fow'd

It was certain to propagate feed.

The vain parade of all the great; The title, penfion, or the gown, The ftar, the garter, or the crown,

RURAL PROSPECT.

Written by Mr. LEMOINE.

NOW gilded groves, with verdure clad, Reflect bright Phoebus' golden beams, While his celeftial glories flame

Down the translucent filver ftreams. Lo! as Aurora onward moves,

His fleecy flocks the fhepherd-fwain Drives from their folds in jovial glee, And whitens all the verdant plain.

In yonder gay, enamel'd mead,

The ftarling plumes his golden wings, Then tow'ring up the azure height,

He mounts fublime, and foaring fings. Nymph of the wave, sweet Naïad hear, While thy clear water's bank along, With careless fteps I pleafing tray,

And warble forth my youthful fong.

Here could I ever, ever rove,

And quit the world's contentious fcene; What joy, with innocence and truth,

To wrap me in your charming green! But fate and fortune, adverfe, call,

And fnatch me to the bufy throng; Adieu, then! rural fweets, adieu!

And cease, thou dear, deluding fong.

SONG 446.

CONTENTMENT.

Written by Mr. MAVOR.

SEQUESTER'D far from publick life,
From giddy mirth, and noisy ftrife;
From headstrong paffions, vain defires;
From envy, pride, and guilty fires;
From cares and fears for ever free,

O, fweet Contentment, let me live with thee.

Thine are the joys that never fail;
Thine is the placid, conftant gale,
That bids us fmile at frequent fhocks
Of dang'rous fyrts, and latent rocks;
And fince I crave thy fmiles alone,
Come, in my breaft, erect thy lucid throne.

Golconda's gems, and flaming mines,
Where, far from day, the di'mond shines;
Peruvian mountains richest ore,
And treasure of the golden fhore,
Afford no blifs, devoid of thee,
At best more fair, more fplendid mifery.

Leave their poffeffors joyless and unbleft.

What's thy delight, Contentment, fay,
With what condition wilt thou stay?
If grandeur often wooes in vain,
Wilt thou adorn the rural plain!
Wilt thou vouchfafe to blefs the cot

Where poverty obtains it's still unenvy'd lot?

'Tis here I fee thy fplendor's beam;
'Tis here thou roll'ft thy clearest stream;
"Tis here thou fheddeft, in difguife,
The pureft joys beneath the fkies;
And from thy lib'ral hand here flow

Such fweets as fceptr'd monarchs seldor know.
Come, then, inftruct me how to fteer
Thro' fmiling fortune, and fevere:
With thee the turf-built cot would please,
The flow'ry banks, and fhady trees;
And for thy fmiles, thou nymph divine,
I'd high pursuits, without a figh, refign.

SONG 447.

Sung in the Prodigal Son.

GREAT God, while fuppliant thus we bend,
Thy kind, thy gracious hearing lend
To this our fervent pray'r!

O may our fire's remaining day
Enjoy a foft, a calm decay,

His eve ferenely fair!

But if difeafe, with venom'd dart,
Or forrow, wound the rev'rend heart
Of thofe who gave us breath;
Let us their deftin'd anguifh fhare,
Prevent or dry each painful tear,

And fmooth the bed of death.

CHORUS.

What dear delight the duties bring,
Wherein thus daily we engage:
From filial love what comforts fpring,
To warm the hearts of shiv'ring age!

SONG 448.

A TRIP O'ER THE GREEN; A PASTORAL.
Written by Mr. HAWKINS.

ONE day, o'er the green as I tript it along,
A gentle young shepherd pafs'd by;
He play'd on his pipe, and fo fweet was his fong,
He made my poor heart for to figh.

He called me back to fit by him awhile,
The fwain I could scarcely deny;
So fweetly he look'd, and he gave me a (mite,
Which caus'd me still more for to figh.

Then ftraight he came to me, and proffer'd a kits,
At which I feem'd modek and fhy;

Yet I vow in my heart I was pleafed at this, Though he made me to flutter and figh.

! He told me he lov'd me, and fomething befide, Which I must not repeat, by the bye, For fear the young thepherd my conduct should chide,

And make me for ever to figh.

He promis'd to take me next week to the fair,
And many fine things he will buy,
Both rofes and ribbands to ftick in my hair;
Then who'll be so shewy as 1?

And if that the fwain should make me his wife,
To please him ail means I will try;
I'll ever be faithful, and love him for life,
And virtuous until that I die.

Then, thus the command is, to rank and to file,

With looks fo important, wou'd make a dog fmile.

AIR.

Make ready, my boys,

And well ram your powder;
'Twill make the more noife,

And found much the louder.
RECITATIVE.

The captain then holding his cane up on high,
Cries, Fire my lads, and let your wads fly;
But pops down his noddle almost to the grafs,
For fear that a bullet fhould fly in his face;
Or leaft the fierce flame, that admits no re-
ftraining,

Should burn his fine wig, kept on purpose for training:

Then their drums and their musquets at once

cease to rattle,

And thus is concluded the bloodilefs battle,
The fight being ended, the power is o'er,
And the chief now but counfels, who order'd
before.

AIR.

My lads, you've done well;
In fight you excel,

And are heroes in wars and alarms;

Pray, go home to your wives,

Thofe who've not lost their lives, And revel and bafk in their arms.

SONG 450.

Sung in the Sorcerer.
DAMON.

CAST, my love, thine eyes around,
See the sportive lambkins play;
Nature daily decks the ground,

All in honour of the May: Like the Sparrow and the dove, Liften to the voice of love.

FLORELLA.

Damon, thou haft found me long
Lift'aing to thy foothing tale;
And thy foft, perfuafive tongue
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;
Not the garden's faireft flow'r;
Nor the meads where lovers rove,
Tempted by the vernal hour;
Can delight thy Damon's eye,
If Florella is not by.

FLORELLA.

Not the water's gentle fall,

By the bank with poplars crown'd,

SONG 452.

Written by Mr. MAVOR.

BEFORE the morn's empurpling light
Has chac'd the fombre fhades of night, -

My restless thoughts to Nancy rove,
And fancy paints the maid I love.

When from the chambers of the Ea3,
In all his mildest glories dreft,
The beauteous rifing-fun 1 fee,
I think his beams lefs fair than the.

The flow'ry vefture of the fields,
The flaming gems rich India yields,
Are far lefs grateful to my eye
Than when my dearest maid is nigh.

The fragrant rofe's crimfen dyes,
Fade at the luftre of her eyes;
And as o'er banks of flow'rs fhe treads,
They feel her charms, and droop their heads.

Ye great, ambitious, and ye vain,
Foffefs your wishes, and your pain;

All other pleasures I refign,
Be dearest Nancy only mine.
Bleft with her love, I would defy
Malignant fate, and envy fly;
And pa s thro' life without a care,
A figh, a murmur, or a fear.

SONG 453.

SUMMER.

Written by Mr. LEMOINE.

ALL nature looks gay, While birds on each (pray Re-echo fweet harmony round; The lily and rofe

Their beauties difclose,
And daifies enamel the ground.

The meadows look green,
No forrows are feen,

Each garden's enraptur'd with joy;
Bright murmuring rills,
That circle the hills,

Yield pleasures that never can cloy.

The fnowy-fleec'd lambs,
Befide of their dams,
Pafs merrily all the glad day;
While hufbandien sweat,
By the wonderful heat
Of Phoebus's powerful ray.

And tho' the fpring's filed,
We've fummer instead,
With charms that enliven the foul:
So nothing but mirth
Inhabits our earth,

From latitude-nought, to the pole.

And quicker by half, I will venture to fay, Our parliament might have fulfill'd their intent,

If, inflead of commiffioners, tedious and dear, They had fent out a cargo of Dorchester-beer.

Then let each worthy Briton, who wishes for peace

With America's fons, fill his glafs to the

brim,

And drink-May our civil commotions foon ceafe,

And war with French perfidy inftant begin! May our friends never want, nor our foes e'er come near,

The pride of Old England, good Dorchesterbeer!

Written by Mr. MAVOR.

GREAT Love! I own thy pow'r supreme, My mind has felt the dart;

No more the tranfitory flame

Plays lambent round my heart.

Bright Nancy's charms the bofom fire,
That erft was wont to rove;
And fenfe and beauty now confpire

To light an ardent love.

Then wonder not to hear me vow

That I can change no more;
Since he has all Heav'n can bestow,
Or fighing fwains adore.
Thus nature, foe to flatt'ry's ftrain,

Inftructs the bufy bee

To range the produce of the plain,
And ev'ry fhrub and tree;

Till lighting on the bloomy rofe,
Where each sweet effence joins,
(Like me) the warmest with the fhows,
To live where beauty fhines.

SONG 457.

Sung at VAUXHALL.

WHEN laft we parted on the plain,

Fond Damon feem'd full lothe to go; He kifs'd, and faid, That foon again He'd come, and wou'd not leave me fo; For that, fays he, the time is near,

And then, my love, I do defign, 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 fee; And as the time then grew fo nigh, How bleft, thought I, will Nancy be! The morning came, and at my door

I heard a noife, that faid, Incline For once, dear girl, if never more, To rife and be my Valentine.

A thousand fears disturb'd my mind,

'Twas Thyrfis there, in Damon's fread! I thought my youth was quite unkind, Nor knew what fhou'd be done or faid. I hop'd it cou'd not be a fin;

In fpite to Damon, now not mine, I let the kinder Thyrfis in,

And was that shepherd's Valentine.

Nor what I did I now repent,

For fickle Damon, foon as light, To Lucy on that morning went,

Nor has been fince from out her fight;
And Thyrfis, late but half-lov'd fwain,
Is now both all and only mine;

I blefs the time, that once was pain,
He came to be my Valentine.

SONG 458.

Sung at RANELAGH.

THE eye that beams with lambent light,
The crimfom cheek, that glads the fight,
The shape, the mien, the air;
With thefe, to foothe man's ruder breaft,
With thefe, to be by bleffing blest,

The gods adorn the fair.

Hence each poetic genius fings;

Sweet beauty tunes th' embofom'd ftrings,
And wakes th' enraptur'd foul.
The magic pow'r of form and face,
Ordain'd the gentler fex to grace,
Refounds from pole to pole.

But fhall not charms fo honour'd laft?
No; foon as youth's fhort fummer's past,
They're veil'd in time's difguife.
Thus blushing Flora's darling flow'r,
That fcents the aromatic bow'r,
burfts to bloom, and dies,

Buds?

Then, ah, how vain is female pride!
Shall the that's crown'd with fenfe confide
In fuch uncertain pow'r?

No, the reveres the milder way,
Referv'd, tho' free; tho' modest, gay;
And blooms to life's laft hour.

Do thou, my fair-one, in whofe mind
Each focial moral, virtue's join'd,
The nymph of fenfe appear.

Then, when the charms of youth are o'er,
The wife will Celia ftill adore;
Thou'lt ftill be lovely here.

SONG 459.

IF 'tis joy to wound a lover,
How much more to give him ease;
When his paffion we discover,

Oh, how pleafing 'tis to please!
This is doubly to encharm him;
Makes him proud to be a flave;
What can more our worth inform him,
Than to heal the wounds we gave?
Thus the warrior fam'd in ftory,
Leading captive through the field,
Juftiy merits double glory,

Gently treating thofe that yield.

SONG 460.

Written by a YOUNG GENTLEMAN, late of Westminfter-School.

FOR thee, whofe warm tendernets loves

At the found of my pleasures to glow; Or, when forrow's maild influence moves, Can melt in the foftness of woe; Where the horrors of winter may spring, As o'er mountains we tremble along, Shall friendship her offering bring,

And chear the rude path with her fong!

How fweet the reflections of peace,
I and friendship thofe wishes engage!
How pleafing to think on the eafe,
The focial retirement of age!

To the feats which my Shenstone has plann'd,
Each with of my bofom fhall move;

A flow'r ne'er bloom'd from his hand,
But for friendship, for virtue, and love.
Here let me retire for awhile;

But fhould fortune hence fnatch me away, Unhurt, 'mid the defart I'll smile,

Nor the bluth of repining betray;
Soft friendship my footsteps fhall guide,
And teach me fome hamlet to chufe;
And health, rofy maid, by my fide,
Shall breathe the pure air to my mufe.
Here fpring her first tribute fhall pay,

Here fummers' firft beauties combine;
While mirth thro' our vallies shall play,

Or fmile from the boughs of our vine: While thou, for whofe pleasure I raise Each fweet which retirement can give,