Nature muft change her beauteous face,
And vary as the feafons rife;
As winter to the fpring gives place,

Summer th' approach of autumn flies:
No change on love the feafons bring,
Love only knows perpetual fpring.
Devouring time, with ftealing pace,

Makes lofty oaks and cedars bow;
And marble towers, and walls of brafs,
In his rude march he levels low:
But time, destroying far and wide,
Love from the foul can ne'er divide.
Death only with his cruel dart

The gentle god head can remove,
And drive him from the bleeding heart,
To mingle with the blest above;
Where, known to all his kindred train,
He finds a lafting reft from pain.
Love, and his fifter fair, the foul,

Twin-born, from heaven together came : Love will the univerfe controu',

When dying feafons lofe their name; Divine abodes fhall own his pow'r, When time and death fhall be no more.

SONG 549.

CUPID, god of pleafing anguish,

Teach the enamour'd fwain to languish,
Teach him fierce defires to know.

Heroes would be loft in ftory,
Did not love infpire their glory,
Love does all that's great below.

SONG 550. Geo 3

Written when his prefent MAJESTY was Prince of Wales.

GOD blefs our young prince, and endow him with grace,

In fit time to fupply his brave grandfather's place ;

Make his tutors and fervants both faithful and clever,

And his youth from all evil examples deliver. Derry down, down, down, derry down.

From nurfes and goffips, who nothing fo dread As that over-much learning fhould burden his head;

Who for teaching a prince how to reafon and fpeak,

Prefer a French novel to Latin and Greek.
Derry down, &c.

From Jefuit hiftorians, (to tyranny civil)
Who declare English freedom the work of the
devil;

Who prove William a villain, if James is a fool, And that force is our king's only title to rule. Derry down, &c.

From philofophers deep, who think hell but a notion,

And virtue and vice only matter and motion; |

SONG 551.

Written by BEN JOHNSON.

STILL to be neat, ftill to be dreft,
As you were going to a feaft;
Still to be powder'd, still perfum'd:
Lady, it is to be prefum'd,
Though art's hid caufes are not found,
All is not [weet, all is not found.
Give me a look, give me a face,
That makes fimplicity a grace;
Robe loosely flowing, hair as free s
Such fweet neglect more taketh me,
Than all th' adulteries of art:
They ftrike mine eyes, but not my heart.

SONG 552.

SUMMER.

Written by Mr. LEMOINE. NOW nature's beauties bloom around,

Sweet violets paint the velvet ground;
Perfumes abundant lade each gale,
And float along the vernal dale.

The frisky lambkins wanton play,
In luscious paftures, time away;
And limpid streams harmonious glide,
With filver cignets in their tide.
The ermin'd lilies drefs'd in light,
And blooming roses red and white,

With painted tulips, myrtles green,'
Affift to heighten grandeur's fcene.
The fields all gay, in glory blaze,
Afiifted by bright Phœbus' rays;
Whole beams refulgent now appear,
And early bid the morning fteer.

The ftarling, blackbird, and the thru,
Enraptur'd chant on ev'ry bush:
High-pois'd in air the lark, too, fings,
While cleaving fpace with nervous wings.
Yet all the beauties hert. I paint,
Without the fair- ones, feem but faint;
For they with prattle gid our hours,
And are by far the brightest flow'rs.

SONG 553.

WHILST I gaze on Chloe, trembling,
Straight her eyes my fate declare;

When the fmiles, I fear diffembling,
When the frowns, I then defpair.

Jealous of fome rival lover,

If a wandering look the gives;
Fain I would refolve to leave her,
But, can fooner cease to live.
Why should I conceal my paffion,
Or the torments I endure?
I'll difclofe my inclination;
Aweful diftance yields no cure.

Sure it is not in her nature,

To be cruel to her flave;
She is too divine à creature,
To destroy what the can fave.
Happy's he whofe inclination

Warms but with a gentle heat;.
Never mounts to raging paffion:

Love's a torment, if too great!
When the frorm is once blown over,
Soon the ocean quiet grows;
But a conflant, faithful laver,
Seldom meets with true repofe.

SONG 554Written by Mr. W-LL-S.

HOW happy was I,

When Delia was by;

Her prefence rejoiced my heart;
No troubles I knew,

My cares were but few,

Till the time I from Delia did part,

Then how fad the reverfe!
With pain Frehearse
The difquiets my mind undergoes;
Time moves flowly on,
Content I have none;

Oh! feel for, and pity my woes.

My fair will be justs
I can't her miftruft,
Her promife is binding I'm fure;

ΤΗΣ

SONG 555.

INVITATION.

Written by Mr. T. B.

'TIS done, I've rais'd a rural bow'r Deep in the twilight shade:

There blooms full many a lovely flow'r;
Ah! wou'd they never fade.

Come, then, my Lucy, hafte away,
And nature's manfion view;
Screen'd from the fun's too piercing ray,
Each flowret blooms for you.

At your command, thy shepherd strove.
To deck the fhady green:
You faid the pot was form'd for love;
I-heard, and bleft the feene.

Ah! let it not be blefin vain

But there reward my truth: Repay thy constant Harry s pain With innocence and truth.

SONG 556.

Written by Mr. LEMOINE

HOW fair is my love,'

As kind as the dove;
Her temper both lively and gay:
The lily, and rofe,

Upon her cheeks blows,
To give her the splendour of May.

Her fhape, and her mien,
Proclaim her the queen'

Of beauty, of virtue, and truth;
Her eyes are like jet,

Her teeth neatly fet:

Ye gods! in the prime of her youth.

Her voice, like the thrash,

That fings on the bush,

When meadows look blooming and gaya

Each mymph and each fwain,
That dance on the plain,
Are charm'd with my Phyllis's lay

O could I breathe no gale but this,
And make my iite one lengthen'd kiss!
Then grafp my arm, and let us hie

To yon grotelquely hanging grove; Upon it's shaggy brow I fpy

A cottage, form'd for us and love. Not more yon fky-clad mountain's fpire The wand'ring clouds beneath admire, Than village (wains my conftant love, Their vulgar flames fo far above. But who, when Jufcious grapes depend,

From thorny brake would berries pull? And where fuch charms as thing tranfcend, The paffion's young, though years be full. Up heav'n's high steep day's dazzling ftar Behind has lett the Eaft afar;

The bees, from flowery hill and plain,
Rich fun-exalted juices drain;
Let us, my fair-one, ufe, as they,

The favours granted from above;
Draw bleffings from our short-liv'd day;
Man's true purfuit is peace and love.

SONG $60.

ANACREONTIC.

BACCHUS, Jove's delightful boy,
Gen'rous god of wine and joy,

Still exhilarates my foul
With the raptures of the bowl.

Then with feather'd feet I bound,
Dancing in a feftive round;
Then I feel, in sparkling wine,
Tranfports delicate, divine.

Then the fprightly mufic warms;
Song delights, and beauty charms!
Debonaire, and light, and gay,
Thus I dance the hours away.

SONG 561. Written by the EDITOR. YE fhepherds, so jocund and gay, O liften awhile to my ftrain! And while you attend to the lay,

Find out fome relief for my pain. Not the lofs of my fheep do I mourn, No lambkin has ftray'd from my field; Nor does Corydon fit, thus, forlorn,

For bleffings that riches could yield. Ah, no! were his grief but for thefe,

Your fports might foon banifh his cares; But tell me what paftime can eafe

The fwain who both loves and defpairs!

Too well your opinion I fee,

And read what you wish to declare. In abfence, alone, ye would fay,

I muft hope for a cure of my fmart; But how can the thepherd e'er ftray

From the image that dwells in his heart! Then grieve me not more with your care For a wretch who for ever muft weep; But leave me, the prey of defpair,

While each of you tends on his sheep. But mine, when you've feen me laid low, (Fulfil me this latest request)

To beautiful Phillis bestow;

And, oh! may fhe ever be bleft!

To form a fhade fome fpreading hazels join'd, "Twas there, to pafs in fweets the fultry hours, Young Damon hung the woodland's fairest flow'rs;

And when intenfely beam'd the mid-day heat,
He led his Phillis to the cool retreat;
Where grew the cuckoo-bud, and daffodil,
With wild thyme fweet, that loves the mofs-
clad hill.

No eye to fee, no ear to hear their chat,
Low on the velvet-grafs the lovers fat:
Let not foul envy think they meant offence,
No more they knew, but Love and Innocence,
With gentle accents trembling on his tongue,
Thus to the maid he lov'd the hepherd fung:

AIR.

Whilft fhelter'd from the beams of noos
Your ewes and lambkins rest,

Dear Phillis, grant the promis'd boon,
And make your Damon bleft,

The thrush no more fhall wake the plain;
The lark, it rifing day,
Forget to give his chearing ftrain,

When fpring leads up the May:

Thefe clover-vales fhall bloom no more,
No verdure dreis the grove;

Yon ftream forfake it's ruthy fhore,
When I deceive my love.

RECITATIVE.

No more he meant, than on her breaft to lie,
To dream of joys the realms of blifs fupply,
The blushing maid, of virtue's facred train,
Repuls'd his love, and thus addrefs'd her swain;
AIR.

Far o'er the mead a fhepherd dwells,
All filver is his beard;
Note what the hoary hermit tells,
There's truth in ev'ry word.

Laft eve I ran across the vale,

Swift as the fwallow flies; His cot obtain'd, I told my tale, And begg'd him to advise. Beware (he faid) our ruder race,

For youth is fraught with art; And he who wears the fairest face, Oft wants a gentle heart. Haplefs for life's the lucklefs fair,

If fuch he's doom'd to wed;
'Twere better death fhoulu fave her care,
Upon her bridal bed.

Such were his words; and, O my (wain!
Should you prove infincere,
Phillis must thro' her life complain,

And often drop a tear.

RECITATIVE.

The ardent lover heard the maid's furprize; Then thus, enraptur'd, to her plaint replies; AIR.

Pluck wild fufpicion from your mind;

Once rooted, 'twill encrease,
And foon the bitter fruits you'll find
Destructive to your peace.

Think better, fweet, of one that's true,
Believe my heart your own;
For were a thoufand maids in view,
I'd take but you alone.

This boon I afk of Heav'n to give :
In fome fequefter'd home,
With you in wedlock's bonds to live,
Without a thought to roam.
From grey-ey'd morn till ftilly eve
From eve till rifing day,
No joy without thee I'd receive,
Without thee ne'er be gay.

Be thou but mine, with rofy health,
Let dear content be by;
The reft I'll leave the fons of wealth,
Without a fingle figh.

RECITATIVE.

Thus fang the youth, whose breaft was honour's throne,

Whofe mind fimplicity had made her own;
Till, far afield, the tinkling village bells

Call'd fportive echo from her grots and cells.
They left the grove, unto the cance they sped;
Revel'd till eve, and the next morn were wed.
AIR.

Now love and fond wishes concur

To make them the talk of the plain; The maids take example from her,

And the shepherds all copy the swain. Where e'er fuch examples are shown,

Who of wedlock can ever repent; Where conftancy governs the throne,

The fubjects are fure of content.

RECITATIVE.

To feek no more, let lovers learn from hence, Till hymen wills, than Love and Innocence.

SONG 564.

LOVE, thou'rt the best of human joys,
Our chiefeft happiness below!

All other pleasures are but toys;
Mufic without thee is but noife,

Beauty but an empty show.

Heav'n, that knew beft what man cou'd move,

And raife his thoughts above the brute;
Said, Let him be, and let him love.
That only must his foul improve,
Howe'er philofophers difpute.

SONG 565.

INVOCATION TO HEALTH.

SWEETEST health, of rofy hue, Brightest daughter of the sky, Hafte, and bid thofe fkies adieu,

And to Cornelia's bofom fly!

Hafte thee, nyaiph, ah hafte along,
Come and liften to my fong:
'Tis for you I tune my lay;
Fairest virgin, hafte away.

Wherefore, goddess, haft thou fled,
Whence fo fweetly thou didft reft;
In fo calm, fo foft a bed,

With content, thy fifter, bleft. Come, ah! come, and with thee bring Drops from Lethe's foothing fpring; Balm from Tempe's fragrant vales, Nectar which the gods regales.

Goddess come! and on her breaft

Shed thy healing influence;