Nature, who form'd the varied fcene, Of rage and calm, of froft and fire, Unerring guide, could only mean

That age fhould reafon-youth defire. Shall then that rebel, man, prefume (Inverting nature's law) to feize The dues of age in youth's high bloom,, And join impoflibilities? No!-let me wafte the frolic May

In wanton joys, and wild excefs; In revel fport, and laughter gay,

And mirth, and rofy chearfulness. Woman, the foul of all delights,

And wine, the aid of love, be near; All charms me that to joy incites, And ev'ry fhe, that's kind, is fair.

SONG 484.

'TIS now the noon of gloomy night, When awful filence reigns;

And Luna darts her borrow'd light

Along th' enamel'd plains.

In homely cots, the fleeping fwains
Forget the toils of day,
No longer fport in ruftic games;
No lambkins fkip and play.

But I, alas! a ftranger grown
To comfort and repofe,

In vain to Phebe make my moans
And tell my heart-felt woes.

In that cold tomb my lover lies,

(A youth fo good and juft)

There, deaf to all my mournful cries, He moulders into duft.

SONG 485.

WOULD you wish o'er a maid to prevail,
In fighs you your mind muft impart;
You must tell her fome pretty love-tale,
And fing what you feel at your heart.
When, in pity, to love fhe's inclin'd,
And fondly believes all you fay,

'Sure embrace her while fhe's in the mind: There's danger in longer delay.

O how happy could I be with you,
United in wedlock's foft chain ;
All the day we'd our pleasures pursue,
And revel it over the plain.

Would the fates only grant me but this,
All the cares of high life I'd defy;
And, while thus we enjoy'd the true blifs,
How happy my Dicky and I!

'Tis beauty triumphs o'er the brave, As ev'ry feature blooms divine; 'Tis beauty makes the king a slave, When in an angel's form, like thine.

SONG 487.

MY roving heart has oft, with pride;
Diffolv'd love's filken chains;

The wanton deity defy'd,
And fcorn'd his sharpest pains.
But from thy form, refiftlefs, ftream
Such charms as must controul;
In thee the fairest features beam,
The nobleft, brightest foul.
Pleas'd in thy converse all the day,
Life's fand unheeded runs;
With thee I'd hail the rifing ray,

And talk down fummer's funs.
Our loves congenial ftill the fame,
With equal force fhall fhine,

No cloy'd defires fhall damp the flame
Which friendship will refine.

SONG 488.

Sung at VAUXHALL.

TENDER virgins, thun deceivers,
Who with bafe feducing arts,
When they find you fond believers,
Triumph o'er unguarded hearts.

If a fickle fwain pursue you,
O! beware his fubtle wiles;
All his aim is to undo ye,

Ruin lurks beneath his fimiles.

Let the youth, whofe conftant paffion Scorns the meannefs of deceit, Warm'd with mutual inclination, Render all your joys compleat.

SONG 489.

LORD WILLOUGHBY; AN OLD BALLAD.

THE fifteenth day of July,

With gliftering fpear and shield,
A famous fight in Flanders
Was foughten in the field:
The most couragious officers
Were English captains three;
But the braveft man in battle
Was brave Lord Willoughby.
The next was Captain Norris,
A valiant man was he:
The other Captain Turner,
From field would never flee.
With fifteen hundred fighting men,
Alas! there were no more,

They fought with fourteen thousand, then,

Upon the bloody shore.

Stand to it, noble pikemen,

And look you round about:

And fhoot you right, you bow-men,
And we will keep them out:
You muíquet and calliver-men,
Do you prove true to me,
I'll be the foremost man in fight,
Says brave Lord Willoughby.

And then the bloody enemy
They fiercely did affail,
And fought it out moft furiously,
Not doubting to prevail;

The wounded men on both fides fell,
Moft pitious for to fee,

Yet nothing could the courage quell
Of brave Lord Willoughby.

For feven hours to all men's view

This fight endured fore,
Until our men fo feeble grew

That they could fight no more;
And then upon dead horses
Full favourly they eat,
And drank the puddle water,
They could no better get.

When they had fed fo freely,
They knceled on the ground,
And praifed God devoutly

For the favour they had found;
And beating up their colours,

The fight they did renew,
And turning tow'rds the Spaniards,
A thousand more they flew.

The sharp fteel-pointed arrows,
And bullets thick did fly;
Then did our valiant foldiers

Charge on moft furiously;
Which made the Spaniards waver,
They thought it beft to flee;
They fear'd the ftout behaviour

Of brave Lord Willoughby.
Then quoth the Spanish general,
Come let us march away,
I fear we shall be spoiled all
If here we longer stay;
For yonder comes Lord Willoughby
With courage fierce and feil,

He will not give one inch of way
For all the devils in hell.

And then the fearful enemy
Was quickly put to flight,
Our men purfu'd couragiously,

And caught their forces quite;
But at last they gave a shout,
Which echoed through the fky,
God, and St. George for England!
The conquerors did cry.

This news was brought to England
With all the fpeed might be,
And foon our gracious queen was told
Of this fame victory:

O this is brave Lord Willoughby,
My love that ever won,
Of all the lords of honour
'Tis he great deeds hach done.

To th' foldiers that were maimed,

And wounded in the fray,
The queen allow'd a penfion
Of fifteen pence a day,
And from all costs and charges
She quit and let them free;
And this he did all for the fake
Of brave Lord Willoughby.
Then courage, noble Englishmen,
And never be difmay'd;

If that we be but one to ten,
We will not be afraid
To fight with foreign enemies,
And fet our nation free:
And thus I end the bloody bout
Of brave Lord Willoughby.

Sung in the Jovial Crew.
NO woman her envy can fmother,
Though never fo vain of her charms;
If a beauty fhe fpies in another,

The pride of her heart it alarms.
New conquefts she still must be making,
Or fancies her power grows lefs;
Her poor little heart is fill aching,
At fight of another's fuccefs,

By nature defign'd, in love to mankind,
That different beauties should move;
Still pleas'd to ordain, none ever fhould reign
Sole monarch in empire of love.

Then learn to be wife, new triumphs defpife,
And leave to your neighbours their due;
If one cannot pleafe, you'll find by degrees,
You'll not be contented with two;
No, no, you'll not be contented with two.

SONG 494.

Sung at VAUXHALL.

At length the grew weary, and fat by a brook, Where Strephon, the shepherd, was baiting his hook:

Unnotic'd he faw her, and heard her complain; His heart was inflam'd to allay her foft pain. The fwain had led many a lafs to the grove, And he (wicked rogue!) thought that Phillis wou'd love.

Howe'er, as her mind was by innocence dreft, 'Twas plain that fair virtue was lodg'd in her breaft:

Her beauty was much, but her modesty more, Which Strephon perceiv'd, and began to adore; He knelt at her feet with a garland he wove, And Phillis confented to make him her love.

SONG 495.

Sung at RANELAGH,

NOW the woodland choirifts fing,
Beauty takes her radiant sphere,
Love adorns the fmiling spring,
Love and beauty gild the year:
Seize the minutes as they fly,

Jocund hours and feftive round;
Innocence, with virgin eye,

Comes with rural chaplets crown'd.

Awful virtue keeps her state

In the cot, or on the throne; Liberty enjoys her mate,

As fait honour holds the zone: Love and beauty, on the wing, Sweep the globe, and conquer all; Poet, hero, fage, and king,

At their fhrine fubmiffive fall. Where should honour love to dwell, But in freedom's happy ifle? Virtue here enjoys a cell

More than in a tyrant's fmile: Where should beauty fix her reign, But on love that pow'r defies? Innocence fhall crown the scene Where ambition droops and dies.

Since I fuffer with pleasure, why should I complain,

Or grieve at my fate, fince I know 'tis in vain ?

would go;

When faunt'ring among the sweet meads to and fro,

In vain did the cowflips her fair hand invite, Nor daifies nor daffodils gave her delight:

That at once it both wounds me and tickles my heart.

I grafp her hand gently, look languishing down, And by pafliorate filence I make my love known

But, oh! how I'm bleft when fo kind the does

ENGLISH ALE.

· Sung at SADLER'S WELLS.

THE truths that I fing none deny me,
They're truths that must ever prevail;
Ye poor dogs of France, we defy ye,

By the force of our Englifh good ale.
The tricks ye attempt, but in vain are,
They are what we expected, and ftale;
Your troops, and your fleets, our difdain are,
By the force of our English good ale.
When Befs, that brave queen, rul'd the nation,
'Twas Spain's great Armada did fail;

She dealt to the Dons tribulation,
By the force of our English good ale.

THE INVITATION.

COME, Colin, pride of rural fwains,

O come and blef's thy native plains; The daifies fpring, the beeches bud, The fongfters warble in the wood.

Come, Colin, hafte, O hafte away, Your fmiles will make the village gay; When you return, the vernal breeze Will wake the buds, and fan the trees, Oh! come and fee the violets fpring, The meadows laugh, the linnets fing; Your eyes our joyless hearts can chear, O hafte! and make us happy here.

ONE fummer eve, as Nancy fair,
Sat fpinning in the fhade,
While foaring fky-larks fhook the air
In warbling o'er her head;
In tender cooes the pigeons woo'd,
(Love's impofe al' must feel)
She fung, but still her work purfu'd,
And turn'd her spinning wheel.

While thus I work with rock and reel,
So life by time is spun;
And as runs round my spinning-wheel,
The world turns up and down.
Some rich to-day, to-morrow low,
While I no changes feel,
But get my bread by sweat of brow,
And turn my spinning-wheel,

From me let men and women too
This home (pun leffon learn,
Not mind what other people do,
But eat the bread they earn:
If none were fed, were that to be,
But what deferv'd a meal,
Some ladies, then, as well as me,
Muft turn the fpinning-wheel.

The rural toaft, with fweetest tone,

Thus fung her witless ftrain, When o'er the lawn limp'd gammer Joan, And brought home Nancy's fwain: Come, cries the dame, Nance, here's thy fpoufe;

Away throw rock and reel.

Blithe Nancy, with the bonny news,
O'erfet her fpinning-wheel.

Written by Mr. LOCKMAN.

Sung at MARYBONE.

GAINST the deftructive wiles of man,
Your hearts, ye fair-ones guard;

Their only study's to trepan,
And play a trickster's card:

With strange delight, poor girls they flight,
Amufe, cajole, belye:

Hence, girls! beware--look fharp-take care;
For men are wond'rous fly.

That Proteus man, like him of old,

A thoufand forms will take; His venal foul is all for gold,

A crocodile or fnake."

See his dire thread! this fpider spread
To catch the female fly:
Hence, girls! &c.

A porcupine, with rage infpir'd,
At nymphs he darts his quills;

A bafilifk, by frenzy fir'd,

His glance by poifon kills:

With fraudful arts he steals their hearts,
Then throws the baubles by:
Hence, girls! &c.

Was the whole race of man to meet

In one wide-fpreading plain,
Of conftancy, of faith to treat,
And virtue's fpotless train;

To find a youth renown'd for truth,
Whole ages we might try:

Hence, girls! beware-look sharp-take care;
For men are wond'rous fly.

SONG 504.

THE SHEPHERDESS.

I Seek my fhepherd, gone astray;
He left our cot the other day:
Tell me, ye gentle nymphs and swains,
Pafs'd the dear rebel through your plains?
Oh! whither, whither muft I roam,
To find, and charm the wand'rer home?

SONG 505.

HOPE AN ANACREONTIC.
Written by Mr. MAVOR.

FILL, O goddess! fill my breaft;

Rife on brighteft colours dreft,
And with thy image make me bleft:
Fairest of celestial birth,
Enliv'ner of the fons of earth,
Source of flowing joy and mirth,

Enraptur'd let me hear the fong,
Warbl'd from thy fyren tongue;
Painting pleasure ever young.

Soul of blifs! O deign to fmile;
Thou can'ft fable cares beguile,
And vanquish mifery and toil.
When difappointment hovers round,
When malice vents the poifon'd found,
Erect thy creft, and heal my wound.
'Tis thine, to chear the face of woe,
To bid the tears forget to flow,
And, bluft'ring, adverfe blafts to blow.
When ill-requited lovers pour
Their wailing to the midnight hour,
Thy balm is prevalent to cure.

Tho' Chloe fairer than the skies,
With angry frowns fhould meet our fighs,
Thou canst infure us half our prize.

O come, bright Hope! poffefs my foul;
For ever reign without controul,
And animate and warm the whole.
Devoid of thee, all teems with gloom ;
'Tis thou that giv'ft to bear each doom,
In hoary age, and youth's gay bloom.