I catch'd the orcafion, and fent for a priest, For fear fhe should alter, I thought it the best; From hence learn, ye virgins, be bleft if you can, And never refufe tire fincere honeft man.

SONG 423.

DAMON AND DOLLY; A PASTORAL BALLAD. Written by Mr. HAWKINS.

LAST Midfummer morn, as I ftray'd thro' the grove,

Young Dolly I met by the way;

I told her, her charms had fubdu'd me with love,
And caus'd her awhile for to stay.

Silly Damon, fhe cry'd, what would you be at?
Your fooling give over, I pray;
For all your fond wooing, your cooing and chat,
No longer fhall make me delay.

Then I prefs'd her hand clofe, faying, Can you deny

A favour fo trifling as this?
But ftill the rejected, and cry'd out, O fye!
When I eagerly stole a fweet kifs.

With rapture I gaz'd on her delicate charms,
(For I could not refift it, 1 vow)
Then clafping her lovingly in my fond arms,
Said the, I must go to my cow.

Then away o'er the plain together we went,
Till come to a cool river's fide,

One extravagant whore will coft a man more Than twenty good wives that are faving; For wives they will fpare, that their children may share,

But whores are eternally craving.

SONG 426.

HOW oft, my Clara, has thou faid,

(The fondness of the heart to prove) That Twitcher was thy dearest friend, Nor wouldst thou feek another love, And by thofe lips that fweetly fwore, And by thofe eyes that shine fo bright, I ne'er lov'd woman fo before,

For Clara is my foul's delight.

Then let me prefs thofe ruby lips,

And on that lovely breaft repofe; Exhaling fragrance from thy breath,

Fragrance that far excels the rofe.
Then let us fpend the live-long day,

And thus the tedious night beguile
The cares of ftate I fhall not feel,
So Clara fing, and Clara smile.”

SONG 427.

AN HYMENEAL CANTATA.

RECITATIVE.

confent

For ever to be my true bride.

Adieu, then, ye troubles and plagues of this life, With Doily I fure fhall be bieft;

For when that kind Providence makes her my wife,

We'll lull all our cares into reft.

SONG 424.

Sung at SADLER'S WELLS.

BRISK wine and women are
The fource of all our joys;
A brimmer foftens ev'ry care,
And beauty never cloys:
Then let us drink and love,

While yet our hearts are gay;
Women and wine, by all approv'd,
Are bleflings night and day.

SONG 425. THAT man who for life is blefs'd with a wife, Is fore in a happy condition; Go things how they will, the ticks by him ftill, She's comforter, friend, and phyfician. Pray, where is the joy, to trifle and toy, Yet dread fome difatter from beauty? But fweet is the blits of a conjugal kiss,

Where love mingles pleafure with duty.

Atrife,

RECITATIVE.

The lovely fair, as near her lord advanc'd, A fmile upon him ravishingly glanc'd; Conflicting paffions glow within her breast, Till potent love thefe fentiments exprefs'd

AIR.

Was ever a maiden fo happy as me,

Who daily, with pleasure, can view The man whom I chofe, a foe to deceit, So worthy, fo artless, fo true!

O may, then, each fair, who to marriage confents,

Be blefs'd with a husband like mine; For when with the hand we the heart interchange,

Love then is a paffion divine.

Let all thofe who think to be happy in life, This maxim for ever retain;

Tho' vice, for a time, may our reason beguile, The offspring of folly is pain.

But, ah! how reverse is the state of the fair, Whofe heart is in bondage at ease!

For love is refin'd in the marriage embrace, And virtue is certain to please.

SONG 428.

Written by Mr. HUGHES.
CONSTANTIA, fee! thy faithful flave
Dies of the wound thy beauty gave!
Ah! gentle nymph, no longer try
From fond purfuing love to fly.

Thy pity to my love impart;
Pity my bleeding, aching heart;
Regard my fighs, and flowing tears,
And with a fmile remove my fears.
A wedded wife if thou would'st be,
By facred Hymen join'd to me,
Ere yet the western fun decline,
My hand and heart fhall both be thine.

SONG 429.

LOVE AND AFFECTION.

Sung at VAUXHALL.

WHEN youth mature, to manhood grew,
Soon beauty touch'd my heart;
From vein to yein love's lightning flew,
With pleafing painful smart:
My bofom dear content forfook,

And footh'd the foft dejection;
The melting eye, the fpeaking look,
Prov'd love and fweet affection.
Unus'd to arts which win the fair,

What could a shepherd do? And to fubmit to fad defpair,

Was not the way to woo.

At length I told the lovely maid,

I hop'd he'd no objection

To talk (while round her lambkins play'd) Of love and fweet affection.

A blush my Chloe's cheek bedeck'd,
A blush devoid of guile,

And what from me can you expect?

She answer'd, with a fmile.
How many nymphs have been betray'd,
Through want of calm reflection!
Then don't my peace of mind invade
With love and fweet affection.

Dear maid, I cry'd, mistrust me not,
In wedlock's bands let's join;
My kids, my kine, my herds, my cot,
My foul itself is thine.

To church I led the charming fair,

To hymen's kind protection;
And now life's dearest joys we share,
With love and fweet affection.

SONG 430.

Sung in the Capricious Lovers.
WHEN the head of poor Tummus was broke
By Roger, who play'd at the wake,
And Kate was alarm'd at the stroke,
And wept for poor Tummus's fake;
When his worship gave noggins of ale,
And the liquor was charming and stout;
O thefe were the times to regale,
And we footed it rarely about.

Then our partners were buxom as does,
And we all were as happy as kings;
Each lad in his holiday cloaths,

And the laffes in all their best things:
With merriment all the day long!

May the feast of our Colin prove fuch;
Odzooks! but I'll join in the fong,
And I'il hobble about with my crutch.

SONG 431.

DAMON AND DELIA.

DAMON.

SEE, charmer, fee, yon myrtle grove, So fragrant, fresh, and gay,

Invites my Delia, queen of love,

To hail the infant May.

Hear how the painted choirifts fing
The love-inviting ftrain;

The fpring-clad vales with mufic rings
Have pity on my pain.

DELIA.

By Strephon's fond perfuafive ftrain
Poor Lucy was undone;
And, t'other eye, upon the plain,

1, fhepherd, met with one,
Who ftopt me with expreffive fighs,
And cry'd, fhe was bereav'd
Of what young maidens moftly prize;
That Damon had deceiv'd.
DAMON.

Why should my fair-one so much strive To vex her fetter'd fwain!

Shou'd fhe prove inconftant,why should I be fad?
Fol derol lol, &c.
'Tis time to grow wifer, and not to run mad.
Fol derol lol, &c.
If the proves conftant, fhe'll honour my love
And the lofs of a jilt is a bleffing, by Jove.
Fol derol lol, &c.

The lofs of a mistress shall never deftroy
Fol dérol lol, &c.

The happy tranquility which I enjoy;

Fol derol lol, &c. For against all thefe evils I'll always prepare Indiff'rence, that fovereign cure for all care. Fol derol lol, &c..

Written by Mr. HAWKINS.
Sung at RANELAGH.

BY the fide of the fweet River Tay,
Or elfe on the banks of the Tweed,

Young Colin he whistles all day,

Or merrily pipes on his reed. His mind is a stranger to care,

For he is blithe, bonny, and free; At harveft, at wake, and at fair,

No fwain is fo chearful as he.

At eve, when we dance on the green, How fprightly he joins in the throng; So pleafing his air and his mien,

So gaily he trips it along! The laffes his manners adore,

And frive his affections to gain; When abient, for him they deplore, All figh for the fmiles of the fwain.

But I am the girl to his mind,

He chofe me above all the rest, And vows that to me he'll be kind, With me he will ever be bleft. The maidens all envy my blifs,

And tell me I'm fimple and vain;

Yet I'm not difpleafed at this,

Nor heed their contempt and disdain.

Sung at VAUXHALL,

IN all mankind's promifcuous race, The fons of error urge their chace, The wondrous to purfue;

And, both in country and in town,
The curious courtier, cit, and clown,
Solicit fomething new.

The poets ftill from nature take,
And what is ready-made they make;
Hiftorians must be true:
How therefore shall we find a road,
Thro' differtation, fong, or odey
To give you fomething new?
They fay virginity is scarce
As any thing in profe or verfe,
And fo is honour too:
The papers of the day imply,
No more than that we live and dis,
And pay for fomething new.

We fee alike the wo-ful dearth
In melancholy, or in mirth;

What, then, fhail ladies do? Seek virtue as th' immortal prize; In fine, be honeft, and be wife, For that is fomething new.

SONG 438.

Sung at VAUXHALL.

YE beaux and ye wits,
Ye courtiers and c'ts,

Attentive to pleasure's gay call;
Come, revel away,

For this is the day;

She cries-Hark-away to Vauxhall !

Here music you'll find

To enliven the mind,

That never your fancies can pall;
Then, lads, come away,
And laffes be gay;
Hark-pleafure invites to Vauxhall.

Sweet nymphs, grave or gay,
Quite fick of the play,

And cloy'd with each op ra and ball;
Come here, change the scene,
Hail pleafure's gay queen;

She cries-Hark! away to Vauxhall !

SONG 439.

Súng in Artazerxes,

TO figh and complain,
Alike I difuain,

Contented my wish to enjoy:
I fcorn to reflect

On a lady's neglect,

Or barter my peace for a toy.

In love, as in war,

I laugh at a fcar;
And if my proud enemy yield,
The joy that remains,

Is to lead her in chains,

And glean the rich spoils of the field.

SONG 440.

A MARTIAL SONG.

Written by Mr. MAVOR.

TO arms, to arms! Britannia calls;
Awake, ye foreigns of the main;
Lo! treach'ry bids the faithlefs Gauls
Prefume upon your native reign.
Rule, Britannia; Britannia, rule the waves;
Britons never will be flaves.

Can free-born fpirit fink fo low,

To thudder at a race of flaves?
Will British prowels tamely bow,
And quit the empire of the waves?
Rule, Britannia, &c.

Tho' folly's bafe, inglorious sway,

Thy once unclouded annals stain;
If wisdom pointed out the way,

Thy fons their fplendor would regain.
Rule, Britannia, &c.

A Chatham, fir'd with honeft rage,
Would roufe the courage of this ille;
Blot paft difgrace from mem'ry's page,
And make expiring commerce file.
Rule, Britannia, &c.

Thrice bleft the man, ordain'd to fave
Thefe nations, in this dreary hour;
To wake the flame that Heav'n first gave,
Difpel our fears, and raise our pow'r.
Rule, Britannia, &c.

Till heaving furges ceafe to roar,

His praife thall grace the roll of fame; When future ages feel no more

Our prefent weakness, and our shame. Rule, Britannia; Britannia, rule the waves; Britons never will be flaves.

SONG 441.

THE LADY'S CHOICE OF A HUSBAND. Written by Mr. T. ADNEY.

I'D have a man of fense and air,

The pride of ev'ry witty fair;
Gentee! in make, in ftature tail,
Polite to me, and good to all.

No powder'd, filly, flatt'ring beau,
Who of good fente doth nothing know:
A man of fcience, fond of books,
Who's temper's equal to his looks.
No jealous fears I'd have annoy
The pleafing prospect of our joy;
That life a fcene of love may be
To the dear youth, the world, and me.
I'd have this mild and gentle youth
Infpir'd with wildom, grace, and truth;
And as for wealth, I'll not repine,
If he has nune, I'll give him mine.

Ye gen'rous gods! I ask no more;
If fuch a man you've got in store,
And I'm deferving, fpeak your mind,
I'll be to him for ever join'd.

SONG 442. Sung at MARY BONE.

A HUNTING SONG.

HARK, hark ye, how echoes the horn in the vale,

Whofe notes do fo fportingly dance on the gale,
To charm us to barter, for ignoble reft,
The joys which true pleafure can raife in the
breast:

The morning is fair, and in labour with day, And the cry of the huntinan is, hark, hark, away:

Then wherefore defer we, one moment, our joys;

Hafte, hafte, let's away, fo to horse, my brave boys.

What pleasure can equal the joys of the chace, Where meaner delights to more noble give place?

While onward we prefs, and each forrow defy,
From valley to valley, re-echoes the cry:
Our joys are all fterling, no forrow we fear,
We bound o'er the lawn, and look back on ole
care;

Forgetful of labour we leap o'er the mounds,
Led on by the horn, and the cry of the hounds.

SONG 443.

Sung at VAUXHALL.

WHERE new-mown hay, on winding Tay, The fweets of fpring difclofes,

As I one morning finging lay

Upon a bank of rofes,

Young Jamie, whisking o'er the mead,

By geud luck chanc'd to fpy me,
He took his bonnet off his head,
And gently fat down by me.
O my bonny Jamie, O!

I care not tho' the world fhould know
How dearly I love Jamie, O!

The fwain, tho' I right mickle prize,
Yet now I wad na ken him,
But with a frown my heart difguis'd,
And strave away to fend him;
But fondly he still nearer prefs'd,

And, at my feet down lying,
His beating heart it thump's fa fast,
I thought the lad was dying.
O my bonny Jamie, &c.
But ftill refolving to deny,
And angry accents feigning,
I often roughly shot him by,

With words fu' of disdaining;
He feiz'd my hand, and nearer drew,
And gently chiding a' my pride,
So fweetly did the shepherd woo,
I, blushing, vow'd to be his bride.
O my bonny Jamie, O!

I care not tho' the world should know
How dearly I love Jamie, O!