Be fill, (faid the honey-tongu'd deity) pray, For Reafon has fomething for Bacchus to fay: The juice of the bunch, if by Reafon apply'd, Enraptures the heart, and makes forrow fubfide; Gives fpirits to mirth,more than titles or wealth, Warms the tide of the veins, and's productive of health.

The god bow'd to Reafon, with looks of efteem; Told Venus 'twas true, and he own'd her fupreme;

He kif her rofe lips with immortal delight, And commended the queen for supporting her right.

Then (clafping the balm-breathing fair in his arms)

He cry'd, 'Twas dull to contend with fuch charms;

Thus Bacchus henceforward shall fpeak of thy worth,

Venus governs the skies and the children of earth.

She mounted her car, with a troop of young loves,

And powder'd with daifies our meads and our

SONG 581.

Written by Mr. GAY.

DAPHNIS flood penfive in the fhade,
With arms across, and head reclin'd;
Pale looks accus'd the cruel maid,

And fighs reliev'd his love-fick mind:
His tuneful pipe all broken lay,
Looks, fighs, and actions feem'd to say,
My Chloe is unkind.

Why ring the woods with warbling throats?
Ye larks, ye linnets, cease your strains;
I faintly hear, in your fweet notes,

My Chloe's voice, that wakes my pains:
Yet why fhould you your fong forbear?
Your mates delight your fong to hear,
But Chloe mine difdalns.

As thus he melancholy stood,
Dejected as the lonely dove,

Sweet founds broke gently through the wood.
I feel the found; my heart-ftrings move:
'Twas not the nightingale that fung;
No, 'tis my Chloe's fweeter tongue;
Hark, hark, what fays my love!
How foolish is the nymph, (the cries,)
Who trifles with hef lover's pain!

Nature full freaks in woman's eyes,

Our artful lips were made to feign.
O Daphnis, Daphnis, 'twas my pride,
'Twas not my heart thy love deny'd,
Come back, dear youth, again.

As t'other day my hand he seiz'd,
My blood with thrilling motion flew;
Sudden I put on looks difpleas'd,

And hafty from his hold withdrew.
'Twas fear alone, thou fimple fwain!
Then hadst thou preft my hand again,
My heart had yielded too!

'Tis true, the tuneful reed I blam'd,
That fwell'd thy lip and rofy cheek;
Think not thy fkill in fong defam'd,

That lip should other pleasures seek
Yet break thy pipe, for more I love,
Much, much thy mufic I approve;
Much more, to hear thee fpeak.
My heart forebodes that I'm betray'd,
Daphnis I fear is ever gone;
Last night with Delia's dog he play'd,

Love by fuch trifies first comes on.
Now, now, dear fhepherd, come away,
My tongue would now my heart obey,
Ah, Chloe; thou art won!

The youth fepp'd forth with hafty pace,
And found where withing Chloe lay;
Shame fudden lighten'd in her face,

Confus'd, the knew not what to say.
At last, in broken words, the cry'd,
To-morrow you in vain had try'd,
But I am loft to-day!

And every facred bond is loft Which holds the human mind. But ere the fatal hour is come,

Which ratifies despair,

Let either feek the other's weal,
And with away her care.

Let Britain yield that she is wrong,
América not right;

So may the conteft quickly end,
And end this bloody fight.

SONG 584.

Sung In the Sheep-Shearing.

LAWN as white as driven fnow,

Cyprus, black as e'er was crow;
Gloves, as fweet as damask roses,
Mafks for faces and the nofes;
Bugle bracelets, necklace amber,
Perfume for a lady's chamber;
Golden coifs, and stomachers,
For my lads to give their dears;
Pins, and poaking fticks of fteel;
What maids lack from head to heel:

Come buy of me; come buy, come buy,
Buy lads, or elfe your laffes cry.

SONG 585..

THE COMFORTS OF HOPE.

LOVELY maid, now cease to languish,
Yield not thus thy mind to woe;
Look behind the clouds of anguish,
Chearing beams of comfort glow.
Let enliv'ning Hope elate thee,

Hope that points to fairer skies;
Think the tranfient ills that wait thee,
Are but blefiings in difguife.
Be not by diftrefs dejected;

Shrink not from affliction's hand:
Falfehood is from truth detected

By the kind enchantress wand.
Sage inftructress, fhe fhall train thee;
Steady virtue teach thy heart;
Sharp, but short-liv'd pains, await thee;
Endless bleffings to impart.

SONG 586.

THE RAINBOW.

WHAT various colours deck the bow
That cafual freaks the sky!
What various tints of beauty glow
Beneath my Chloe's eye!

The happy mixture forms the grace
Which beauty calls her own,
And in the fky, or in the face,

It's radiance must be known.

Heav'n's pictur'd arch awhile outspread, Attracts the wond'ring fight;

SONG 588.

AN OLD BALLAD.

MY mind to me a kingdom is;
Such perfect joy therein I find,

As far exceeds all earthly blifs

That God or Nature hath affign'd: Tho' much I want, that most would have, Yet ftill my mind forbids to crave.

Content I live, this is my stay;

I feek no more than may fuffice: I prefs to bear no haughty fway; Look what I lack my mind fupplies. Lo! thus I triumph like a king, Content with that my mind doth bring, I fee how plenty furfeits oft,

And hafty climbers fooneft fall; I fee that fuch as fit aloft,

Mishap doth threaten most of all: Thefe get with toil, and keep with fear; Such cares my mind could never bear.

No princely pomp, nor wealthy store,
No force to win the victory,

No wily wit to falve a fore,

No shape to win a lover's eye:
To none of these I yield, as thrall;
For why-my mind despiseth all.

Some have too much, yet ftill they crave,
I little have, yet feek no more:
They are but poor, tho' much they have,
And I am rich with little ftore:
They poor, I rich; they beg, I give;
They lack, I lend; they pine, I live.
I laugh not at another's lofs,

1 grudge not at another's gain;
No worldly wave my mind can tofs,
I brook what is another's bane.
I fear no foe, nor fawn on friend;
I loath not life, nor dread mine end.
My wealth is health and perfect ease;

My confcience clear my chief defence: I never feek by bribes to please,

Nor by defert to give offence. Thus do I live, thus will I die ; Would all did fo, as well as 1!

SONG 589.

SAID Colin to Daphne, one day, as they fat Amusing each other with innocent chat, I've courted you long, but you ftill difapprove, Tho' ev'ry affurance you have of my love.

Dear Colin, complain not, (was Daphne's reply ;)

No reafon you have, so your conduct deny;
I've Simpkin forfaken for you, I declare,
Dear Colin, I pray, be not fo full of care.

Convinced I am, dearest Daphne, (he cry'd;)
You have reafon, indeed, at my conduct to chide:
To the church let us go, and there end all ftrife;
And make me once happy to call you my wife.

SONG 590.

A MARTIAL SONG.

COME, ye lads who wish to shine
Bright in future ftory!

Hafte to arms, and form the line
That leads to martial glory!
Charge the mufquet, point the lance,
Brave the worst of dangers;
Tell the bluft'ring fons of France
That we to fear are ftrangers.
Britain, when the lion's rouz'd,
And her flag is rearing,
Always finds her fons difpos'd

To drub the foe that's daring.
Charge the mufquet, &c.

Hearts of oak, with speed advance,
Pour your naval thunder

On the trembling fhores of France,
And ftrike the world with wonder,
Charge the mufquet, &c.

AS the fnow in vallies lying,
Phoebus his warm beams applying,
Soon diffolves and runs away;
So the beauties, fo the graces,
Of the most bewitching faces,

At approaching age decay.
As a tyrant, when degraded,
Is defpis'd, and is upbraided

By the flaves he once controul'd; So the nymph, if none could move her, Is contemn'd by ev'ry lover,

When her charms are growing old. Melancholy looks, and whining, Grieving, quarrelling, and pining,

Are th' effects your rigours move;
Soft careffes, amorous glances,
Melting fighs, tranfporting trances;

Are the bleft effects of love.
Fair-ones, while your beauty's blooming,
Ufe your time, left age refuming

What your youth profufely lends,
You are robb'd of all your glories,
And condemn'd to tell old ftories
To your unbelieving friends.

Endless pains the mifer takes

To increase his heaps of money; Lab'ring bees his pattern makes,

Yet he fears to tafte his honey. Views with aching eyes his ftore, Trembling, left he chance to lose it; Pining ftill for want of more,

Tho' the wretch wants pow'r to use it. Celia thus, with endless arts,

Spends her days, her charms improving, Lab'ring ftill to conquer hearts,

Yet ne'er tastes the fweets of loving. Views with pride her fhape and face, Fancying ftill fhe's under twenty; Age brings wrinkles on apace,

While the ftarves with all her plenty. Soon or late they both will find,

Time, their idol, from them sever;
He must leave his gold behind,
Lock'd within his grave for ever.
Celia's fate will ftill be worse,

When her fading charms deceive her; Vain defire will be her curfe,

When no mortal will relieve her. Celia, hoard thy charms no more, Beauty's like the mifer's treasure, Tafte a little of thy ftore;

What is beauty without pleafure?

SONG 595. Written by Sir JOHN SUCKLING. 'TIS now, fince I fat down before That foolish fort, a heart,

(Time strangely fpent a year and more, And still I did my part.

Made my approaches, from her hand
Unto her lip did life,

And did already underftand

The language of her eyes.

Proceeded on with no lefs art,
My tongue was engineer;

I thought to undermine the heart,
By whip'ring in the ear.

When this did nothing, I brought down
Great cannon oaths, and hot

A thousand thoufand in the town,
And ftill it yielded not.

I then refolv'd to ftarve the place,
By cutting off all kiffes,
Praifing and gazing on her face,
And all fuch little bliffes,

To draw her out, and from her firengthe
I drew all batteries in ;

And brought myself to lie, at length,
As if no fiege had been.

When I had done what man could do,
And thought the place my own,
The enemy lay quiet too,

And fmil'd at all was done.

I fent to know from whence and where
Thefe hopes, and this relief?

A fpy inform'd, honour was there,
And did command in chief.

March, march, (quoth I) the word straight give,
Let's lofe no time, but leave her;
That giant upon air will live,

Ard hold it out for ever.

To fuch a place our camp remove
As will no fiege abide :

I hate a fool that farves her love
Only to feed her pride.

SONG 596.

IN tuneful numbers let me tell
The inward joys 1 find,
Now, freed from care, I know full well
My lov'd Prudentia's kind!

Her charms, nor lefs her virtue, fhew
Each beauty of the mind;
And few among the fex I know,
Poffefs a heart fo kind.

Bafe adulation's fawning fons,

The drofs of all mankind, While in her thoughts difcernment runs, Will never find her kind.

Once, haply, in a bleft abode,

With her, and fuch, confign'd, On fancy's pleafing wings I rode,

And found my charmer kind.
Can fordid wealth or grandeur bring
Thofe pleasures of the mind,
Which flow from that delightful fpring,
A fair-one true and kind?

In friendship's focial band, 'tis true,
A fund of joys I find;

But what are fuch, when plac'd in view,
To thofe of nobler kind!

When brave Sir John Major was flain in her fight,

Who was her true lover, her joy, and delight,
Because he was flain most treacherously,
Then vow'd to reyenge him Mary Ambree,

She clothed herself from the top to the toe,
In buff of the braveft, most feemly to show;
A fair fhirt of mail then flipped on the;
Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary Ambree?

A helmet of proof she straight did provide,
A ftrong arming fword the girt by her fide,
On her hand a goodly fair gauntlet had she;
Was not this a brave bonny lafs, Mary Ambtee?

Then took the her fword and her target in hand, Bidding all fuch as would, be of her band: To wait on her perfon came thoufand and three; Was not this a brave bonny lafs, Mary Ambree?

Then cry'd out her foldiers, and thus they did fay,

So well thou becomeft this gallant array, Thy heart and thy weapons fo well do agree, No maiden was ever like Mary Ambree.

She cheared her foldiers that foughten for life, With ancient and ftandard, with drum and with fife ;

With brave clanging trumpets, that founded fo free;

Was not this a brave bonny lafs, Mary Ambrçe?

Before I will fee the worft of you all
To come into danger of death, or of thrall,

This hand and this life I will venture fo free;
Was not this a brave bonny lafs, Mary Ambree?

She led up her foldiers in battle array,

Then took the her fword and her target in hand, And mounting the walls all undaunted did stand, There daring the captains to match any three: O what a brave captain was Mary Ambree!

Now fay, English captain, what wouldeft thou give

To ranfom thyfelf, which elfe must not live? Come, yield thyfelf quickly, or flain thou must

be.

Then fmiled fweetly fair Mary Ambree.

Ye captains courageous, of valour so bold, Whom think you, before you, you now do behold?

A knight, Sir, of England, and captain fo free, Who fhortly with us a prifoner must be.

No captain of England; behold in your fight Two breafts in my bofom, and therefore no knight:

No knight, Sirs, of England, nor captain you fee,

But a poor fimple maiden, call'd Mary Ambree.

But art thou a woman, as thou doft declare, Whofe valour hath prov'd so undaunted in war? If England doth yield fuch brave maidens as thee,

Full well may they conquer, fair Mary Ambree,

The prince of Great Parma heard of her renown, Who long had advanced for England's fair

the day;

Seven hours in skirmish continued fhe;
Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary Ambree?

She filled the skies with the fmoke of her fhot, And her enemies bodies with bullets fo hot; For one of her own men a fcore killed the: Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary Ambree?

And when her falfe gunner, to fpoil her intent, Away all her pellets and powder had spent, Straight with her keen weapon the flasht him in three:

Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary Ambree?

Being falfely betray'd, for lucre of hire,
At length fhe was forced to make a retire;
Then her foldiers into a ftrong caftle drew the:
Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary Ambree?

Her foes they befet her on every fide,
As thinking clofe fiege fhe could never abide:
To beat down her walls they did all decree;
But ftoutly defy'd them brave Mary Ambree.

Still holding the foes of fair England in fcorn: Therefore, English captains of ev'ry degree, Sing forth the brave valours of Mary. Ambree,

SONG 598.

Written by Mrs. BARBAULD. WHEN gentle Celia firft I knew,

A breaft fo good, fo kind, so true,
Reason and taste approv'd;
Pleas'd to indulge fo pure a flame,
I call'd it by too soft a name,

And fondly thought I lov'd.
Till Chloris came, with fad furprize
I felt the lightning of her eyes
Thro' all my fenfes run;
All glowing with refiftless charms,
She fill'd my breast with new alarms,
I saw, and was undone.

O Celia! dear unhappy maid,
Forbear the weakness to upbraid,

Which ought your scorn to move :