Peace adds to olive-boughs entwin'd,
An emblematic dove;
As ftamp'd upon the mafon's mind
Are unity and love.

SONG 659.

Written by Mr. SHENSTONE. YES, Fulvia is like Venus fair,

Has all her bloom, and shape, and air;
But ftill, to perfect every grace,
She wants the fmile upon her face.

The crown majestic Juno wore,
And Cynthia's brow the crefcent bore,
A helmet mark'd Minerva's mien;
But fmiles diftinguish'd beauty's queen.

Her train was form'd of fmiles and loves,
Her chariot drawn by gentleft doves,
And from her zone the nymph may find
'Tis beauty's province to be kind.

Then fmile, my fair; and all whofe aim
Afpires to paint the Cyprian dame,
Or bid her breathe in living stone,
Shall take their forms from you alone.

The mifer fits plodding from morning till night, And places in gold all his hopes and delight, Our pleafures are greater and nobler's our crime, He robs but poor mortals, whilst we cheat old time.

The fool who fits gazing all night at the skies, And fancies himself to be wonderous wife, Was he here would confefs his purfuits had been vain,

For he ne'er faw a ftar fhine like sparkling Champaign.

The hermit, grown fick of this world's cares and ftrife,

Makes folitude his fummum bonum of life,

But could he once meet fuch a frolickfome

throng,

He'd quit his dull cave, and would join in our fong.

SONG 661.
Written by Capt. THOMPSON.
Sung at VAUXHALL.

CUPID, god of love and joy,
Wanton rofy-winged boy,

Guard her heart from all alarms,
Bring her deck'd in all her charms,
Blushing, panting, to my arms.

All the heaven I ask below,
Is to ule thy darts and bow,

Could I have them in my pow'r,
One sweet fmiling happy hour,
One fweet woman I'd fecure.
She's the first which Venus made,
With her graces full array'd;

When the treads the velvet ground
We feel the zone with which fhe's bound,
All is paradife around.

SONG 652.

AMPHITRYON; A CANTATA. Sung at VAUXHALL.

RECITATIVE.

AMPHITRYON and his bride, a godlike pair,

He brave as Mars, and he as Venus fair,
On thrones of gold, in purple triumph plac'd,
With matchlefs fplendor held the nuptial feaft;
Whilft the high roof with loud applaufes rung,
Enraptur'd thus the happy hero fung.

AIR.

Was mighty Jove defcending,
With all his wrath divine,
Enrag'd at my pretending

To call this charmer mine;
His fhafts of bolted thunder,
With boldnefs I'd deride,
Not Heav'n itfelf can funder,
The hearts that love has ty'd.

RECITATIVE, accompanied.

The thund'rer heard, he look'd with vengeance down,

Till beauty's glance difarm'd his awful frown; The magic impulfe of Almena's eyes, Compell'd the conqu'ring god to quit the kies; He feign'd the husband's form, poffefs'd her charms,

And punish'd his prefumption in her arms.

AIR.

He deferves fublimest pleasure, Who reveals it not when won; Beauty's like the mifer's treasure, Boat it, and the fool's undone. Learn by this, unguarded lover, When your fecret fighs prevail, Not to let your tongue difcover Raptures that it should conceal.

SONG 663.

OH! wouldst thou know what facred charms
This deftin'd heart of mine alarms,

What kind of nymph the heav'ns decree,
The maid that's made for love and me!

Who joys to hear the figh fincere,
Who melts to fee the tender tear,
From each ungen'rous paffion free;
Be fuch the maid that's made for me.
Whofe heart with gen'rous friendship glows,
Who feels the bleflings the bestows,
Gentle to all, but kind to me;

Be fuch the maid that's made for me.
Whofe fimple thoughts, devoid of art,
Are all the natives of her heart;
A gentle train, from falfhood free;
Be fuch the maid that's made for me.
Avaunt! ye light coquettes, retire,
Where flatt'ring fops around admire;
Unmov'd, your tinfeil'd charms I fee,
More genuine beauties are for me.

SOFT, pleafing pains, unknown before, My beating bofom feels,

When I behold the blissful bow'r

Where dearest Delia dwells.

That way I daily drive my flock;

Ah! happy, happy vale!

There look, and with; and while I look,
My fighs increase the gale.
Sometimes at midnight I do ftray

Beneath th' inclement fkies,
And there my true devotion pay
To Delia's fleep-feal'd eyes:
So pious pilgrims nightly roam,
With tedious travel faint,
To kifs alone the clay-cold tomb
Of fome lov'd fav'rite faint.

O tell, ye fhades, that fold my fair,

And all my blifs contain, Ah! why should ye thole bleffings share For which I figh in vain? But let me not at fate repine, And thus my grief impart : She's not your tenant he is mine; Her manfion is my heart.

SONG 665.

Sung in the Oratorio of Jofeph. WHAT's fweeter than the new-blown rofe, Or breezes from the new-mown close? What's fweeter than an April morn, Or May-day's filver, fragrant thorn? What than Arabia's fpicy grove? Oh! (weeter far the breath of love.

SONG 666.

CONTENTMENT.

True content! fecure from harms,
What's all the world without thy charms,
Which still allure to reft?

Compar'd therewith, all earthly joys
Are empty, fading, trifling toys:
In thee mankind is bleft."

Bereft of thee, no monarchs have
Such pleasure as the meaneft slave

To whom thou giv't relief;
Tho' fubjects fhew profound refpe&t,
Nor duty wilfully neglect,

Thy abfence caufes grief.

Come, then, thou pleafing beauty bright!
Refide with me both day and night,

Difplay thy lovely charms;
Be thou diffus'd within my breaft,
And let me ftill fecurely rest
Infolded in thy arms.

Thro' all the various fcenes of life,
Preferve me free from envious ftrife,
On Heav'n till to rely

For true protecting aid; and when
Time terminates in death, oh! then
To thee, O Heav'n! to fly.

SONG 667.

Sung at VAUXHALL.

TOO long a giddy wand'ring youth,
From fair to fair I rov'd;

To ev'ry nymph I vow'd my truth,
Tho' all alike I lov'd;

Yet, when the joy 1 with'd was paft,
My truth appear'd a jest:

But, trust me, I'm convinc'd at laft
That constancy is best.

Like other fools, at female wiles
'Twas my delight to rail;

Their fighs, their vows, their tears, their fmiles, Were falfe, I thought, and frail :

But, by reflection's bright'ning pow'r,
I fee their worth confeft;
That man cannot enough adore,
That conftancy is beft.

The roving heart at beauty's fight
May glow with fond defire;
Yet, tho' poffeffion yield delight,
It damps the lawless fire:
But love's celeftial, faithful flames,
Still catch from breaft to breast;
While ev'ry home-felt joy proclaims
That conftancy is beft.

No folid blifs from change refults,

No real raptures flow;
But, fix'd to one, the foul exults,

And taftes of Heav'n below.

With love, on ev'ry gen'rous mind,
Is truth's fair form impreft;
And reafon dictates to mankind,
That conftancy is beft.

SONG 669.

LOVE REWARDED.

WITH Phœbus I often arofe,
To feaft on the charms of the fpring,
The fragrance to fmell of the rofe,
Or liften to hear the birds fing:
When linnets exalted their trains,
The mufic enchanted my ear;
My eyes too were blefs'd on the plains,
With various fweet blooms of the year.
When Chloe fhone fmiling fo gay,

I there fix'd the fcene of delight;
My thoughts the engrofs'd all the day,
I faw her in dreams all the night:
Still mufing on Chloe I walk'd,

My harveft no more in my thought: Of nothing but Chloe I talk'd;

Her fmiles were the harvest I fought.

No longer the warblers could please; No longer the roses look'd gay; For mufic, and sweetness, and ease, Were loft, if my love was away: I tun'd to her beauties my lays,

I ftudy'd each art that could move; She took the kind tribute of praise, And paid it with fondnefs and love.

SONG 670.

Sung in the Accomplished Maid. WHILE her charms my thoughts employ, All is rapture, all is joy;

When the speaks, how fweet to hear;
Modeft, graceful, and fincere;

In her lovely shape and face,
Center ev'ry charm and grace;
Sure never nymph was half fo fair.

Not the idle, giddy, vain,
Nor the wanton flirting train,
Did my cautious heart enfnare?
Not their artful fubtle wiles,
Nor their foft deluding smiles,
Charming Fanny triumphs there.

SONG 671.

SYLVIA, wilt thou wafte thy prime,
Stranger to the joys of love?

Thou hast youth, and that's the time
Every minute to improve:

Round thee wilt thou never hear

Little wanton girls and boys Sweetly founding in thy ear,

Infants' prate and mothers' joys?

Only view that little dove,
Softly cooing to his mate;
As a farther proof of love,

See her for his kiffes wait:
Hark! that charming nightingale,
As he flies from fpray to fpray,
Sweetly tunes an am'rous tale,
I love, I love, he strives to say.

Could I to thy foul reveal

But the leaft, the thoufandth part
Of thofe pleasures lovers feel

In a mutual change of heart;
Then repenting, wouldft thou fay,
Virgin tears, from hence remove,
All the time is thrown away,
That we do not spend in love.

SONG 672.

DEFEND my heart, ye virgin pow'rs,
From am'rous looks and fmiles,
And fhield me in my gayer hours,

From love's deftructive wiles:
In vain let fighs and melting tears
Employ their moving art,
Nor may delufive oaths and pray're
E'er triumph o'er my heart.

My calm content and virtuous joys
May envy ne'er moleft,
Nor let ambitious thoughts arife
Within my peaceful breaft;

Yet may there fuch a decent ftate,
Such unaffected pride,

As love and awe at once create,
My words and actions guide.

Let others, fond of empty praife,

Each wanton art display,

While fops and fools in raptures gaze,
And figh their fouls away:
Far other dictates I purfue,

(My blifs in virtue plac'd)
And feek to please the wiser few,
Who real worth can taste.

SONG 673.

FREE from confinement and strife,
I'll plow thro' the ocean of life,
To feek new delights,
Where beauty invites,

But ne'er be confin'd to a wife.

The man that is free,
Like a veffel at fea,

After conqueft and plunder may roam:
But when either confin'd

By wife or by wind,
Tho' for glory defign'd,
No advantage they find,

But rot in the harbour at home.

SONG 674. ́`·

JENNY OF THE GREEN.

WHILE others ftrip the new-fall'n fnows,

And steal it's fragrance from the rofe,
To dress their fancy's queen;
Fain would I fing, but words are faint,
All mufic's powers too weak to paint
My Jenny of the green.

Beneath this elm, befide this ftream,
How oft I've tun'd the fav'rite theme,

And told my tale unfeen!
While, faithful in the lover's caufe,
The winds would murmur foft applaufe
To Jenny of the green.

With joy my foul reviews the day,
When, deck'd in all the pride of May,
She hail'd the fylvan fcene;
Then ev'ry nymph that hop'd to please,
Firft ftrove to catch the grace and cafe
Of Jenny of the green.
Then, deaf to ev'ry rival's figh,
On me the caft her partial eye,

Nor fcorn'd my humble mien :
The fragrant myrtle-wreath I wear,
That day adorn'd the lovely hair

Of Jenny of the green.
Through all the fairy-land of love,
I'll feek my pretty wand'ring dove,

The pride of gay fifteen;

Tho' now fhe treads fome diftant plain,
Tho' far apart, I'll meet again,
My Jenny of the green.

But theu, old time, till that bleft night
That brings her back with fpeedy flight,
Melt down the hours between;
And when we meet, the lots repay,
On loit'ring wing prolong my stay
With Jenny of the green.

SONG 675.

I Strove, but in vain,
To chafe away pain,

Which had taken deep root in my heart;
My rest me forfook;
Betray'd in my look,

What I felt from fly Cupid's keen dart.

SONG 676.

RETIREMENT.

FAREWEL, the fmoaky town! adieu
Each rude and fenfual joy;

Gay, fleeting pleasures, all untrue,
That in poffeffion cloy.

Far from the garnish'd fcene I'll fly,
Where folly keeps her court,
To wholefome, found philofophy,
And harmless rural sport.

How happy is the humble cell,
How bleft the deep retreat,
Where forrow's billows never fwell,
Nor paffion's tempefts beat!

But fafely through the fea of life,
Calm reafon wafts us o'er,

Free from ambition, noife, and ftrife,
To death's eternal fhore.

SONG 677.

Sung at VAUXHALL.

SINCE Jenny thinks mean her heart's love

to deay,

And Peggy's uneafy when Harry's not by; I will own, without blushing, were all the world by,

That Willy's the lad, the lad for me.

He brought me a wreath which his hand did compofe,

Where the dale-loving lily was twin'd with the rofe;

Young myrtle in fprigs did the border inclofe. And Willy's the lad, the lad for me.

By myrtle, faid he, is my paffion express'd; The rofe, like your lips, in vermilion is dress'd t And the lily, for whitenefs, would vie with your breaft.

And Willy's the lad, the lad for me.

Thefe ribbands of mine were his gifts at the fair,

My mother look'd cross, and cry'd, Fanny beware!

But d'ye think I regard her? Not I, I declare. And Willy's the lad, the lad for me.

Beneath a tall beech, and reclin'd on his crook, I faw my young shepherd; how fweet was his look!

He afk'd for one kifs, but an hundred he took. And Willy's the lad, the lad for me.

Then what can I do, O inftru&t me, ye maids! When a lover fo kindly, fo warmly invades, Whofe filence as much as his language perfuades? And Willy's the lad, the lad for me.

SONG 678.

THE POWER OF NATURE.

WHERE virtue encircles the fair,

There lilies and roles are vain; Each bloffom muft drop with defpair, Where innocence takes up her reign: No gaudy embellishing arts

The fair-one need call to her aid, Who kindly by nature imparts

The graces that nature has made.

The fwain who has fenfe must despise
Each coquettish art to enfnare;
If timely ye'd wish to be wife,

Attend to my counsel, ye fair;
Let virgins whom nature has bleft,
Her fovereign dictates obey;
Por beauties by nature expreft
Are beauties that never decay.

SONG 679.

FANNY'S CHARMS.

SHAT tho' the bloom of fpring is gone,

And nature feels decay;

Tho' winter now her garb puts on,

And cafts a gloom on day:
Tho' filent ftands the lazy hill,

And mute the sylvan throng;
Yet Fanny's charms, unfading still,
Shall flourish in my fong.

Tho' now no more on funny plains
The shepherds tend their care,
And each, in emulating strains,
Forgets to praise his fair;
Tho' unfrequented ev'ry shade

That catch'd the vernal breeze,

Yet Fanny's fmiles (enchanting maid!)
Can charm me more than these.

When fpring, in varied beauty dreft,
Does all it's fweers difclofe,
Compare the lily to her breast,

And to her lips the ofe:
Her breaft the lily's white outvies,
Tho' whiteft of the vale,

SONG 681.

HERE attend all ye fwains,

And ye nymphs of the plains,

Quit your flocks and your herds for a while; Hither quickly repair,

In our mirth a part share,

And each lafs her love meet with a fmile.

Hark, the drum Hymen beats!
Hark, how echo repeats

The sweet found, as it flies swift away!
O'er hills, and o'er dales,
Ev'ry ear it affails,

And mocks their long, tedious delay.

O! how happy is he,

That contented can be,
To enjoy the beft treasure of life;
All he'd with e'er to gain,
He'll be fure to obtain,
In a prudent and fenfible wife.

Should the rover pretend,
That these joys will foon end,
And that love will expire with the moon;
Mark how pain and disease

The lewd libertine feize,

Ere he reaches the height of life's noon.

But how wretched indeed,

He whom fate has decreed

From the arms of his fair-one to part;