Enfigns of ftate that feed our pride,
Diftin&tions troublesome and vain!
By mafons true are laid afide;

Arts free-born fons fuch toys difdain, Ennobled by the name they bear, Diftinguish'd by the badge they wear. Sweet fellowship, from envy free, Friendly converse of brotherhood, The lodge's lafting cement be!

Which has for ages firmly ftood. A lodge thus built, for ages paft Has lafted, and will ever laft. Then in our fongs be justice done,

To those who have enrich'd the art, From Adam to great Leven down,

And let each brother bear a part; Let our grand-master's health go round, His praise in ev'ry lodge refound.

And in foft raptures wafte the day,
Among the birks of Endermay.
For foon the winter of the year,
And age, lite's winter, will appear:
At this thy living bloom will fade,
As that will trip the verdant shade:
Our taste of pleasure then is o'er,
The feather'd fongfters are no more;
And when they droop, and we decay,
Adieu the birks of Endermay.

Behold the hills and vales around,
With lowing herds and flocks abound;
The wanton kids, and frisking lambs,
Gambol and dance about their dams;
The bufy bee, with humming noife,
And all the reptile kind rejoice:
Let us, like them, then, fing and play,
About the birks of Endermay.

SONG 406.

Sung in Almena.

AS flows the cool and purling rill,
In filver mazes down the hill,
It chears the myrtle, and the vine,

That in each other's foliage twine:

So ftreams from the maternal heart, What tender nature can impart; Thus happy, in my arms to fold, And to my heart Almena hold.

SONG 407.

THE FRIAR AND NUN; A CANTATA.
RECITATIVE.

IN Paris city, they report for truth,

There dwelt an active priest, in prime of
youth.

And in the convent, as fome others fay,
There liv'd a nun as blooming as the May:
The rev'rend father figh'd for her in vain,
He dar'd not openly his love explain;
Her beauty fann'd the embers of defire,
But looks auftere quite damp'd the rifing fire.
At length kind fortune did his wishes biefs,
For the fair nun came to him to confefs;
With great devotion she her forehead fign'd,
And thus reveal'd the troubles of her mind:

AIR.

Holy father, believe, for my forrows I grieve,
And fincerely repent each tranfgreffion;
One fault, above all, my mind does enthral,

And torments me furpafling expreflion.
Tho' to Heav'n I'm bound, yet Cupid has found
The method to lead me aftray;
Alas! I am frail, for love would prevail,

Tho' confcience cry'd, fternly, Stay, stay.

RECITATIVE.

The jolly priest, as near the fair he stood, Feels genial warmth stir up his youthful blood;

Then fmiling on the lovely fuppliant fair,
He chuck'd her chin, and bade her not despair.
I know no harm there is in love, he faid,
Each fex, my dear, was for the other made;
The church ordains it, and you do no fault,
If to the church you yield up what you ought:
But 'tis a fin if any one should feaft

Upon thofe charms, uniefs he is a priest.

AIR.

Confider how happy will be your condition,
If once you will form refolution
To bed with a prelate-You need no contrition,
For prelates can give abfolution:
Then yield to my arms thy ravishing charms,
Permit me thy beauties to rifle ;

You know I can blefs you, as well as confefs you;
Befides, it is only a trifle.

SONG 408.

Sung in the Maid of the Mill. WITH the man that I love, was I deftin'd to dwell,

On a mountain, a moor, in a cot, in a cell; Retreats the most barren, moft defert, would be More pleafing than courts or a palace to me. Let the vain and the venal in wedlock afpire, To what folly esteems, and the vulgar admire ; I yield them the blifs where their wishes are plac'd;

Infenfible creatures! 'tis all they can taste.

SONG 409.

THE SISTERS.

YOUNG Arabella, mama's care,

And ripe to be a bride,

Had charms a monarch might enínare,

But beauty mix'd with pride. And still to blaft that happiness,

Her pride each lover cool'd; The number of her flaves was lefs, And efs the tyrant rul'd.

Her fifter Charlotte, tho' not blefs'd

With beauty's potent spell,

The virtues of the mind poffefs'd,

And bore away the belle:

Knights, Earls, and Dukes, like fummer-fies,

Around the maiden flew;

They prefs'd to tell ten thousand lies,

As men are apt to do.

Fond Celadon address'd the fair,

Refolv'd no time to lofe;

A youth with fuch a fhape and air,
What female could refufe!
Like all the reft, he own'd his flame,
His artless flame alone;

The blushing maid confefs'd the fame,
The priest foon made them one.

Poor Arabella, vex'd to find

Her fifter made a wife,

Pretends to rail at all mankind,
And praise a fingle life.

Ye virgins, Charlotte's plan purfue,
Shun Arabella's fate;
Accept the man that's worthy you,
Before it is too late.

SONG 410.

THE SORROWFUL SHEPHERDESS.

Written by Mr. HAWKINS.

MY Jockey is fled from the plain,

And left me in forrow to mourn; Was ever fo cruel a fwain,

To leave me, and will not return? No longer he pipes on his reed,

No longer his praifes I'll tell; Yet dull are the banks of the Tweed, Since Jockey has bade them farewel, His crook he has broken in twain,

His sheep and his lambkins now stray; They bleat for their matter in vain,

And carelessly wander away. Then hafte thee, fome fhepherd fo free,

And call the poor Hocks to their home; O be to them kinder than he

Who caus'd the dear wand'rers to roame Each virgin, fo happy and gay,

Attend to the words I impart, Be careful and cautious, I pray,

How you give a young fhepherd your heart. Though Jockey was rural and neat,

To me was most loving and kind; His manners were gentle and fweet, Till cruelty grew in his mind.

The charms I boast, alas! how few, I gave to nature's care;

As vice ne'er fpoil'd their native hue, They could not want repair.

SONG 414.

Sung at VAUXHALL.

YE belles and beaux, attend my song,
Perhaps you'll fmile, and think me wrong;
I'll tell you fomething new:
Though ftrange, you'll find it true.

In days of yore, hiftorians fay,
'Twas wifdom bore the prize;
But modern times have chang'd the lay,
'Tis folly t be wife.

Let no grave Cynic take offence,

And think me too unkind;
All boat of wildom's but pretence,
Our paflions make us blind.

Obferve, at church, the learned priest,
He bids you temp'rance prize;
Yet o'er his bottle, at a feast,
'Tis folly to be wife.

No more thofe mufty rules purfue,

Once taught in heathen schools; Believe me (for I tell you true)

The ancients were but fools.

As through life's ftream we glide along,
We diff'rent pallions prize;
But be the burden of my fong,
'Tis folly to be wife,

SONG 415.

MY cautious mother, t'other day,
Cry'd, Polly, mind me, do;

I faw young Damon come this way,
And fear he came to you:
You know he's gay, and thought a rake,
So never welcome make him.

Thus I got fcolded for his fake,

I wish the deuce may take him.

It's true I met him in a grove,

He gently clafp'd my hand,
Then figh'd, and talk`d more things of love
Than I could understand;

And who'd have thought that we were feen?
But of fuch tricks I'll break him;
If he won't tell me what they mean,
The deuce, fure, ought to take him.

I often feel my bofom glow

With warmth I never knew, If this be love that haunts me fo, What can a virgin do?

Indeed, for pipe, for dance and fong, 'Gainft ev'ry fwain I'd take him, But if he tantalizes long,

I hope the deuce will take him.

They fay from wedlock fprings delight, Then let him fpeak his mind,

Iffue inftant a fiat,

And let who dare deny it,

Come let's away, make no delay,

Enjoy the foreft's charms; Then o'er the bowl expand the foul, And rest in Chloe's arms.

SONG 419.

THE eastern sky was purpled o'er,
The lark, high pois'd in air,
Pour'd forth her foft, enchanting song,
The morn was freth and fair;
When Colin to the mead convey'd
His gentle fleecy charge,
Then to the lovely Delia's praife,
Tun'd forth the fong at large.

My Delia is as Venus fair,

As Hebe young and gav; Would the but deign my flocks to fhare, I'd praif: her all the day:

From morn to eve, from eve to mern,

The woods, the groves fhould ring; Would the to Colin give her hand, E'en winter would feem fpring.

is nectar.

SONG 417.

Sung at VAUXHALL.

PHOEBUS, meaner themes difdaining,
To the lyrift's call repair,
And the strings to rapture training,
Come and praife the British fair.
Chiefs throughout the land victorious,
Born to conquer and to fpare,
Were not gallant, were not glorious,
Till commanded by the fair,
All the works of worth or merit,
Which the fons of art prepare,
Have no pleasure, life, or spirit,

But as borrow'd from the fair.
Reafon is as weak as paffion,

But if you for truth declare, Worth and manhood are the fashion, Favour'd by the British fair.

SONG 418.

Sung at MARY BONE.

THE fprightly horn awakes the morn,
And bids the hunter rife;

The op'ning hound returns the found,
And echo fills the skies.

See ruddy health, more dear than wealth,
On yon blue mountain's brow;
The neighing fteed invokes our speed,
And reynard trembles now.
In ancient days, as story says,

The woods our fathers fought;
The ruftic race adorn'd the chace,
And hunted as they fought.

Yet knows not the cares of the great; A fhepherdess is like a queen,

But never knows envy or hate: Her flocks are her fubjects around, Her crook is her fceptre confeft, Content is her glittering crown,

And fimplicity makes up the rest.

TO love and be lov'd, how tranfporting the blifs,

To give, and receive, the foft conjugal kiss;
To fee a young race of fweet prattlers around,
Is a pleasure fuperior to all can be found!

Let libertines rail at the joys they ne'er know,
Such joys as from rambling can fure never flow;
A bottle and Thais may pleafe for a night,
But wedlock affords never-fading delight.
Tho' cenfure may feem to have room for it's
rage,

In this money-job, fcandalous, match-making

me,

From morning to night I could never be free; The charms of young Phillis fo ran in my head, I wish'd fhe was mine, or I wish'd myself dead. Whenever I faw her, and told her my cafe, She gave me a frown, or the laugh'd in my face; Yet ftill I ador'd her, and call'd her my wife, My paffion was fix'd, nor could end but with life.

I found all the offers I made her of love Produc'd no effect, nor affection would move; So fchem'd a contrivance her paffion to try, And boldly refolv'd, or to conquer, or die.

'Twas fpread round the village I courted young Prue,

And Phillis had left her own schemes to purfue: This anfwer'd my wifhes, the foon prov'd more