Ah, wretched youth! why didst thou love, Find me the rose on barren fands; The lily 'midft the rocks; Those you, alas! will fooner gain, Than meet with aught but cold disdain Riches alone now win the fair, Merit they quite defpife; A SCOTCH BALLAD. THE laft time I came o'er the moor, Ye powers! what pain do I endure, Beneath the cooling fhade we lay, Gazing and chaftly sporting; We kifs'd and promis'd time away, Till night fpread her black curtain. I pitied all beneath the skies, Ev'n kings, when he was nigh me; In raptures I beheld her eyes, Which could but ill deny me. Shou'd I be call'd where canons roar, Where mortal fteel may wound me; Or caft upon fome foreign shore, Where dangers may furround me: Yet hopes again to fee my love, To feaft on glowing kisses, Shall make my cares at diftance move, In profpe&t of fuch bliffes. Let her liften and learn it from me, The girl that has beauty, tho' fmall be her wit, When powder'd toupees around are in chat, With kiss me, and love me, my dear, and all that, Let her anfwer to all be, O no. When a dofe is contriv'd to lay virtue afleep, A prefent, a treat, or a ball, She still must refufe, if her empire fhe'll keep, And No be her answer to all. But when Mr. Dapperwit offers his hand, Her partner in wedlock to go; A house and a coach, and a jointure in land, She's an idiot, if then the fays No. But if he's attack'd by a youth full of charms, | Ah! happy warbler, (I reply'd,) WHEN peace here was reigning, Or care or complaining, Bafe paffions dildaining; I laugh'd down the day, Nor envy'd the joys of my neighbour. Now fad transformation Runs thro' the whole nation; All chang'd to vexation; With my pipe and my tabor I laugh down the day, And pity the cares of my neighbour. While all are defigning, With my pipe and my tabor I laugh down the day, And pity the cares of my neighbour. SONG 638. When 'tis not with ambition join'd; A fickly flame, which, if not fed, expires, And feeding, waftes in self-consuming fires. 'Tis not to wound a wanton boy, Or amorous youth, that gives the joy; If there's delight in love, 'tis when I fee SONG 639. THE LINNET; A PASTORAL. AS paffing by a fhady grove, I heard a linnet fing, Whofe fweetly plaintive voice of love Proclaim'd the chearful fpring. His pretty accents feem'd to flow As if he knew no pain; His downy throat he tun'd fo fweet, Contented thus to be; 'Tis only harmony and love Can be compar'd to thee. Thus perch'd upon the fpray ye ftand, That glow from ev'ry glade. Then farewel, pretty bird, (I said,) And let thy tuneful accents spread ASK not the cause why fullen spring And winter ftorms invert the year: She caft not back her pitying eye, To figh, to languish, and to die: And change the laws of ev'ry land? Where thou had'ft plac'd fuch pow'r before, Thou should't have made her mercy more. Y When Chloris to the temple comes, Adoring crowds before her fall; She can restore the dead from tombs, And ev'ry life but mine recal: I only am by love defign'd To be the victim for mankind. COLIN. Yet I'll believe your Chloe's word, As on my breaft fhe laidThis Strephon is fo dull a clown, He'll think me ftill a maid. SONG 644. FAIREST ifle, all ifles excelling, Seat of pleasure and of love, Venus here will chufe her dwelling, And forfake her Cyprian grove ; Cupid, from his favourite nation, Care and envy will remove, Jealoufy that poisons paffion, And defpair that dies for love. Gentle murmurs, fweet complaining, Sighs that blow the fire of love, Soft repulfes, kind difdaining, Shall be all the pains you prove. Ev'ry fwain fhall pay his duty, Grateful ev'ry nymph shall prové, And, as thefe excel in beauty, Thofe fhall be renown'd for love. SONG 645. Sung at VAUXHALL. SHALL I, wafting in defpair, me, Yet if the think not weil of What care I how fair the be. Shall a woman's goodnefs move Me to perif for her love; Or, her worthy merits known, Make me quite forget my own? Be fhe with that goodness bleft, As may merit name the best; Yet if the be not fuch to me, So if the be not fit for me, SONG 646. YE virgin powers defend my heart From fpeaking filence, and from tears, But if thro' paffion I grow blind, Let honour be my guide; And when frail nature feems inclin'd, There place, a guard of pride. An heart, whofe flames are seen, tho' pure, SONG 647 Written by Mr. DRYDEN. I cannot die, nor dare complain; A figh or tear perhaps we'd give, Tell her, that hearts for hearts were made, Tell her my pains so fast increase, SONG 648. LOVE's a dream of mighty treasure, In the folly lies the pleasure, Whom his mistress well deceives; He contented lives at eafe. But the wretch that would be knowing SONG 649. Written by Mr. H. For the to me has prov'd unkind, Her vows were nothing more than wind, A lady's maid, oh! he would be, With all the fkill the can, Sir: Ah! cruel Betfy Norton. Though oft together we have ftray'd, To love, and then to flight me! Of the fweet Betfy Norton. My little dainty doxey. May you enjoy content of mind, SONG 650. WHEN bright Aurelia tript the plain, Their sports were innocent and gay, They'd fing and dance, and pipe and play, Th' ambitious ftrife fhe did admire, And equally approve, Till Phaon's tuneful voice and lyre, Her foul to generous love. Their wonted fports the reft declin'd, SONG 651. MY goddess, Lydia, heavenly fair, O! let me gaze on these bright eyes, Give me ambrofia in a kiss, That I may rival Jove in blifs; |