The Face of the Vallies as fine, The Swains may in Manners compare, But their Love is not equal to mine.

SONG CLXXV. VANITY OF LIFE.

LIFE how Vain esteem'd a Blessing, Worthy Mortals hope to Share; Proves to ev'ey Man Possessing. Full of Sorrow full of Care, What if Furtune e'er befriend, Yes till the busy Friend prevails; Or should adverse Fate attend, Ye ever with it Sorrow dwells.

See the Beau in Chariot lolling, All without a Gaudy Scene; Take him on his Pillow rolling, Slave to Tyrant Thought within, Grant the fawning Courtier Favour, Give him all his Hopes pursue; Still you hear him Craving ever, Still he Pines for something new.

Fill the Misers Bags with Treasure Spread the Heroe's Glory round,

Fears outweighs the Scale of Pleasure Envy tramples Honour down, Places, Titles, Pomp and Riches, Sweets, imbitter'd are by Pain, Thus Experence daily teaches, Life and it's Joys are vain.

SONG CLXXVI. A new SONG.

TO Fanny Fair I would impart, The Cause of all my Woe, That Beauty which has won my Heart; She scarcely seems to know, Unskill'd in Arts of Woman kind, Without Designs she Charms; How can the Sparkling Eye be Blind, Which ev'ry Bosom Warms. Which ev'ry Bosom Warms.

She knows her Power 'tis all Deceit Her Conscious Blushing shews, That Blushing to the Eye more sweet Than opening Budding Rose, But the delicious Fragrant Rose, That Charms the Sense so much, Upon a Thorny Brier grows, And Wounds when e'er you touch And Wounds &c.

So when I first beheld the Fair, With Raptures I was blest, But when I wou'd approach too near ••••ce I lost all Rest, ••enchanting Sight the sweet furprize Prepair'd me for my Doom, And one cold Look from those bright Eyes Would lay me in my Tomb, Would lay me &c.

SONG CLXXVII. DISAPPOINTMENT A PASTOWAL.

YE Shepherds give Ear to my Lay, And take no more He••d of my Sho••p, They have nothing to do but to Stray; I have nothing to do but to Weep, Yet do not my Foll•• reprove, She was fair and my ••as••ion begun, She smil'd and I cou'd not but Love, She was faithless and I am undone.

The Sweets of a Dew sprink'ed Rose, The Sound of a murmuring Stream, The Peace which from Solitude flows, Henceforth shall be Coridon's Theme, High Transports are shewn to the Sight, But we are not to find them our own, Fate never bestow'd such Delight, As I with my Phillis had known.

Ye Woods spread your Branches a Pace, To your deepest Recesses I Fly, I wou'd hide with the Bea••ls of the Chace, I wou'd vanish from ev'ry Lye, Yet my Reed shall resou••d thro' the Grove, With the same sad Complaint it begun, How she smil'd and I cou'd not but love, Was faithless and I am undone.

SONG CLXXVIII. Sung at Vauxhall.

SURE Sally is the loveliest Lass, That e'er gave Shepherd Glee: Not May-Day in it's Mo••ning Dress, Is half so fair as she: Let Poets paint the Paphian Queen, And fancied Forms adone;

Ye Bards had ye my Sally seen, You'd think on those no more.

No more ye'd prate of Hybla's Hill, Where B••es their Honey sip. Did ye but know the Sweets that dwell On 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••••ve-taught Lip: But, ah! take Fl••••d ye tuneful Swains, The ripe Temp••••ion shu••; Or else like me you'll wear her Chains, Like me you'll be uncone.

Once in my Cot secure I slept, And ••ark like hai••'d the Morn; More i••or••i••e than the Kid I kept, I wanton'd o'er the Lawn: To ev'ry Maid Love tales I told, And did my Truth aver; Yet e'er the parting Kiss was cold I laugh'd at Love and her.

But now the glomy Grove I seek, Where Love-••orn Shepherds stray; There to she Winds my Grief I speak, And sigh my Soul away: Nought but Dispair my Fancy paints, No Dawn of Hope I see: For Sally's pleas'd with my Complaints, And Laughts at Love and me.

Since these my poor neglected Lambs, So late my only Care, Have lost their tender fleecy Dams, And stray'd I know not where: Alas! my Ews, in vain ••e bleat; My Lambkins lost, adieu; No more we on the Plains shall meet, For lost's your Shepherd too.

SONG CLXXIX.

YOU tell me I'm Handsome, I know not how true, And Easy and Cha••ty, and good H••mour'd too. That my ••••ps are as red as the Rose-bud in June, And my Voice, like the Nightingale's sweetly in Tune; All this has been told me by twenty before, But he that would win me must Flatter me more. But he that would win me must Flatter me more.

It Beauty from Virtue ••eceive no Supply, Or Pra••tle from Prudence, how wanting am I? My Ease and good Humour short Raptures will bring; My Voice, like the Nightingale's knows but a Spring; For Charms such as these then ••our Praises give o'er, To love me for Life, you must love me still more. To love me, &c.

Then talk not to me of a Shape or an Air, For Chloe the wanton can ••ivial me there; 'Tis Virtue alone that makes Beauty lock gay, And brightens good Humour as Sun-shine the Day: For that, if you love me, your Flame may be true, And I, in my Turn, may be taught to love too. And I, in my Turn, may be taught to love too.

SONG CLXXX. To DELIA.

Set by Mr. Arne.

••OFT pleasing Pains, ••••known before, My beating Bosom ••eels, When I behold the bliss••ul Low'r Where dearest Delia dwells, That Way I daily drive my Flock; Ah! happy, happy Vale! Th••re look, and wish; and while I look My Sighs increase the Gale. My Sighs increase the Gale.

Sometimes at Midnight I do stray Beneath inclement Skies,

And there my true Devotion pay To D••lia's sleep-seal'd E••e••, So pious Pilgrims nigh••y roam, With tedious Travel faint, To kiss alone the Clay-cold Tomb Of some lov'd sav'rite Saint. Of some, &c.

O tell, ye Shades, that fold my Fair, And all my Bliss contain, Ah! why should ye those Blessings share, For which I sigh in vain: But let me not at Fate repine, And thus my Griefs impart; She's not your Tenant;—she is mine: Her Mansion is my Heart. Her Mansion is my Heart.

SONG CLXXXI.A new SCOTCH SONG

SAW ye John a coming, quoth she; Saw ye John a coming, Wi his Blue Bonnet on his Head, And his Doggy running, Wi his Blue Bonnet on his Head, And his Doggy running, Saw ye John a coming, quoth she; Saw ye John a coming.

Oh! how weel I Loo him, quoth she, Oh! how weel I Loo him, For he is a bonny Lad, Aw a weel doing, For he is a bonny Lad, And a weel doing, Oh! &c.

If ye donna see him Father, If ye donna see him, Ise gird my Coat about my Waist

And Ise gang wi him, Ise gird my Coat about my Waist And Ise gang wi him, If ye &c.

Fee him Father, fee him, quoth she, Fee him Father, fee him, For a the Work about the House Gangs forward when I see him, For a the Work about the House Gangs forward when I see him, Fee him &c.

What Mun I do wi him quoth he What Mun I do wi him him, He's neer a Sark unteel his Back, Nor ha I ean to gi him, He's neer a Sark unteel his Back, Nor ha I ean to give him, What Mun &c.

He'll muck the Byer Trash ith Barn, And Lig wi me at E'en, I ha twa Sarks within my Kest, The best othem I se gi him I ha twa Sarks within my Kest, The best othem I se gi him And I will make his Bed at E'en And Lig dawn wi him.

SONG CLXXXII. The MAIDENS CASE

Sung by Miss Thomas.

AT the Foot of a Hill in a neat lonely Cot, To die an old Maid I'm afraid is my Lot; Not a Man but my Father e'er seen in the Place, Think how hard my Condition and pity my Case. Think how hard my Condition and pity my Case.

Young Willy. the Pride of the Plains, I adore; He's Handsome, good Humour'd, his Ri••nes in Store; But I'm a poor Damsel, of Parentage base; Think how hard my Condition, and pity my Case. Think how hard, &c.

My Mother once caught us alone in the Dark, She chil me, and forc'd me away from my Spark; Then talk'd much of Sorrow, of Shame, and Disgrace, Think how hard my Condition, and pity my Case. Think how hard, &c.

Such a strange Alteration has seiz'd me of late, Like a Turtle I mourn all the Day for my Mate; At Night in my Dreams his blest Image I trace, Think how hard my Condition and pity my Case. Think how hard, &c.

When e'er I think of him, I sigh and look pale; My Mother she asks me, what is it I ail? My rural Companions all look in my Face, And in friendly Compassion they pity my Case. And in friendly, &c.

Oh Hymen! be kind, and give Ear to my Sighs. Restore my young Shepherd once more to my Eyes; The dear nuptial Moment with Joy I'll embrace, And Maidens shall envy, not pity my Case. And Maidens shall envy, not pity my Case.

SONG CLXXXIII. NOTHING NEW,

YOU may talk as you will of new Modes and new Fashions, Which whimsical Fancies have ever in view; You may laugh at new Fo••••e•• and rail at new Passions, But look all around you and nothing is new. Nothing nothing nothing is new.

That Virgins are whimsical, fickle and coy, A••••ecting to shun what they ••o••••••y p••ri••e,

Coquetting, yet sighing for conjugal Joy; Confess, O! ye Lovers, is this Folly new? Confess, confess is this Folly new?

That Ladies are Rakes, and turn Gamesters, that's worse, And have nought but Intrigue, and Diversion in View, With Loss of ch••ir Virtue re••••eining their Purse, Is a Nations disgrace, and I wish it were new. I wish I wish I wish i•• were new.

That Frenchmen are Robbers and Bravos in War, But, drub'd it to Mann••r, their I s••le•• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 That they sculk into H••les from the b•••••• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Tar, And lower their ••opsais, i•• not a••a••ll ••••w. Not new not new is not at all new.

That the Hero of P••••ssia victoriousl•• 〈◊〉〈◊〉, From Corquest, to Conquest, e'er thou•••••••• with sew, That Vienna is faithless to all her Am••••, Let England proclaim, who has prov'd i•• not new. Not new not new who has prov'd it not new.

Let Britons unite and be wise as they're brave, And bid to Contention and Faction adieu; Then Glory shall crown them as ••ords of the Wave, And their Conquests of Old, be s••rpass'd by the new. Surpass'd surpass'd surpass'd by the new.

SONG CLXXXIV.

Set by Mr. Arne, Sung at Ranelagh.

YE true horest Britons, who love your own Land, Whese S••tes were so b••ave, so Victorious and free, Who always beat France when they tock her in Hand, Come join, honest Britons, in Chorus with me; Come join, honest Britons, in Chorus with me.

Let us sing our own Treasures Old England's good Cheer, The P••ofits and Pleasures of stout British Beer; Your Wine-〈◊〉〈◊〉 D••••m••sipping Fellows, retreat, But your 〈…〉〈…〉 ••••••ons can never be beat. But you••, &c.

The French with their Vineyards are meagre and pale, They drink of the Squeezings of half ripen'd Fruit; But we who have Hop-grounds to mellow our Ale; Are rosy and plump, and have Freedom to Boot: Let us sing, &c.

Shou'd the French dare invade us thus arm'd with our Poles' We'll bang their bare Ribs make their Lanthorn Jaws ring; For your Beef-eating, Beer-drinking Britons are Souls; Who will shed their last Drop for their Country and King. Let us sing, &c.

SONG CLXXXV. The JOVIAL FELLOW.

SINCE Life is a Bubble, 'Tis Folly to trouble, Our Brains with what damps ev'ry Pleasure, Then banish dull Thinking, 'Tis Love Joy and Drinking, Alone can make Life and Treasure.

Since our Time is so short, We'll grasp ev'ry Sport, And still let's be frolick and Gay Why should we incumber, With Cares our vain Slumber, 'Tis Wisdom to live whilst we may.

Here's Gold-Misers stiffle And hoard the gay Triffle, But we'll make the Slave do it's Duty It orly Dispences, True bliss to our Senses, When it purchasses Nectar and Beauty.

Then push round the Glass, The soft melting La••••, Succeeds it to make you more blest, Our Joys shall be common. In wealth Wine and Woman, Each Pleasure of Life is possest.

SONG CLXXXVI.

WHEN first we see the Ruddy, Sun rise from an Eastern Hill; We look upon him with Delight, And safely gaze our fill.

But when with Noon-tide Rays he shines, The glating Light we shun, It hurts our feeble Eyes to View, The Sun's Meridian.

Thus when in wrapping Gown you rise To face the Morning's Cold, 'Tis perfect Rapture to approach You'r Heav'n to behold.

But when at Mid-day gayly dress'd In Gold and Gems you shine, The Splender of the Sun is fair; Less dangerous than thine.

He must be more than Man that dare, To view a Face so Bright, For he will loose both Eyes and Heart. With the too Glorious Sight.

SONG CLXXXVII.

Sung by Mis, Young.

WHERE the Primrose decks thee well, Where the Moon ey'd fairest dwell, Near the Solitary Thorn; There I hail the gray e••'d Morn, Where the Brook slow winding glides, Round the Mountains steril sides, There my Vagrant Footsteps stray, Till the servant Noon of Day.

O'er the spreading Lawn, and Vale, Through the Copse I chant my Tale;

Nor the Shady Thicket leave, Till bright Vesper brings the Eve, While the Village Milk maid Sings, While the solemn Curfew rings, While the Plow-man whistles home, Ah! how pensive do I roam.

SONG CLXXXVIII. The WIT and BEAU.

WITH ev'ry Grace young Strephon, Chose his Person to adorn, That by the Beauties of his Face; In Sylvias Love he might find Place, And wonder'd at her Scorn.

With Bows and Smiles he did his Part, But Oh! 'twas all in vain, A Youth less fi••e a Youth of Art, Had talk'd himself into her Heart, And wou'd not out again.

With Change of Habits Strephon press'd, And urg'd her to Admire; His Love alone the other drest, As Verse or Frose became it best, And mov'd her soft Desire.

This found his Courtship Strephon ends, Or makes it to his Glass; There in himself now seeks Amends, Convinc'd that where a wit Pretends, A Beau is but an Ass.

SONG CLXXXIX.

PHILLIS we don't grieve that Nature, Forming you has done her Part, And in ev'ry single Feature, S••ew'd th•• utmost of her Art.

But in this it is pretended, All the cruel Grievance ••ies, That your Heart shou'd be defended, While you wound us with your Eyes.

Love's a senseless Inclination, Where no Mercy's to be found, But is just where kind Compassion, Gives us Balm to Heal the Wound.

Persian's paying solemn Duty, To the rising Sun inclin'd, Never would adore his Beauty, But in hopes to make him kind.

SONG CXC. HIGH-LIFE below STAIRS.

COME here, fellow Servants, and lislen to me, I'll shew you how those of superior Degree, Are only Dependents, no better than we. Are only Dependents, no better than we.

Both high and low in this do agree. 'Tis here, fellow Servant, and there, fellow Servant, and all in a ••ivery. 'Tis here, fellow Servant, and there, fellow Servant, and all in a Livery, all in a Livery.

See yonder fine Spark in Embroidery dre••l, Who bows to the Great, and it the•••• smile, is blest; What is he, i'faith. but a Servant at best.

Cho. Both High, &c.

Nature made all alike, no Distinction she craves, So we laugh at the great World, i••s Fools and its ••naves; For we are all Servants, but they are all S••aves.

Both high, &c.

The fat shining Glatton looks up to his Shelf, The wrinkled lean Miser bows down to his Pelf, And the C••rl-pa••ed Beau 〈◊〉〈◊〉 a Slave to himself.

Both high, &c.

The gay sparkling Belle, who the whole Town Alarms, And with Eyes, Lips, and Neck, sets the Smarts all in Arms, Is a Vassal herself, a meer Drudge to her Charms.

Both high, &c.

Then we'll drink like our Betters, and laugh, sing, and love; And when sick of one Place, to another we'll move, For with Little and Great, the best Joy is to rove.

Both high, &c.

SONG. CXCI. A favourite SONG.

COME Damon come Oh! haste away, Now youthful Spring appears. And Phaebus with refulgent Ray, Relenting Nature Cheers: Verdant Nature the Fields and Bowers, By genial Warmth bestor'd. Whilst soft refreshing verdant Showr's, Their friendly Aid afford.

As when worn down with Toils and Cares, We gentle Sleep require, Indulgent Sleep our Wants repairs, And does new Life inspire, So Winter's Frosts are chas'd away, By Sols enlivening Po•••• Which kindly o'er all Nature strays, Revives each Plant and Flower.

The Primrose sweet and Cowslips too, Bedecks the lovely Green, Where e're we turn and take a View, Kind Nature's Smiles are seen: In wanton Pla•• the sportive Lambs, On Meadows frisk it o'er, Or feeding with their bleeting Dams, There choicest Grass explore.

The whistling Thrash with pleasing Note, Now welcomes in the Morn, And gaily swells his tuneful Throat, This Season to adorn: Soon as the Sun begins to rise, The warbling Larks repair, And soaring mount to distant Skies, And sport in Fields of Air.

Midst lonely Woods and silent Bowr's, When Sol in West retreats, In Plaintive Notes poor Philomel, Her Evening I'ale repeats, Then we'll together ev'ry Day, O'er Flow'ry Meadows rove, Or whilst soft gentle Zephrus play, Frequent the shady Grove,

There we will tell sweet Tales of Love, There Cupid's Force I'll own, Invoke each gentle Pow'r above, My Bliss with thee to crown, As from each Harm, the artful Swains, Secure their fleecy Care, So will kind Heav'n while Life remains, Preserve a faithful Pair.

SONG CXCII. 'Tis TIME enough YE••.

A Term full as long as the Siege of old T••••••. To win a sweet Girl I my Time did employ. Oft urg'd her the Day of our Marriage to set, As often she answer'd, 'tis Time enough yet.

Time enough yet, &c.

I told her, at last, that her Passions were wrong, And more, that I scorn'd to be fool'd with so long, She burst out laughing at seeing me fr••t, And humming a Tune, cry'd, 'tis Time enough yet.

Time enough yet, &c.

Determin'd by her, to be laugh'd at no more, I flew from her Presence, and bounc'd out of Door, Resolv'd of her Usage the better to get, Or on her my Eyes again never to set.

Never to set, &c.

To me the next Morning her Maid came in haste, And beg'd, for Love sake, I'd forget what was past, Declar'd her young Lady did nothing but fret; I told her I'd think on't, 'twas Time enough yet.

Time enough yet, &c.

She next in a Letter, as long as my Arm, Declar'd, from her Soul, she intended no Harm, And begg'd I the Day for our Marriage would set, I wrote her an Answer, 'tis Time enough yet,

Time enough yet, &c.

But that was scarce gone when a Message was sent, To sh••w in my Heart I began to relent, I begg'd I might see her; together we met, We kist and were Friends again, so we are yet.

So we are yet, &c.

SONG CXCIII.

SINCE we went out a Maying, too late can I find, Young Harry has run Day and Night in my Mind; He's grown so bewitching as never before: For I find that I love him each Time more and more. For I find that I love him each Time more and more.

Each Morning his Face with what Pleasure I see, Not my own at the Glass is so handsome to me: I am so vex'd I cou'd cry, when his Visit is o'er, Nor help, if I would, but must love more and more, Nor help, if I would, &c.

He'd have me to sing to him all the Day long, And says mine's as sweet as the Nightingale's Song; Such Praises as these I had never before, I'm sure that he loves me, tho' him I love more. I'm sure that he loves me, &c.

When my Mother was gone, with Love in his Look, He begg'd for one Kiss, but how many he took! I ask'd why so sice, who was ne'er so before? He blush'd, and then promis'd to do so no more. He blush'd, and then promis'd, &c.

How I wish'd the dear Shepherd, for Life, was all mine! I shou'd have no Occasion to Chide or to Pine; Then Harry my Lips may with Kisses run o'er, And I'll try, if it can be, to love him still more; And I'll try, if it can be, to love him still more.

SONG CXCIV. Sung at Vauxhall.

FROM sweet bewitching Tricks of Love, Young Men, your Hearts secure, Lest from the Paths of Sense you rove, In Dotage premature. In Dotage premature. Look at each Lass thro' Wisdom's Glass, Nor trust the naked Eye: Gallants, beware, look sharp, take care; The Blind eat many a Fly. The Blind eat many a Fly.

Not only on their Hands and N••cks The borrow'd white you'll find; Some Belles, when Interest directs; Can even paint the Mind. Can even paint the Mind. Joy and Distress they can express; Their very Tears can lye. Gallant beware, &c.

There's not a Spinster in the Re•••••••• But all Mankind can cheat, Down to the Cottage from the Helm, The learn'd, the brave, the great. The learn'd, the brave, the great.

With lovely Looks, and golden Hooks, T'entangle us they try. Gallants beware, &c.

Could we with Ink the Ocean fill; Was Earth of Parchment made; Was ev'ry single Stick a Quill, Each Man a Scribe by Trade. Each Man a Scribe by Trade. To write the Tricks of half the Sex Would suck that Ocean dry: Gallants beware, look sharp, take care; The Blind eat many a Fly. The Blind eat many a Fly.

SONG CXCV. The ACCIDENT,

AS th'other Day Milking I sat in the Vale, Young Damon came up to address his soft Tale, So sudden I started up and gave him a Frown, For he frighted my Cow and my Milk was kick'd down.

Oh! bless me! says I, what the Duce can you mean, To come thus upon one unthought unseen, I ne'er approve of the Love you pretend, For as Mischief begins, perhaps Mischief may end.

I little thought now he'd his Passion advance, But pretty Excuses made up the Mischance, He begg'd a kind Kiss which I granted I vow, And I laid my own self, the whole Fault on the Cow,

How many Ways Love can the Bosoom invade, His Art prov'd to strong for an innocent Maid, He hinted that Wedlock was what he'd be at, But I thought it was best to say nothing to that,

I flutter all o'er when e'er he comes nigh, For if he shou'd press I shall surely comply, And ne'er shall be angry, my Heart itself tells, Tho' he flings down my Milk—or does any thing else.

SONG CXCVI.

WHEN Trees did bud and Fields were green, And Flowers were fair to see, When Mary was scarce fifteen, And Love laugh'd in her Eye.

Blith Jockey's Looks her Heart did move, To speak her Mind thus free, Gang down the Burn my gentle Love, And soon I'll follow thee.

Now Jockey did each Lad surpass, That dwells on this Burn Side, And Mary was a bouny Lass, Just meet to be a Bride,

Her Cheeks were rosy red and white, Her Eyes were azure blue, Her Looks were like Aurora bright, Her Lips like dropping Dew.

What pass'd I guess was harmless Play And nothing sure unmeet, For ganging Home I heard them say, They tik'd a Walk so sweet.

His Cheek to hers he fondly laid, She cry'd sweet Love be true, And w••en a Wife as now a Maid, To Death I'll follow you.

SONG CXCVII. JENNY.

NO Lass on fam'd Hiberrigs Plains, Where Beauty all triumphant reigns, Dear Jenny can cut vie. Her a••••less Charms no Muse can tell, Nor can the rising Sun excel, The Radiance of her Eyes,

Unnumber'd Graces round her move, At once inspiring awe and Love, How Heavenly is her Smile, W•••• what bewitching Mein, Not to be told or safely seen, She can the Hours beguile.

Good Nature Chearfulness and Ease, Improve the fair ones Pow'r to please Which no vain Pride destroys, While meaner Beauties gain by Arts, Of vulgar Growth the Coxcombs Hearts The Scorns the worthless Toys,

Behold my Muse and tell the fair, No tincel Charmes can e'er ensnare, A Heart that's worth the Pains, A short liv'd Flame indeed may raise, Which rapid as it grows decays, And scarce a Day remains.

But wou'd you fix the constant Love, Of Swains who Worth and Sense approve, Pursue my Jenny's Plan, No other Way you can succeed, For tho' you may the Fopling lead, You'll ne'er secure the Man.

SONG CXCVIII.

A LEXIS, a pretty young Swain, To court me comes many a Mile; I bid him make haste back again, Tho' I wish'd him to stay a great While: With all by which Love is exprest, He studies my Heart to beguile; I wish him Success I protest, But I tell him he'll wait a great While.

He brought me a Nosegay to-Day, And vow'd 'twas more Pleasure than Toil; I took it I safely can say,

And I let him not ask a great While; He begg'd me to grant him a Kiss, So earnest he made me to Smile, Have done, I cry'd, fie, 'tis amiss, But I wish'd it to last a great While.

He tells me I ought to be kind, That Time all my Beauties will soil; I cross him, tho' quite of his Mind, For I love him to talk a great While: I think such sweet Things he has said, My Coyness at last he will spoil; And when he once asks me to wed, Oh! I'll not live a Maid a great While.

SONG CXCIX. The HONEY MOON.

AS May in all her youthful Dress, So gay my Love did once appear; A Spring of Charms adorn'd her Face, The Rose and Lilly flourish'd there: Thus, while the Enjoyment was young, Each Night new Pleasures did create; Ambrosial Words drop'd from her Tongue, And am'rous Cupid, round did wait.

But, as the Sun to West declines, The eastern Sky does colder grow, And all his radiant Looks resigns To the pale Moon, that rules below; So Love, while in her blooming Hour, My Chloe was all kind and gay; But when Possession nip'd that Flow'r, Her Charms, like Autumn, drop'd away.

SONG CC. The ROVER.

IN all the Sex some Charms I find; I love to try all Woman-kind, The Fair, the Smart, the Witty.

The Fair, the Smart, the Witty In Cupid's Fetters, most severe, I languish'd out a long, long Year, The Slave of wanton Kitty. The Slave of wanton Kitty.

At length I broke the galling Chain, And swore that Love was endless Pain, One constant Scene of Folly. One constant, &c. I vow'd no more to wear the Yoke: But soon I felt a second Stroke, And sigh'd for blue-ey'd Molly. And sigh'd, &c.

With Tresses next of flaxen Hue, Young Jenny did my Soul subdue, That lives in yonder Valley. That lives, &c. Then Cupid threw another Snare, And caught me in the curling Hair Of little tempting Sally. Of little, &c.

Adorn'd with Charms, tho' blithe and young, My roving Heart from Bondage sprung, This Heart of yielding Mettle, This Heart of yielding Mettle. And now it wanders here and there, By Turns the Prize of brown and fair, But never more will settle. But never more will settle.

SONG CCI. The SHEPHERDESS.

I SEEK my Shepherd gone astray, He left our Cot the other Day, Tell me ye gentle Nymphs and Swain••, Pass'd the dear Rebel through your Plains•• Oh! whither, whither, must I roam, To find and charm the Wand'rer Home?

Sports he upon the shaven Green, Or joys he in the Mountain Scene, Leads he his Flocks along the Mead, Or does he seek the cooler Shade? Oh! teach a wretched Nymph the W•••• To find her Love gone astray.

To paint, ye Maids, my truant Swain A manly Softness crowns his Mien; Adonis was not half so fair; And when he talks 'tis Heav'n to hear But oh! the soothing Poison shun, To listen, is to be undone.

He'll swear no Time shall quench his Flame, To me the Perjur'd swore the same; Too fondly loving to be Wise, Who gave my Heart an easy Prize; And when he turn'd his Syren Voice, Listen'd, and was undone by Choice.

But sated now he shuns the Kiss, He counted once his greatest Bliss; Whilst I with fiercer Passions burn, And pant and die for his Return. Oh! whither, whither shall I rove Again to find my straying Love?

SONG CCII. The MEN will ROMANCE.

WHEN I enter'd my Teens, and threw Playthings aside, I conceiv'd myself Woman, and fit for a Bride, By the Men I was flatter'd, my Pride to enhance, For the Maids will believe, and the Men will romance.

They swore that my Eyes the bright Di'mond excell'd, Such a Face and such Tresses, sure ne'er were beheld! That to gaze on my Neck was all Rapture and Trance! Oh! the Maids will believe, and the Men will romance.

Young Polydore saw me one Night at the Ball, And swore to my Charms he a Conquest must fall; On his Knees he entreated my Hand for a Dance, Ah! the Maids will believe, and the Men will romance.

He conducted me home, when the Pastime was o'er; And declar'd he ne'er saw so much Beauty before, He ogled and sigh'd, as he saw me advance. Ah! the Maids will believe, and the Men will romance.

Then Day after Day I his Company had, At length he declar'd all his Flame to my Dad; But my Father lov'd Money, and would not advance, And reply'd to my Lover, young Men will romance.

But tho' my Papa would not give us a Shilling, My Polydore swore he to wed me was willing; So to Church we both went, and at Night had a Dance, And believe me my Polydore did not romance.

SONG CCIII.

Set by Mr. Howard.

YOUNG Roger of the Mill, one Morning very soon, Put on his best Apparel, his Horse and clouted Shoon, And he a wooing went to bonny buxom Nell; Adzooks, cries he, could'st fancy me? I like the wond'rous well, I like thee wond'rous well.

My Horses I have drest, and giv'n them Corn and Hay, Put on my best Apparel; and, having come this Way, Let's sit and chat a While with thee, my bonny Nell: Adzooks, cries he, could'st fancy me? I like thy Person well, I like thy Person well.

Young Roger, your mistaken, the Damsel then reply'd; I am not in such Haste to be a Plowman's Bride: Know, I then live in hopes to wed a Farmer's Son: If it be so, says Hodge, I'll go; sweet Mistress, I have done; sweet Mistress, I have done.

Your Horses you have drest, as I have heard you say: Put on your best Apparel; and having come this Way,

Come sit and chat a While: O no indeed, not I; I'll neither wait, nor chat, nor prate; I've other Fish to fry, I've other Fish to fry.

Go take your Farmer's Son, with all my honest Heart, What tho' my Name be Roger, that goes to Plow and Cart, I need not tarry long, e're I do gain a Wife; There's buxom Joan, it is well known, she loves me as her Life, she loves me as her Life.

Pray what of buxom Joan? can't I please you as well? For she has ne'er a Penny, and I am bouncing Nell, And I have fifty Shillings. The Money made him smiler O then, my dear, I'll draw a Chair, and chat with thee a While, and chat with thee a While.

Within an Half-hour's Space, these two a Bargain struck; I hope then with the Money they both may have good Luck: I've forty Shillings more, with which a Cow we'll buy; We'll join our Hands in Wedlock's Bands; then who but you and I; then who but you and I?

SONG CCIV.

NOW the Snow-drops lift their Heads, Cowslips rise from dewy Beds; Silver Lillies paint the Grove, Welcome May, and welcome Love.

Now the Bee, with pliant Wings, Flow'ry Spoils, unweary'd brings; Spoils, that Nymphs, and Swains approve, Soft as May, and sweet as Love.

Whilst a down the slopy Hills, Trickle of the purling Rills; Balmy Sweets perfume the Grove, May unbends the Soul to Love.

Long the Icy Maid denies, Nor regards her Shepherd's Sighs; Now your fond Petitions move. May's the Season form'd for Love.

On the Fair that decks our Isle, May each Grace, each Virtue smile; And our happy Shepherds prove, Days of Ease, and Nights of Love.

SONG CCV. A BALLAD in the Modern Taste.

Set by Mr. Arne.

ONE Morning young Roger accosted me thus, Come here, pretty Maiden, and give me a Buss; Law Fellow, said I, mind your Plough and your Cart Yes, I thank you for nothing, with all my Heart.

Well, then to be besure, he grew civil enough, He gave me a Box with a Paper of Souff; I took it, I own, yet had still so much Art. To cry, thank you for nothing, with all my Heart.

He said, if so be, he might make me his Wife, Good Friends, I was never so dash'd in my Life; Yet could not help laughing to see the Fool start. When I thank'd him for nothing with all my Heart.

Soon after, however, he gain'd my Consent, And with him one Sunday to Chapel I went, But said 'twas my goodness, more than his Desert, Not to thank him for nothing with all my Heart.

The Parson cry'd, Child, you must after me say, And then talk'd of Honour, and Love and Obey; But faith, when his Reverence came to that Part, There I thank him for nothing with all my Heart.

At Night our Sr••k Neighbours the Stocking would threw I must not tell l••a••es, but I know what I know; Young Roger concesses I cur'd all his Smart, And I mark'd him for something with all my Heart.

SONG CCVI.

LOVE, then Bare of soft Content Love, thou in auspicious Guest;

Say, say, oh! why thy Shaft was sent To this once my peaceful Breast: Sweet as first I thought the Passion, Fancy still new Joys cou'd see; But now how sad an Alteration, Damon flies from Love and me.

Thus Sylvia in the conscious Grove, All sweetly plantive mourn'd, When Damon chanc'd that Way to rove, And to the Nymph return'd: He sigh'd Repentance at her Feet, She smil'd upon the Swain; And each fond Heart responsive beat To Love and Joy again.

SONG CCVII.

PREACH not to me your musty Rules, Ye Drones that mould in idle Cell; The Heart is wiser than the Schools, The Senses always reason well: If short my Span, I less can spare, To pass one single Pleasure by; An Hour is long, if lost in Care, They only live, who Life enjoy.

SONG CCVIII.

HOW blithe was I each Morn to see, My Swain come o'er the Hill; He leap'd the Brook, and flew to me, I met him with good Will: I neither wanted Ewe nor Lamb, When his Flocks near me lay; He gather'd in my Sheep at Night, And chear'd me all the Day. Oh! the Broom, the bonny Broom, Where lost was my Repose, I with I was with my dear Swain With his Pipe and my Ewes.

He tun'd his Pipe and Reed so sweet, The Birds stood list'ning by; The fleecy Flock stood still and gaz'd, Charm'd with his Melody: While thus we spent our Time by Turns, Betwixt our Flocks and Play, I envy'd not the fairest Dame, Tho' e'er so rich and gay. Oh! the Broom, &c.

He did oblige me ev'ry Hour, Cou'd I but faithful be; He stole my Heart, cou'd I refuse Whate'er he ask'd of me: Hard Fate that I must banish'd be, Gang heavily and monrn, Because I lov'd the kindest Swain That ever yet was born. Oh! the Broom, the bonny Broom, Where lost was my Repose, I wish I was with my dear Swain, With his Pipe and my Ewes.

SONG CCIX.

Set by Mr. Baildon,

HARK; the Birds begin their Lay, Flow'rets deck the Robe of May; See the little Lambkins bound, Playful o'er the Clover-ground: While the Heifers sportive low, Where the yellow Cowslips blow.

Now the Nymphs and Swains advance, O'er the lawn in perfect Dance; Garlands from the Hawthorn Bough, Grace the happy Shepherd's Brow; While the Lasses, in Array, Wait upon the Queen of May.

••nnocence, Content and Love, Fill the Meadows and the Grove; Mirth that never wears a Frown, Health with Sweetness all her own; Labour puts on Pleasure's Smile, And pale Care forgets his Toil.

Ah! what Pleasure Shepherds know, Monarchs cannot such bestow; Love improves each happy Hour, Grandeur has not such in Store; Learn, Ambition, learn from hence, Happiness is Innocence.

SONG CCX.

ASK if yon Damask Rose is sweet That scents the ambient Air; Then ask each Shepherd that you meet, If dear Susanna's fair.

Say, will the Vulture quit his Prey, And warble thro' the Grove; Bid wanton Linnets quit the Spray, Then doubt thy Shepherd's Love.

The Spoils of War let Heroes share, Let Pride in Splendour shine; Ye Bards unenvied Laurels wear, Be fair Susanna mine.

SONG CCXI. A new DIALOGUE.

DEAREST Dapne turn thine Eyes, Jocund Day begins to rise; See the Morn with Roses crown'd, Sprinkling Dew-drops on the Ground: Love invites to yonder Grove, Where only Lovers dare to rove; Let us haste, make no delay, Cupid's Call we must obey;

Let us haste, make no Delay, Cupid's Call we must obey.

She.

Ah! Philander, I'm afraid: There poor Laura was betray'd By young Strephon's subtil Wiles, Soothing Words, and artful Smiles: Simple Maids are soon undone, When their simple Hearts are won: Press me not, I must away, And Honour's strict Commands obey: Press me not, &c.

He.

Gentle Daphne, fear not you, I'll be ever kind and true; Think no more on Laura's Fate, View yon Turtle and it's Mate; See how freely they impart The Impulse of each other's Heart: Like them, my Fair, let's sport and play. Nature prompts us to obey. Like them, &c.

She.

Shepherd, I perceive your Aim, You and Strephon are the same; You like him would me betray, Should I trust what e'er you say.

He.

If Daphne doubts, let Hymen's Bands This Instant join our willing Hands.

She.

The Invitation I obey, And Love with Honour will repay: The Invitation, &c.

Both.

No longer then the Moments waste, But to the Altar let us haste, But to the Alter let us haste: The Invitation we obey, And Love with Honour each repay, The Invitation we obey, And Love with Honour each repay.

SONG CCXII. Sung in LETHE

YE Mortals, whom Fancies and Troubl•• perpler. Whom Folly misguides, and Infi••m••es vex; Whese Lives hardly know what it is to be best; Who rise without Joy, and lie down without Rest: Obey the glad Summons, to Lethe repair, Drink deep of the Stream, and forget all your Care.

Old Maids shall forget what they wish for in vain, And young ones the Rover they cannot regain; The Rake shall forget how last Night he was cloy'd. And Chloe again be with Passion enjoy'd; Obey then the Summons, to Lethe repair. And drink an Oblivion to Trouble and Care.

The Wife at one Draught may forget all her Wants, Or drench her fond Fool to forget her Gallants; The troubled in Mind shall go chearful away, And Yesterday's Wretch be quite happy to-cay; Obey then the Summons, to Lethe repair, Drink deep of the Stream, and forget all your Care.

SONG CCXIII. The SHEEP SHEARING.

COME, my good Shepherds, our Flocks we must shear; In your Holiday Suits with your hasses appear: The happiest of Folks are the Guileless and Free; And who are so guileless, so happy, as we.?

We harbour no Passions by Luxury taught; We practise no Arts with Hyprocrisy fraught: What we think in our Heart you may read in our Eyes, For, knowing no Fa••shood, we need no Disguise.

By Mode and Caprice are the City Dames led; But we all the Children of Nature are bred: By her Hands alone we are painted and drest, For the Roses will bloom when there's Peace in the Breast.

That Giant, Ambition, we never can dread; Our Roofs are too low for so lofty a Head; Content and sweet Chearfulness open our Door; They smile with the simple, and seed with the Poor.

When Love has possess'd us, that Love we reveal; Like the Flocks that we feed are Passions we feel; So harmless and simple we sport and we play, And leave to sine Folk to deceive and betray.

SONG CCXIV. The SPINNIG WH••••L.

Set by Mr. Baild••••,

YOUNG Collin Fishing near the Mill, Saw Sally underneath the Hill, Whose Heart Love's tender Pow'r cou'd feel. The Mill was stopt. no Miller there, She smil'd to see the Youth appear: But turn'd about her Spinning-wheel.

Thy Cheeks, says he, like Peaches bloom, Thy Breath is like the Spring's Perfume; On thy sweet Lips my Love I'll seal, Yon stately Swains so white and sleek, Are like to Sally's Breast and Neck, But still she turn'd her Spinning wheel.

Tho' fair one, Beauty's transient Pow'r, Fades like the new-blown gaudy Flow'r; Not so where Virtue loves to dwell, For where sweet Modesty appears, We never see the Vale of Years, She smil'd and stop'd her Spinning-wheel.

The Pomp of State, the Pride of Wealth, Says she, I scorn for Peace and Health, Where honest Labour earns her Meal: Who tells the Flatt'rer's common Tale, Can never o'er my Heart prevail, And make me leave my Spinning-wheel.

The Swain who loves the virtuous Mind, Alone can make young Sally kind; For him I'll toil, I'll spin and reel, It is the Voice, says he, of Love, Come hasten to yon Church above; She blush'd and left her Spinning-wheel.

SONG CCXV. A Loyal Song.

SAY, lovely Peace, that grac'd our Isle, Why you withdraw th' indulgent Smile? Is it, you fly the Sons of Fame, That the, the Pride of France may tame? For Mars is rouz'd by Wars alarms, And calls the Britons forth to Arms.

Our Chiefs, renown'd upon the Main, Once more in Arms shine forth again, Whose steady Courage dares oppose And stem the Fow'r of Gallic Foes. For Mars, &c.

What State but does its Fate deplore, Where e'er the British Thunders roar? All, all must in Subjection bow; And to Britannia's Sons 'tis due; For Mars, &c.

As Rome of old her Terrors huri'd, And prov'd the Mistress of the World, The Globe itself must subject be To Albion's Sons, who rule the Sea; For Mars, &c.

Arise, arise, to War's great Call; Prepare to meet the audacious Gaul; And, in return for all your Toils, Return with Victory and Spoils: For Mars is ••o••z'd by the War's Alarms, And calls the Britons forth to Arms.

SONG CCXVI.

Sung by Mr. Beard.

WHO has e'er been at Baldock must needs know the Mill, At the Sign of the Horse at the Foot of the Hill; Where the grave and the gay, the Clown and the Beau, Without all Distinction promiscuously go; Where the grave and the gay, the Clown and the Beau, Without all Distinction promiscuously go.

This Man of the Mill has a Daughter so fair, With so pleasing a Shape, and so wining an Air; That once on the ever-green Bank as I stood, I'd swore she was Venus just sprung from the Flood. That once, &c.

But looking again I perceiv'd my Mistake, For Venus, tho' fair, has the Looks of a Rake; While nothing but Virtue, and Modesty fill, The more beautiful Looks of the Lass of the Mill. While nothing, &c.

Prometheus stole Fire, as the Poets all say, To enliven that Mass which he model'd of Clay; Had Polly been with him, the Beams of her Eyes Had sav'd him the Trouble of robbing the Skies. Had Polly, &c.

Since first I beheld the dear Lass of the Mill, I can never be quite; but do what I will, All Day and all Night, I sigh and think still I shall die, if I have not the Lass of the Mill: All Day and all Night, I sigh and think still I shall die, if I have not the Lass of the Mill.

SONG CCXVII.

COME all you young Lovers who wan with Despair, Compose idle Sonnets, and sigh for the Fair; Who puff up their Pride by enchanting their Charms, And tell them 'tis Heaven to lie in their Arms;

Be wise by Example, take Pattern my me, For let what will happen by Jove I'll be free, By Jove I'll be free. For let what will happen, by Jove I'll be free.

Young Daphne I saw, in the Net I was caught, I ly'd and I flatter'd as Custom had taught; I press'd her to Bliss, which she granted full soon, But the Date of my Passion expir'd with the Moon, She vow'd she was ruin'd, I said it might be, I'm sorry, my dear, but by Jove I'll be free, By Jove I'll be free.

The next was young Phillis as bright as the Morn, The Love that I proffer'd she treated with Scorn; I laugh'd at her Folly, and told her my Mind, That none can be handsome, but such as are kind; Her Pride and Ill nature was lost upon me, For in Spite of fair Faces, by Jove I'll be free, By Jove I'll be free, &c.

Let others call Marriage the Harbour of Joys, Calm Peace I delight in, and fly from all Noise; Some chuse to be hamper'd, 'tis sure a strange Rage, And like Birds they sing best, when they're put in a Cage: Confinement's the Devil, 'twas ne'er made for me, Let who will be Bond-slaves, by Jove I'll be free. By Jove I'll be free, &c.

Then let the brisk Bumper run over the Glass, In a Toast to the young and the beautiful I ass; Who yielding and easy, prescribes no dull Rule, Nor thinks it a Wonder a Lover shou'd cool. Be wise by Example, take Pattern by me, For let what will happen, by Jove I'll be free, By Jove I'll be free. For let what will happen, by Jove I'll be free.

SONG CCXVIII.

SYLVIA, wilt thou waste thy Prime, Stranger to the Joys of Love?

Thou hast Youth, and that's the Time Ev'ry Minute to improve: Round thee wilt thou never hear Little wanton Girls and Boys Sweetly sounding in thy Ear, Infant's Prate and Mother's Joys?

Only view that little Dove, Softly cooing to his Mate; As farther Proof of Love, See her for his Kisses wait: Hark! that charming Nightingale, As he flies from Spray to Spray, Sweetly tunes an am'rous Tale, I love, I love, he strives to say.

Could I to thy Soul reveal But the least, the thousandth Part, Of those Pleasures Lovers feel, In a mutual Change of Heart; Then, repenting, wouldst thou say, Virgin Fears, from hence remove, All the Time is thrown away, That we do not spend in Love.

SONG CCXIX.

I Search'd the Fields of ev'ry Kind, The fairest Flow'r I chose, And sent them in a Wreath to bind My Rosalinda's Brow, My Rosalinda's Brow.

Here Hyacinthus ting'd with Blood, In purple Beauty glows, There bursting from the swelling Bud, Appears the blushing Rose, Appears the blushing Rose.

Here Violets of purple Hue, Chaste Lillies white as Snow;

Narcissuses that drink the Dew, And near the Fountain blow. And near the Fountain blow.

To boast thy Charms when crown'd with those, Cease, cease O beauteous Maid, Thy Face that blooms so like the Rose, Like that, alas! will fade, Like that, alas! will fade.

SONG CCXX. ODE to MAY,

FAIREST Daughter of the Day, Lovely Goddess, sprightly May; Hither come with Roses crown'd, Painting where you tread the Ground.

At the lov'd Approach of thee, Shoot the Mulberry, luscious Tree; Vine their ruddier Leaves unfold, Nor the Fig-tree dreads the Cold.

Nymph divine, behold the Flowers, Rise to grace thy vernal Showers; Woodbines spangled o'er the Dew. Deck their Arborets for you.

Tulips rear their glittering Heads, Pinks adorn the fragrant Beds, And the silver Lillies swell; And the golden Asphodel.

Goddess, with thy Vest of Green, Goddess, with thy youthful Mien, Come, and bring the Mines of Wealth, Gladness, and her parent Health.

Bring along thy Virgin Train, Chace away grim Care and Pain: Now the Loves and Graces all, Throng obedient to thy Call.

SONG CCXXI.

HOW few like you, would dare advise To trust the Town's deluding Arts; Where Love in daily Ambush lies, And triumphs over heedless Hearts!

How few, like us, would thus deny T'indulge the tempring dear Delight, Where daily Pleasures charm the Eye, And Joys superior crown the Night.

SONG CCXXII.

WHO, to win a Woman's Favour, Would solicit long in vain? Who, to gain a Moment's Pleasure, Would endure an Age of Pain? Vainly toying, ne'er enjoying, Pleas'd with suing, fond of Ruin, Made the Martyr of Disdain. Made the Martyr of Disdain.

Give to me the handsome Rover, Whom a gen'rous Temper warms; Kindly using ev'ry Lover; Well-bestowing all her Charms: Never flying, but complying; Frank and easy, glad to please ye: Throw me then into her Arms. Throw me then into her Arms.

SONG CCXXIII.

SICK of the Town, at once I flew To Contemplation's rural Seat; Adieu, said I, vain World adieu, Fools only study to be great: The Book, the Lamp, the Hermit's Cell, The moss-grown Roof, the matted Floor; All these I had—'twas mighty well;

But yet I wanted something more; Yet I wanted, yet I wanted, But yet I wanted something more.

Back to the busy World again, I soon return'd, in hopes to find, Ease for imaginary Pain, Quiet of Heart, and Peace of Mind: Gay Scenes of Grandeur ev'ry Hour, By Turns my Fancy fill; The World seem'd all within my Pow'r; But yet I wanted something still. But yet I wanted something still.

Cities and Groves by Turns were try'd; 'Twas, all, ye Fair, an idle Tale, Celia at length became a Bride, A Bride to Damon of the Vale: All Nature smil'd; the Gloom was clear'd; Damon was kind—I can't tell how; Each Place a Paridise appear'd: And Celia wanted nothing now; Celia wanted, Celia wanted, And Celia wanted nothing now.

SONG CCXXIV. The CONFESSION,

LOVELY Fanny charming Maid, Kind, gentle fair and free, In all thy Sexes Charms array'd, How few are form'd like thee. Thy Image always fills My Mind the Theme of ev'ry Song. I'm fix'd to thee alone, I find, But ask not for how long.

The Fair in gen'ral I've admir'd, Have long been false and true, And when the last my Fancy tir'd, It wander'd round to you,

Then while I can I'll be sincere, As Turtles to their Mates, This Moment's yours and mine my Dear, The next you know is Fates.

SONG CCXXV.

THE Lass that would know how to manage a Man, Let her listen and learn it from me, His Conrage to quell, or his Heart to trapan, As the Time and Occasion agree.

The Girl that has Beauty, tho' small be her Wit, May wheedle the Clown or the Beau, The Rake may repel, or may draw in the Cit, By the Use of the pretty Word, No.

When powder'd Toupees all round are in chat, Each striving his Passion to show, With Kiss me, and love me, my Dear, and all that, Let her Answer to all be, oh, No.

When a Dose is contriv'd to lay Virtue asleep, A Present, a Treat, or a Ball, She still must refuse, if her Empire she'd keep, And No, be her Answer to all.

But when Mr. Dapperwit offers his Hand, Her Partner in Wedlock to go, With a Horse, and a Coach, and a Jointure in Land, She's an Idoit if then she says, No.

But if she's attack'd by a Youth full of Charms, Whose Courtship proclaims him a Man, When press'd to his Bosom, and clasp'd in his Arms, Then let her say No, if she can.

SONG CCXXVI. In EKIZA. an ENGLISH Opera.

WITH Swords on their Thighs the bold Yeomen are seen, For their Country they arm, their Relligion and Queen.

How glorious their Ardour to lay down their Lives In Desence of their Freedom, their Ch••••dren and Wives.

Ye Tyrants, ye know not what Liberty yields, How she guards all our Shores, and protects all our Fields. As Hebe she's fair, and as Hercules strong, She's the Queen of our Mirth, and the Joy of our Song,

To Liberty raise up the high chearful Strain, Fill the Goblets around to the Lads of the Main, Eliza is Queen, and her brave loyal land, Shall drive each Invader far out of the Land.

SONG CCXXVII. CONTENTMENT.

O True Content! secure from Harms, What's all the World without thy Charms; Which still allute to Rest? Compar'd therewith, all earthly Joys Are empty, fading, trifling Toys: In thee Mankind is blest.

Bereft of thee, not Monarchs have Such Pleasure as the meanest Slave, To whom thou giv'st Relief; Tho' Subjects show profound Respect, Nor Duty wilfully neglect, Thy Absence causes Grief.

When thou art banish'd from the Mind, Frail Mortals vainly are inclin'd To Pride and Avarice, Lasciviousness, Idolatry, Thefts, Murders, and Adultery, With ev'ry other Vice.

Put where thou reign'st there's solid ••eace; Thro' thee true Virtue does increase; Thy Countenance expels The gloomy Prospects of Despai••, It dissipates the slavish Fear, With whomsce'er it dwells.

Come, then, thou pleasing Beauty bright Reside with me both Day and Night, Display thy lovely Charms; Be thou diffus'd within my Breast, And let me still to rely Infolded in thy Arms.

Thro' all the various Scenes of Life, Preserve me free from envious Strife, On Heav'n still to rely For true protecting Aid; and when Time termina••es in Death, Oh! then To thee, O Heav'n! to fly.

SONG CCXXVIII. The HONEST CONFESSION.

MY Mother cries, Betty be shy, Whenever the Men wou'd intrude; I knew not her Meaning, not I; But I'd take her Advice if I cou'd.

Alexis stept up t'other Day, To Kiss me, and ask'd if he shou'd; Pray what cou'd a Shepherdess say? But I'd fain have said no—if I cou'd.

My Mother remembers the Time, When she, like a Vestal was mew'd; Now this I conce••ve was a Crime, And I'd not be serv'd so, if I cou'd.

If free with Alexis, she'll chide, She says, perhaps he may be rude; I will not pre••end to decide, But I fancy he wou'd—if he cou'd.

Last May Morn I tript o'er the Plain, He saw me and quickly pursu'd; I heartily laugh'd at the Swain, I'd catch you, he cry'd,—if I cou'd.

Well, soon he overtook my best Hasle, And swore he'd be canslant and good; I vow I'll live decent and chaste, But I'd marry the Swain—if I cou'd.

SONG CCXXIX.

Sung by Mrs. Vincent.

FLY hence grim Melancholy's Train, Hence wasting Thought and Years of Pain; What to us is Age and Care, Eves of Grief and Looks of Fear; Join the Laughter-loving Train, This is Pleasure's boundless Reign.

Mind not what the Stoicks say, Life is only for a Day; Banish far Reflection's Pow'r, Lose not one important Hour; Fly the meagre hideous Train, This is Pleasure's boundless Reign.

Make the most of Beauty's Pride, Youth and Beauty soon subside; Courted, yield, while yet you may, Cupid else will fly away; Join the sportive harmless Train, This is Pleasure's golden Reign.

Bacchus all his Treasure lends, (Mirth and Wine are constant Friends;) Lifts on high the human Soul; Dread no Poison in the Bowl. Seek the jovial rosy Train, This is Pleasure's boundless Reign.

In the Meadows safely stray, Innocence shall guard the Way; And by Moon light on the Green, View the Faires with their Queen; Go where Love directs the Train, For 'tis Pleasure's golden Reign.

Envy's Snakes, all murd'ring War, With Plantom Honour, hence are far; Hope, and Peace, and Joy sincere, And Love, maintain their Reve's here; Haste to join the festive Train. This is Pleasure's golden Reign.

Nor to scornful Airs inclin'd, Know the Season to be kind; What would all your Beauty do, Should Shepherds once neglect to woo See the beck'ning sportive Train; Hark, they cry 'tis Pleasure's Reign.

Freedom, with immortal Shield, Guards the Blessings we can yield; Freedom hails thee, to resign All thy Cares in Love and Wine: Stay no longer, join the Train This is Pleasure's golden Reign.

Hymen's graceful Altars smoke; Hasle, and wear the silken Yoke: Endless Peace, unsading Youth, Rise the sure Rewards of Truth: Hasten then to join the Train, For 'tis Pleasure's golden Reign.

SONG CCXXX. The SHEPHERD.

NO more the festive Train I'll join, Adieu! ye rural Sports adieu! For what alas! have Griefs like mine With Pastimes or Delights to do? Let Hearts at Ease such Pleasure prove But I am all Despair and Love.

Ah! well a Day! How chang'd am I? When late I seiz'd the rural Reed; So soft my Strains, the Herds hard by,

Stood gazing, and forgot to feed, But now my Strains no longer move, They're Discord all Despair and Love.

Behold around my straggling Sheep, The fairest once upon the Lea; No Swain to guide, no Dog to keep, Unshorn they stray, nor mark'd by me; The Shepherds move to see them rove, They ask the Cause, I answer Love.

Neglected Love first taught my Eyes, With Tears of Anguish to o'erflow; 'Tis that which fill'd my Breast with Sighs, And turn'd my Pipe to Notes of Woe; Love has occasion'd all my Smart, Dispers'd my Flock, and broke my Heart.

SONG CCXXXI.

ATTEND, ye Nymphs, while I impart The secret Wishes of my Heart; And tell what Swain, if one there be, Whom Fate designs for Love and me.

Let Reason o'er his Thoughts preside, Let Honour all his Actions guide; Stedfast in Virtue let him be, The Swain design'd for Love and me.

Let solid Sense inform his Mind, With pure good Nature sweetly join'd; Sure Friend to modest Merit be The Swain design'd for Love and me.

Where Sorrow prompts the pensive Sigh Where Grief bedews the drooping Eye; Melting in Sympathy I see The Swain design'd for Love and me.

Let sordid Av'tice claim no Part, Within his tender gen'rous Heart; Oh! be that Heart from Falshood free, Devoted all to Love and me.

SONG CCXXXII. The FRUITLESS ENDEAVOUE.

WHEN gentle Harriot first I saw, Struck with a reverential Awe, I felt my Bosom mov'd; Her easy Shape, her charming Face, She smil'd and talk'd with so much Grace, I gaz'd, admir'd and lov'd.

Up to the busy Town I flew, And wander'd all its Pleasures thro', In hopes to ease my Care. The busy Town but mocks my Pain, Its gayest Pleasures all are vain, For Harriot haunts me there.

The Lobours of the learned Sage, The comic Humour of the Stage, By turns my Time employ; I relish not the Sage's Lore, The Stage's Humour please no more, For Harriot's all my Joy.

Sometimes I try'd the jovial Throng, Sometime the Female Train among, To chase her Form away; The jovial Throng is noisy, rude, Nor other Female dares intrude, Where Harriot bears a Sway.

Since then nor Art nor Learning can. Nor Company of Maid or Man, For want of thee atone; O come, with all thy conquering Charms, O come! and take me to thy Arms, For thou art all in one.

SONG CCXXXIII.

THE Heroes preparing to finish the War, And bid to the Camp, to the Camp an Adieu

Now sheath up their Swords, and rejoice, O ye Fair, To think, to think of returning to you.

With Smiles, then ye Lasses, embellish your Charms. Your Lovers with Rapture, with Rapture will come; Oh! take the brave Fellows then close to your Areas, And tenderly, tenderly welcome them home.

SONG CCXXXIV.

MYRTILLA. demanding the Aid of my Pe••, To tell what of her were the Thoughts of the Men, Insisted for once I would alter my Tune, And write Panegyricks as well as Lampoon; With Candour describing the Woman I see, When I steal from my Glass, to Myrtilla and Tea.

If the Eyes sweet Employ to the Soul give Delight, And Beauty's an Object engaging to Sight; How kind is my fair One whose Studies confess, Her Aim is at Nature's Amendment in Dress: Tho' oft' in the Structure, mistaking the Plan, She spoils what she means shou'd give Pleasure to Man

When I heard her sweet Voice in its natural Key, Her good-humour'd ••rattle is Musick to me, Her Kiss would soon make the dull Hermit forego His Cell and high Views, for that Heaven below. But when for a Trifle with Anger grown bold, Her Words are but Discord, her Kisses are cold.

Like Dew to the Flow'rs is Love to Mankind, Each Sense's Enjoyment in Woman we find; Unless Affectation, that Bane to the Fair, Unfetters the Heart they attempt to ensnare: Let Nature the Science of Pleasing direct, A Charm ill display'd soon becomes a Defect.

SONG CCXXXV. The Words from SHAKESPER.

COME, live with me, and be my Love, And we will all the Pleasures prove,

That Hills and Vallies, Dales and Fields, And all the craggy Mountain yields, There will we sit upon the Rocks, And see the Shepherds feed their Flocks. Near shallow Rivers, by whose Falls, Melodious Birds sing Madrigals.

There will I make thee B••ds of Roses, With a thousand fragrant Posies, A Ca•• of Flowers, with a Girdle, Embroider'd all with Leaves of Myrtle; A Gown made of the finest Wool, Which from our pretty Lambs we pull, If these Delights thy Mind may move, Come live with me, and be my Love.

Fair lined Slipper for the Cold, With Buckles of the purest Gold; A Belt of Straw with Ivy Buds, And coral Clasps, and Silver Studs, The Shepherd Swain shall dance and sing, For thy Delight each May Morning: If these Delights thy Mind may move, Then live with me, and be my Love.

SONG CCXXXVI.

WHEN Faities dance round on the Grass, And revel to Nignt's awful Noon: O say, will you meet me, sweet Lass, All by the clear Light of the Moon: My Passion I seek not to screen, Then can I refuse you your Boon; I'll meet you at twelve on the Green, All by the clear Light of the Moon; I'll meet you at twelve on the Green, All by the clear Light of the Moon.

The Nightingale perch'd on a Thorn, Then charms all the Plains with his Tune, And glad of the Absence of Morn,

Salutes the pale Light of the Moon: How sweet is the Jessamin Grove, And sweet are the Roses of June; But sweeter the Language of Love, Breath'd forth by the Light of the Moon. But sweeter, &c.

Too flow rolls the Charoit of Day, Unwilling to grant me my Boon: Away, envious Sunshine, away, Give Place to the Light of the Moon: But say, will you never deceive, The Lass whom you conquer'd too soon, And leave a soft Maiden to grieve, Alone by the Light of the Moon; And leave, &c.

The Planets shall start from their Spheres, E'er I prove so sickle a Loon; Believe me I'll banish thy Fears, Dear Maid, by the Light of the Moon: Our Loves when the Shepherds shall view, To us they their Pipes shall attune; While we our soft Pleasures renew, Each Night by the Light of the Moon.

SONG COXXXVII.

ONCE more I'll tune the vocal Shell, To Hills and Dales my Passion tell, A Flame which Time can never quell, But burns for thee, my Peggy.

You greater Bards, the Lyre should hit, For sav, what Subject is more fit, Than to record the sparkling Wit, And Bloom of lovely Peggy.

The Sun first rising in the Morn, That paints the cevy-bespangled Th••rn, ••••es not so much the Day ad••••n, As does my lovely Peggy.

And when in Theti's Lap to rest, He streaks with Gold the ruddy West, He's not so beauteous, as undrest, Appears my lovely Peggy.

When Zephyr on the Vi'let blows, Or breathes upon the damask Rose, Is does not half the Sweets disclose, As does my lovely Peggy.

I stole a Kiss the other Day, And (trust me) nought but Truth I say, The Fragrance of the blooming May, Was not so sweet as Peggy.

Was she array'd in rustic Weed, With her the bleating Flocks I'd feed, And pipe upon the oaten Reed, To please my lovely Peggy.

With her a Cottage would delight, All's happy when she's in my Sight, But when she's gone 'tis endless Night, All's dark without my Peggy.

While Bees from Flow'r to Flow'r still rove, And Linnets warble thro' the Grove, Or stately Swains the Waters love, So long shall I love Peggy.

And, when Death, with his pointed Dart, Shall strike the Blow that rives my Heart, My Words shall be when I depart, Adieu my lovely Peggy.

SONG CCXXXVIII. Sung in THOMAS and SALLY.

WHEN I was a young one, what Girl was like me, So wanton, so airy, and brisk as a Bee; I tattled, I rambled, I laugh'd, and where e'er A Fiddle was heard,—to be sure I was there.

To all that came near I had something to say; 'Twas this Sir—and that Sir—but scarce ever nay; And Sundays dress'd out in my Silks and my Lace, I warrant I stood by the best in the Place,

At twenty I got me a Husband, poor Man! Well rest him; we all are as good as we can; Yet he was so peevish, he'd quarrel for Straws, And jealous—tho' troly I gave him some Cause.

He snubb'd me, and huff'd me, but let me alone; In Troth I've a ••orgue, and I paid him his own: Ye Wives, take the Hint, and when Spouse is untow'rd; Stand firm to our Charter, and have the last Word.

But now I'm quite alter'd, the more to my Woe; I'm not what I was forty Summers ago: This Time's a fore Foe, there's no shunning his Dart: However, I keep up a pretty good Heart.

Grown old, yet I hate to be sitting mum chance, I still love a Tune, though unable to Dance; And Books of Devotion laid by on my Shelf, I teach that to others, I once did myself.

SONG CCXXXIX.

Set by Mr. Baildon, Sung by Mr. Lowe.

WHEN first by fond Damon Flavella was seen, He slightly regarded her Air and her Mien; The Charms of her Mind he alone did commend, Not warm as a Lover, but cool as a Friend; From Friendship, not Passion, his Raptures did move, And he boasted his Heart was a Stranger to Love.

New Charms he discover'd, as more she was known; Her Face grew a Wonder, her Taste was his own? Her Manners were gentle, her Sense was resin'd, And ev'ry dear Virtue beam'd forth in her Mind: Still, still for the Sanction of Friendship he strove; Till a Sigh gave the Omen, and show'd it was Love.

Now proud to be conquer'd, he sighs for the Fair, Grows dull to all Pleasure, but being with her? He's mute, till his Heart strings are ready to break; For fear of offending forbids him to speak; And wanders a willing Example to prove, That Friendship with Woman is Sister to Love.

A Love thus conquer'd can ne'er give Offence, Not a Dupe to her Smiles, but a Slave to her Sense, His Passion not Wrinkles nor Age can allay, Since founced on that which can never decay; And Time, that can Beauty's short Empire remove, Increasing her Reason, increases his Love.

SONG CCXL. Sung in the Chaplet.

DECLARE, my pretty Maid, Must my ••ond Suit miscarry? With you I'll toy, I'll kiss and play; But hang me if I marry,—hang me if I marry: With you I'll toy, I'll kiss and play; But hang me if I marry.

Then speak your Mind at once, Nor let me longer tarry: With you I'll toy, I'll kiss and play; But hang me if I marry, With you, &c

Tho' Charms and Wit assail, The Stroke I well can parry; I love to kiss, to toy and play; But do not chuse to marry. I love, &c.

Young Molly of the Dale, Makes a mere Slave of Harry; Because when they had toy'd and kiss'd, The foolish Swain would marry. Because, &c.

These fix'd Resolves, my dear, I to the Grave will carry; With you I'll toy, and kiss and play; But hang me if I marry,—hang me if I marry. With you I'll toy, and kiss and play, But hang me if I marry.

SONG CCXLI.

Set by Dr. Arne.

AVAST, my Boys, avast, all Hands on Shore, Mess mates, what Cheer? Old England hey! once more. I'm thinking how the Wenches will rejoice; Out with your Presents, Boys, and take your Choice, I've an old Sweetheart—but look—there's the Town: Weigh Anchor, tack about, and let's bear down.

AIR.

From plowing the Ocean, and thrashing Mounseer, In Old England we're landed once more; Your Hands, my brave Comrades, holloo Boy, what Cheer! For a Sailor that's just come ashore?

Those hectoring Blades thought to scare us, doubt, And to cut us, and flash us—Morblien! But hold there, avast, they were plaguily out, We have flic'd them, and pepper'd them too.

Then Courage, my Hearts, your own Consequence know, Yon Invaders shall soon do you Right; The Lion may rouse, when he hears the Cock crow, But should never be put in a Fright.

You've only to shun your nonsensical Jars, Your damn'd Party and idle Contest; And let all your Strise be, like us honest Tars, Who shall fight for his Country best.

A seafaring Spark, if the Maids can affect, Bid the simpering Gypsies look to't; Sound Bottoms they'd find us, in ev'ry respect. And our Pockets well laden to Boot.

The Landsman, mayhap, in the Way of Discourse, Have more Art, to persuade and the like; But 'ware those false Colours, for better, for worse, Is the Bargain we're willing to strike.

Now long live the King, may he prosperous reign, Of no Power, no Faction afraid; May Britain's proud Flag still exult o'er the Main, At all Points of the Compass display'd.

No Quicksands endanger, no Storms overwhelm, Steady, steady, and safe may she sail; No ignorant Pilots e'cr sit at her Helm, Or her Anchor of Liberty fail.

SONG CCXLII.

NEAR the Side of a Pond, at the Foot of a Hill. A free-hearted Fellow attends on his Mill; Fresh Health blooms her strong rosy Hue o'er his Face, And Honesty gives e'en to Awkwardness Grace: Beslour'd with his Meal does he labour and sing, And regaling at Night, he's as blest as a King; After neartily eating, he takes a full Swill Of Liquor home-brew'd, to Success of the Mill.

He makes no nice Scruples of Toll for his Trade, For that's an Excise to his Industry paid; His Conscience is free, and his Income is clear, And he values not them of ten thousand a Year: He's a Freehold sufficient to give him a Vote, At Elections he scorns to accept of a Groat; He hates your proud Placemen, and do what they will, They ne'er can seduce the stanch Man of the Mill.

On Sunday he talks with the Barber and Priest. And hopes that our Statesmen do all for the best; That the Spaiards shall ne'er interrupt our free Trade, Nor good British Coin be in Subsides paid: He sears the French Navy and Commerce increase. And he wishes poor Germany still may have Peace:

Th•••• C••t N••••land, he knows, may have Strength and have Skiff, To protect all her Manors, and save his own 〈◊〉〈◊〉.

With this ••••nest Hope be goes home to his Work, And if Water is scanty he take, up his bork, And over the Meadows he sc••••ters his Hay, Or with the stiff Plough turns up Furrows of Clay: His Harvest is crown'd with a good Engligh Gl••e. That his Country ma•• ever be happy and 〈◊〉〈◊〉; With his Hand and his Heart to King George c••••s he f••••, May all Loyal Souls act the Man of the Mill.

SONG CCXLIII.

WHY heaves my sond Bosom, ah! what can it mean? Why flutters my Heart that was once so serene? Why this sighing and trembling when Daphne is ••ear? Or why, when she's absent, this Sorrow and Fear? Or why, when she's absent, this Sorrow and Fear?

Methinks I for ever with Wender could trace The thousand soft Charms that embellish th•• Face; Each Memory I view thee, new Beauties I find, With thy Face I am charm'd, but enslav'd by thy Mind, With thy Face, &c.

Untainted with Folly, unfully'd by Pride, There native good Humour and Virtue reside; Pray Heaven that Virtue thy Soul may supply With Compassion for him who without thee must die, With Compassion for him who without thee must die.

SONG CCXLIV.

THE new flown Birds the Shepherds sing, And welcome in the May; Come, Pastarella. now the Spring, Makes ev'ry Landskip gay. Wide spreading Trees their leafy Shade, O'er half the Plain extend, Or in reflecting Fountains play'd,

Their quiv'ring Branches bend; Or in reflecting Fountains play'd, Their quiv'ring Branches bend.

Come, taste the Season in it's Prime, And bless the rising Year; Oh! how my Soul grows sick of Time, 'Pill thou, my Love, appear: Then shall I pass the gladsome Day, Warm in thy Beauty's Shine, When thy dear Flock shall feed and play, And intermix with mine. And intermix, &c.

For thee of Doves, a Milk-white Pair, In silken Bands I hold: For thee a firstling Lambkin fair, I keep within the Fold: If Milk-white Dove, Acceptance meet, Or tender Lambkins please, My spotless Heart without Deceit, Be offer'd up with these; Be offer'd up with these.

SONG CCXLV. The WOUNDED MAID.

GENTLE Love, to paint my Lover Let thy Pencil be thy Dart, Let thy Pencil be thy Dart,; Ev'ry killing Grace discover Which is glowing in my Heart. Which is glowing in my Heart.

Be his lovely Eyes defining: But 'tis fatal to approach, But 'tis &c. Where ten thousand Charms are shining; I, alas, have gaz'd too much. I, alas, &c.

Be thy Pencil now descending; But descend with tender Care, But descend, &c. Lest the new born Smiles offending, Which are ever springing there. Which are, &c.

Gently glide o'er ev'ry Feature, With bewitching Softness form'd, With bewitching, &c. In his Composinon, Nature Was by Love and Bacchus warm'd, Was by Love, &c.

Touch his Lips, design'd for pressing, Where thy own fond Mother's lies, Where thy, &c. Everlasting Love expressing From his Mouth and from his Eyes. From his, &c.

Now his Shape and Air surveying, How I chide my artless Song! How I chide, &c. I my Fondness am betraying, And have done his Beauties wrong. And have, &c.

Oh! how ill I am performing, Tho' affilted by thy Dart, Tho' affilted by thy Dart,! Florio's Picture is more charming, It has painted in my Heart. It has painted in my Heart.

SONG CCXLVI. In COMUS.

LIVE and love, enjoy the Fair; Banish Sorrow, banish Care; Mind not what old Dotards say,

Age has had his Share of Play; But Youth's Sport begins to-day.

From the Fruits of sweet Delight Let no Scare-crow Virtue fright; Here, in Pleasure's Vineyards, we Rove, like Birds, from ••ree to Tree, Careless, a••ry, gay, and free.

SONG CCXLVII:

'TWAS when the Seas were roaring With hollow Blasts of Wind, A Damsel lay deploring, All on a Rock reclin'd. Wide o'er the rolling Billows She cast a wishful Look; Her Head was crown'd with Willows, That trembled o'er the Brook.

Twelve Months were gone and over, And nine long tedious Days, Why didst thou, vent'rous Lover, Why didst thou trust the Seas? Cease, cease then, cruel Ocean, And let my Lover rest: Ah! what's thy troubled Motion To that within my Beast?

The Merchant, robb'd of Pseasure, Views Tempests in Despair; But what's the Loss of Treasure To losing of m•• dear? Should you some Coast be laid on, Where Gold and Di'monds grow, You'd find a richer Maiden; But none that loves you so.

How can they say that Nature Has nothing made in vain? Why then beneath the Water Do hideous Rocks ••emain?

No Eyes the Rocks discover, That lurk beneath the Deep, To wreck the wand'ring Lover, And leave the Maid to weep.

All melancholy lying, Thus wail'd she for her Dear, Repaid each Blast with sighing, Each Billow with a Tear: When o'er the white Waves stooping, His floating Corps she spy'd, Then, like a Lilly drooping, She bow'd her Head and dy'd.

SONG CCXLVIII.

HOW little do the Landmen know Of what we Sailors feel, When Waves do mount, and Winds do blow! But we have Hearts of Steel. No Danger can affright us; No Enemy shall flout: We'll make the Monsieurs light us: So toss the Can about.

Stick stout to Orders, Messmates; We'll plunder, burn, and sink: Then, France, have at your First Rates; For Britons never shrink. We rummage all we fancy; We'll bring them in by Scores; And Moll, and Kate, and Nancy Shall roll in Louis d'Ors.

While here at Deal we're lying With our noble Commodore, We'll spend our Wages freely, Boys; And then to Sea for more. In Peace we'll drink and sing, Boys; In War we'll never fly: Here's a Health to George our King, Boys, And the Royal Family.

SONG CCXLIX.

NIGHT, to Lovers Joys a Friend, Swiftly thy Assistance lend! Lock up envious prying Day, Bring the willing Youth away.

Haste, Oh! speed the tedious Hours, To the secret happy Bowers; Then my Heart for Bliss prepare, Thyrsis surely will be there!

See the hateful Day is gone, Welcome Evening now comes on; Soon to meet my Dear I fly, None but Love shall then be by.

None shall dare to venture near, To tell the plighted Vows they hear; Parting thence will be thy Pain, But we part to meet again.

Don't you feel a pleasing Smart, Gently stealing to your Heart, Fondly hope, and fondly sigh? For my Shepherd oft do I.

Wish in Hymen's Bands to join, I'll be your's, and you'll be mine; Tell me, Thyrsis, tell me this, Tell me when, and tell me yes.

Farewel, loit'ring idle Day, To my dear, I hie away; On the Wings of Love I go, He the ready Way will show.

Peace, my Heart, no Danger fear, Love, and Thyrsis both are near; 'Tis the Youth, I'm sure 'tis he, Night, how much I owe to thee.

SONG CCL.

FAIR Fidel—es grassy Tomb, Soft Maids and Village Hinds shall bring, Each opening sweet of earliest Bloom, And rifle all the breathing Spring.

No wailing Ghosts shall dare appear, To vex with Schrieks this quiet Grove, But Shepherds Lads assemble here, And melting Virgins own their Love,

No wither'd Witch shall here be seen No Goblins lead their nightly Crew, The Female Fays shall haunt the Green And dress thy Grave with early Dew.

The Red Breast oft at ev'ning Hours, Shall kindly lend his little Aid, With hory Moss and gather'd Flowr's. To deck the Ground where thou art laid.

When howling Winds and beating Rain, In Tempest shake the sylvan Cell, Or'midst the Chace on ev'ry Plain, The tender Thought on thee shall dwell.

Each lonely Seat shall thee restore, For thee, the Fear be duly shed, Belov'd till Life cou'd Charm no more, And mourn'd till Pity's self be dead.

SONG CCLI. PEGGY.

THO' Peggv's Charms have oft been sung, The darling Theme of ev'ry Tongue. New Praises still remain Such heav'nly Beauty can infuse, New Flights new Fancies like a Muse, And brighten ev'ry Strain.

'Tis not her Form alone I crize Which ev'ry Fool that has but Eyes, As well as I can see, To say she's fair is but to say, When Phaebus at Noon 'tis Day. What none need learn of me.

But I'm in love with Peggy's Mind, Where ev'ry Virtue is combin'd That can adorn the Fair, Excepting one you searce can miss, So trifling! that I wou'd not wish, That Virtue had been there.

She who possessess all the rest, Must sure excel the Prude, whose Breast, That Virtue shares alone, To seek Perfection is a Jest, They who have fewest Faults are best, And Peggy has but one.

SONG CCLII. The ADIEU.

SINCE Moggy I mun bid adieu, How can I help despairing, Let Fate its Rigour still pursue, There is nought more worth my Careing,

'Twas she alone cou'd calm my Soul, When wracking Thoughts did grieve me, Her Eyes my Troubles could controul, And into Joys deceive me.

Farewel the Brooks, no more along, Your Banks mun I be walking, No more you'll hear my Pipe or Song, Or pretty Peggy's Talking,

But I by Death an End will give, To Grief Since we must sever, For who can after Parting live, Ought to be wretched for ever.

SONG CCLIII.Sung at Drury-Lane Theatre.

CONFIN'D to the House till the Age of Fifteen, Nor Man but Clowns of our Parish had seen, An Aunt to instruct me, a formal old Maid, And I, silly I, still believ'd all she said.

My Aunt in the Grave, to the Town straight I flew, And instantly fond of each Pleasure I grew; The Sparks waited round me where ever I went, And I, silly I, could not guess what they meant.

They call me a Goddess, and, fighing, declare The Toasts of the Town are not like me so fair; They vow and declare, and my Pitty invoke, And I, silly I, then believ'd all they spoke.

They tickled my Pride, but my Heart still was free, Nor one of them all was a Corquest for me, Till young Strephen advand'd, and quickly he taught What I, silly I, till that Moment had sought.

With good Breeding and Sense his Love he declar'd, Not like the vain Fops who before had appenr'd: His Expressions were sweet and sprung from his Min••. And I, happy I, to my Strephon was join'd.

SONG CCLIV. A favourite AIR.

OH how blissful 'tis to Languish. When soft Wishes warm the Breast, Sighs in Part disclose the Anguish, And our Blushes speak the rest.

Gay Desires which fondly pleasure's, Prove by Nights our loveliest Themes; But when Midnight Slumbers seize us, Oh the charming, charming Dreams.

SONG CCLV. The MISER'S Feasl

AVARUS sent for me to dine, The Day and Guests bespoke, The gilded Plate on Cupboard shine, The Chimneys hardly smoak,

The various Dishes I behold, Polo and Olio Sweet, But Teeth so chatter with the Cold, I knew not how to eat.

Avarus it is my Desire, And with me join the rest, In Winter you'd improve your Fire, Or not till Summer feast,

SONG CCLVI.

I Am a young Virgin, that oft have been told, I should try to get marry'd before I'm too old: I took the Advice, and got one in my Eye, Whom if I can't have, I'm afraid I shall die.

Young Thyrsis is witty, well, featur'd, and tall, His Fellow Swains own that he out-does 'em all: When first I beheld him, I cannot tell why, I thought I was going that Moment to die.

If through the Recesses of yon silent Grove, Or over the Meadows, I happen to rove, And see my dear Shepherd at Distance pass by, I tremble all o'er, and am ready to die.

When he plays on his Pipe to the Lambkins around; I fly to the Place where I hear the blest Sound; O Thyrsis! sweet Youth! to myself then I cry, I'd listen to thee, were I going to die.

Last Saturday Eve, (I remember the Day) I caught him saluting Clarinda the gay;

That I envy'd each Kiss, I will never deny. And fervently pray'd that my Rival might die.

Come. Hymen, and lend a young Virgin an Aid, Who, without your Assistance, must die an old Maid; To all my fond Wishes make Thyrsis comply, And if I don't have him, I wish I may die.

SONG CCLVII

BENEATH this Vragrant Myrtle Shade, While I my weary Limbs recline, O Love be thou my Ganymede, And hither bring the gen'rous Wine.

How swift the wheel of Life revolves, How soon Life's little Race is o'er, But Oh when Death this Frame disolves, Mirth Joy and Frolick is no more,

Why then ah! fool profusely vain, With Incense shall thy Pavements shine, Why dost thou pour Oh Wretch prophane, On senseless Earth the nectard Wine,

To me thy breathing Odours bring, On me the mantling Bowls bestow, Go ••hloe rob the Roseat Spring, For Wreaths to grace my honour'd Brow.

Yes e'er the airy Dance I Join, Of fleeting Shadows light and vain, I'll wisely drown in Floods of Wine, Each busy Care and idie Pain.

SONG CCLVIII. VALENTINE'S Day,

WHEN last we parted on the Plain, Fond Damon seem'd full loth to go; He kits'd, and said that soon again, He'd come, and would not leave me so.

For that, says he, the Time is near, And then, my Love, I do design, It is the best Day in the Year, To come and be your Valentine.

I wish'd the tedious Hours to fly, And long'd the look'd-for Day to see; And as the Time grew still more nigh, How blest, thought I, must Nancy be!

The Morning came, and at my Door, I heard a Voice that said incline, For once, dear Girl, if never more, To me, and be my Valentine.

A thousands Fears disturb'd my Mind, Thyrsis was there in Damon's Stead; I thought the Youth was quite unkind, Nor knew what should be done or said.

I hop'd it cou'd not be a Sin, In spi••e to Damon, now not mine, To le•• the kinder Thyrsis in, And be the Shepherd's Valentine.

Nor what I did, do I repent, For fickle Damon soon as light, To Lucy, that same Morning, went, Nor has been since from out her Sight.

And Th••rsis, late but half-lov'd Swain, Is now both all, and only mine, I bless the Time that once was Pain. He came to be my Valentine.

SONG CCLIX.

GENTLE Winds that fan the Sea, And wave the fragant Bow'r, Bear hence thy Sighs and haste to me, The Swain whom I adore.

In vain fair Flora spreads her Charms. O'er ev'ry Hill and Vale, While absent from my longing Arms, Is Roger of the Dale,

Let Wanton Nymphs and Swains employ, In sensual Love their Days. While I my Darling Youth enjoy, In Virtue's smiling Rays, Take all the false Delights of Courts, Each glittering Beau and Belle, Give me with harmless rural Sports, My Roger of the Dale,

SONG CCLX. The Innocent FAIR.

YOUNG I am and yet unskil'd, How to keep or how to gain, When to love and when to fain, Take me some of you, While I yet am young and true, E'er I can my Soul disguise. Heave my Breasts and roll my Eyes,

Stay not 'till I learn the Way, How to lye and to betray, He that takes me first is best, For I may deceive the rest, Cou'd I meet a blooming Youth, Full of Love and full of Truth Brisk and of a gentle Mien, I wou'd long to be Fifteen.

SONG CCLXI. The Virgins WISH

VIRGINS if e'er at length it prove, My Destiny to be in Love, Pray wish me such a Fate,

May Wit and Prudence be my Guide, And may a little decent Pride, My Actions regulate.

Such stateliness I mean as may, Keep nauseous Fools and Fops away, But still oblige the Wise, That may secure my Modesty, And Guardian to my Honour, be When Passion does arise.

When first a Lover I commence, May it be with a Man of Sense, And learned Education, May all his Courtship easy be, Neither too formal nor too free, But wisely shew his Passion.

May his Estate agree with mine, That nothing look like a Design, To bring us into sorrow, Grant me all this that I have said, And willingly I'd live a Maid, No longer than To-morrow.

SONG CCLXII.

CAN Love be controul'd by Advice? Can Madness and Reason agree? O Molly! who'd ever be wise If Madness is loving of thee? Let Sages pretend to despise The Joys they want Spirits to taste; Let me seize old Time as he flies, And the Blessings of Life while they last.

Dull Wisdom but adds to our Cares; Brisk Love will improve ev'ry Joy; Too soon we may meet with grey Hairs; Too late may repent being coy. Then, Molly, for what should we stay,

Till our best Blood begins to run cold; Our Youth we can have but to-day; We may always find ••••ime to grow old.

SONG CCLXIII.

THE Sun was sleeping in the Main, Bright Cynthia silver'd all the Plain; When Collin turn'd his Team to rest, And sought the Lass he lov'd the best: As tow'rd her Cott he jogg'd along, Her Name was frequent in his Song; But when his Errand Delly knew, She vow'd She'd something else to do.

He swore he did esteem her more Than any Maid he'd seen before; In tender Sighs protesting he Wou'd constant as the Turtle be; Talk'd much of Death, should she refuse, And us'd such Arts as Lovers use; 'Tis fine, says Doll, if 'tis but true; But now—I've something else to do.

Her Pride then Collin thus address'd; Forgive me, Doll, I did but jest; To her that's kind I'll constant prove, But trust me, I'll ne'er die for Love: Tho' first she did his Courtship scorn; Now Doll began to court in turn; Dear Collin, I was jesting too, Step in—I've nothing else to do.

SONG CCLXIV. Sung at Vauxhall.

SHALL, I wasting in Despair, Die because a Woman's fair; Shall my Cheeks look pale with Care, 'Cause another's rosy are; Be she faiter then the Day:

Or the flow'ry Meads in May, Yet if she think not well of me, What care I how fair she be.

Shall a Woman's Goodness move, Me to perish for her Love; Or her worthy Merits known, Make me quite forget my own? Be she with that Goodness blest, As may merit Name the best; Yet if she be not such to me, What care I how good she be.

Be she good, or kind, or fair, I will never more despair; If she love me, this believe, I will die e'er she can grieve, If she slights me when I woo, I will scorn and let her go; So if she be not fit for me, What care I for whom she be.

SONG CCLXV. LUCY.

OF all the Nymphs that trip the Green, Lucy bore the Sway, Joy in each Shepherd's Look was seen, Her presence made them gay, I too among the admiring rest, Her rising Charms survey'd, Gaz'd but little thought my Breast, By gazing was betray'd.

But since I've heard with sweet Surprize, Her pleasing Voice and Strain, Resolv'd my rebel Heart denies, With me more to remain, Farewell my Heart since then you'll go, Farewell too late you'll find, Fair Lucy's Charms don't stoop so low, As your fond Tale to mind.

SONG CCLXVI. BRITAIN'S REMEMBERANCES. For the Years 1758 and 1759.

COME listen a-while and ••••l•• tickle your Ears. With a few little Vict'ries, b•• which it appears. We have gain'd from the French in two little Years. Which nobody can deny, which nobody, &c.

We have beat them, my Boys; and I'll hold you a Pound. We shall beat them, my Boys, upon Sea or dry Ground, We shall beat them as long as the World goes round.

Which nobody, &c.

With Guadalupe first I embellish my Strain; Then a Cluster of Forts croud into my Brain, Crown Point, Frontenack, Niagara, Duques••e.

Which nobody, &c.

Quebeck we have taken, and taken Breton; That the Coast was as steep, that a Man might as soon, As the Frenchmen imagin'd, have taken the Moon.

Which nobody, &c.

Senegal we have taken, and taken Goree, And thither we trade, for our Blacks, do you see; For who should buy Slaves, but they that are free:

Which nobody, &c.

Then at Mind••n you know, we defeated our Foes, Tho' our Horse stood aloof without coming to Blows, And w••y nobody's hang'd for it, nobody knows.

Which nobody, &c.

F••s••a••ven at Lages, and Hawke in the Bay. Your Vict'ries had I but Room to display, I'm s••••e I ••••••••••d not have done singing to day.

Which nobody, &c.

Oh! what 〈…〉〈…〉 me of the fleet out of Brest, Some are bur•••••• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 are taken, and where are the rest,

Why some are fied East, and some are fled West.

Which nobody, &c.

Some ten Fathom deep in the Sea may be found, And some in the River Villaine are a ground, Where they lie very safe, but not very sound.

Which nobody, &c.

Let France then all Title to Glory resign, For these Years shall unmatch'd in our Histories shine, The renown'd Fifty-eight, and the great Fifty-nine.

Which nobody can deny.

SONG CCLXVII FRIENDSHIP united.

AS pleasing as Shades to a way-faring Swain, When the Ardours of Phaebus has deav'd the scorch'd Plain As Groves to the Linnet or Thyme to the Bee, Welcome my fair one so welcome to me.

Whom Love has united no Tyrants can part, Nor can Time e'er Efface what's engrav'd in the Heart, Remembrance survives when all Rapture is past, And Friendship's a Flame that burns bright to the last.

SONG CCLXVIII.

I Have rambl'd, I own it, whole Years up, and down, And sigh'd o'er each beautiful Nymph of the Town; Iuch Fancies have plagued me, that oft in my Life, I've been ready to start at the Name of a Wife.

But sham'd from my Fears, that have oft broke my Rest, And weary with roving, both cloy'd, and unblest; I'll try to be happy the rest of my Life, And venture, tho' late, yet at last, on a Wife.

Then farewel the Jilt, and the Fop, and the Bold, I quite you with Pleasure before I grow old; One Girl of my Heart I will take to for Life, And enough of all Conscience, I think, is one Wife,

I'll search the Town over this fair One to find, Nor fickle, nor jealous, nor vain, nor unkind; Whose Wit, and good Humour, may hold it for Life, And then, if she'll have me, I'll make her my Wife.

'Tis time, that the Follies of Life had an End, And soon, nay, this Instant, I'm ready to mend; What Wonder there'll be, at so alter'd a Life, If you're wise, you, like me, will resolve on a Wife.

SONG CCLXIX.

Sung by Mr. Beard.

BRITANNIA, Queen of Ocean, rise, Perfidious Gallia's Threats despise, Send forth the Fleet;—each hostile Shore, Shall tremble when thy Cannons rore.

Thy Sword the Hand of Justice draws, And Heav'n approves thy righteous Cause; Nor Forts nor Forces stop thy Way; So Minden, so Quebeck can say.

Not more affrighted flies the Deer, When he perceives the Hunter near, Than Gallia's Fleets, when they descry, The British Ensign waving high.

Then strike again some deadly Blow, And urge thy Vengeance on the Foe; Till vanquish'd Tyranny submit, To what is just, and what is fit.

Nor may kind Heav'n the Time prolong, E'er thou shalt verisy my Song; Shalt I bid the horrid Havock cease, And give the Nations lasting Peace.

Return, sweet Peace! Return once more, With Commerce spread the Ocean o'er; Ah! soon return, and spread the Sail, And Riches bring with ev'ry Gale.

SONG CCLXX.

MORE bright the Sun began to dawn, The merry Birds to sing; And Flow'rets dappl'd o'er the Lawn, In all the Pride of Spring: When for a Wreath young Damon stray'd, And smiling to me brought it; Take this he cry'd, my dearest Maid, And who, who, aye, aye, who'd have thought it,

I blush'd the Present to receive, And thank'd him o'er and o'er, When soft he sigh'd, bright Fair, forgive, I must have something more: One kind sweet Kiss will pay me best, So earnestly he sought it; I let him take it I protest, And who,—aye, who'd have thought it.

A Swain that woo'd with so much Art, No Nymph could long disdain; A secret Flame soon touch'd my Heart, And flush'd thro' ev'ry Vein: 'Twas Love insp••••'d the pleasing Change, From his my Bosom caught it; 'Twas strange indeed. 'twas passing strange, And who,—aye, who'd have thought it.

Kind ••ortune, soon throw him this once in my Way, Then I'll know all his Thoughts and hear all he can say; If we can't have each other I will not complain, But we ne'er from that Moment will meet once again, We fondly kiss, and sport, and play, And who, who, aye, aye, who'd have thought it.

FINIS.

Notes

• * 1.1

  Mr Secretary P—tt,