Enfigns of ftate that feed our pride, 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, Behold the hills and vales around, SONG 406. Sung in Almena. AS flows the cool and purling rill, 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. IN Paris city, they report for truth, There dwelt an active priest, in prime of And in the convent, as fome others fay, AIR. Holy father, believe, for my forrows I grieve, And torments me furpafling expreflion. 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, Upon thofe charms, uniefs he is a priest. AIR. Confider how happy will be your condition, You know I can blefs you, as well as confefs you; 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, The blushing maid confefs'd the fame, Poor Arabella, vex'd to find Her fifter made a wife, Pretends to rail at all mankind, Ye virgins, Charlotte's plan purfue, 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, In days of yore, hiftorians fay, Let no grave Cynic take offence, And think me too unkind; Obferve, at church, the learned priest, 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, SONG 415. MY cautious mother, t'other day, I faw young Damon come this way, 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, And who'd have thought that we were feen? 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, 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. That nectar's good punch, and that good punch She looks on a fhepherd as mean, is nectar. SONG 417. Sung at VAUXHALL. PHOEBUS, meaner themes difdaining, But as borrow'd from the fair. 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, The op'ning hound returns the found, See ruddy health, more dear than wealth, The woods our fathers 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; Let libertines rail at the joys they ne'er know, 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 |