No fooner the wanton her freedom obtains, When among the gay youth a tyrant fhe'reigns, And finding her beauty fuch power has got, Her heart pants for fomething-fhe cannot tell what.

Tho' all day in fplendor fhe flaunts it about, At court, park and play, the ridotto and rout; Tho' flatter'd, and envy'd, the pines at her lot, Her heart pants for fomething-she cannot tell what.

A touch of the hand, or a glance of the eye, From him the likes beft, makes her ready to die, Not knowing 'tis Cupid his arrow has shot, Her heart pants for fomething-the cannot

tell what.

Ye fair take advice, and be blefs'd while you may, Each look, word and action, your wishes betray; Give eafe to your hearts by the conjugal knot, Tho' they pant e'er fo much-you will foon know for what.

SONG 703.

BENEATH a cool fhade, by the fide of a itream,

Thus breath'd a fond fhepherd, his Kitty his theme:

Thy beauties comparing, my dearest, (faid he,) There's nothing in nature so lovely as thee.

Tho' diftance divides us, I view thy dear face, And wander, in transport, o'er every grace; Now, now I behold thee, fweet smiling and pretty;

Oh, gods! you've made nothing fo fair as my Kitty.

Come, lovely idea, come fill my fond arms! And whilft in foft raptures I gaze on thy charms, The beautiful objects which round me arife, Shall yield to thofe beauties that live in thine eyes.

Now Flora the meads and the groves does adora With flowers and bloffoms on every thorn; But look on my Kitty! there sweetly does blow A fpring of more beauties than Flora can fhow.

See, fee how that rofe there adorns the gay bush,

And proud of it's colour, would vie with her blush.

Vain boafter thy beauties fhall quickly decay, She blushes--and fee how it withers away.

Obferve that fair lily, the pride of the vale, In whiteness unrival'd, now droop and look pale;

It fickens, and changes it's beautiful hue, And bows down it's head in fubmiffion to you.

The zephyrs that fan me beneath the cool fhade, When'panting with heat on the ground I as laio,

Are lefs grateful and sweet than the heav'nly

air

That breathes from her lips, when the whifpers--my dear.

I hear the gay lark as he mounts to the fkies, How fweet are his notes! how delightful his voice!

Go dwell in the air, little warbler, go!
I have mufick enough while my Kitty's below.

With pleasure I watch the induftrious bee,
Extracting her sweets from each flower and tree:
Ah, fools! thus to labour to keep you alive;
Fly, fly to her lips, and at once fill your hive.

See there, on the top of that oak, how the doves Sit brooding each other, and cooing their loves! Our loves are thus tender, thus mutual our joy, When folded on each other's bofom we lie.

It glads me to fee how the pretty young lambs Are fondled, and cherish'd, and lov'd by their dams:

The lambs are lefs pretty, my dearest, than thee;

Their dams are lefs fond, nor fo tender as me.

Come then, Eliza, let us rove,

'Midft nature's richest store; Those bounties feize, and feast like Jove, And nature's works explore.

Catch nature's beauties as they roll,
While mutual paffions charm;
Content shall harmonize the foul,
And ev'ry pain difarm.

Then when ftern winter shakes the world,
And rapid lightnings fly,

When nature's in confufion hurl'd,
We'll ev'ry care defy.

SONG 706.

OUR glaffes, waiter, once again fupply,

Bring t'other dozen, broach the cellar dry; Let not vacuity the board disgrace, But with rich claret fill the horrid space! Potent juice, that rules the earth, Infpirer of wit and mirth, Source of joys that ne'er decay, Ever bubbling, Never troubling, Always fparkling, brisk and gay: Recruit my goblet to the brink, I'll fing thy praises while I drink.

SONG 707.

TO-MORROW.

Written by Mr. NICHOLLS.

WHAT my good fire bequeath'd, when of age 1 poffefs'd,

Then I laugh'd at dull precepts, I drank, and I drefs'd;

A ftranger was I unto forrow:

As wind fpreads the duft, fo my gold filed be fore me,

My fellows pretended to love and adore me; I never once thought of to-morrow.

The good rules of my grannam entirely forgot, I was first at confufion, the best at a plot,

And oft wrought the innocent forrow: The bold mistress, the virgin, to me were the fame,

Tho' repulfed to-day, 'twas to me lawful game, If, perchance, they prefented to-morrow.

To masks, balls, and plays, I would frequently treat;

My companions commended a spirit fo great,
And oft condefcended to borrow;
Like a lad of high mettle, I lov'd to be free,
I lent them my money and credit with glee,
And ne'er loft a thought on to-morrow.

The girls of the town fhar'd my bounty profufe; The tavern-men bow'd as I pass'd to their ftews;

On this I reflect with much forrow:

Oh! could I regain what I've fquander'd on thefe,

My purfe would be full, and my bosom at ease, With contentment in ftore for to-morrow.

At the cock-pit and turf I've been often carefs'd By the high-titled knave with a ftar at his breast;

Their meanness has brought me to forrow. The justice and curate have fed at my board, But now not a dinner thefe harpies afford; O had I ta'en care for to-morrow.

Ye rakes take the hint, for dame fortune is blind;

Give o'er your purfuits while the deity's kind,

In truth 'twill preferve you from forrow: The wretches who help you to fquander away, Will fmile on your folly, and greet you to-day, But pafs you unnotic'd to-morrow.

Sung in Midas.

HE's as tight a lad to fee to,

As e'er ftept in leather shoe,

And, what's better, he'll love me too,
And to him I'll prove true blue.
Tho' my fifter cats a hawk's eye,
I defy what the can do;
He o'erlook'd the little doxy,

I'm the girl he means to woo.
Hither I ftole out to meet him;

He'll, no doubt, my fteps purfue: If the youth prove true, I'll fit him; If he's falfe-I'll fit him too.

SONG 709.

Written by the EDITOR.

AS late the celeftials together were met,
Invited by Mare to partake of a wet
Before his defcent from the fkies;
Jolly Bacchus, who scarce had recover'd from
Деер,

Occafion'd by drinking o'er night rather deep,
Spoke thus as he open'd his eyes.

What fracas has happen'd, good Mars let me know,

Since I've been asleep, 'mongst our vot'ries below,

That you must repair to their aid?

I thought that Britannia had tent 'cross the water Such terms as could ne'er be refus'd by her daughter,

And peace all the universe sway'd.

So would she, indeed, (cry'd the great god of war)
But France has contriv'd the wish'd union to mar,
That bafe and ungenerous foe;
Who perfuading the girl to reject ev'ry offer
Minerva prevail'd on her mother to proffer,
To punish the infult I go,

And determin'd I am, (by the love which I bear
To war, and the goddefs of beauty, I swear)
Before my return to the fkies,
Such flaughter this treacherous people shall
know,

My generous Britons, tho' juftly their foe,
Will beg me to pity their cries.

Since this is the cafe, (reply'd Bacchus) I pray,
To England repair, without farther delay,

And at once crufh the pow'r of France-Ganymede, fill the glaffes-but, ere you depart, Let's all drink Succefs to each true British heart, That burns 'gainst the French to advance.

SONG 710.

THE man who with a gentle heart

In life ferene fteals through his part,
Needs not the villain's bufy art

To pile his gold on gold;
Which tho' fecur'd in iron cheft,
Still burns within his tortur'd breaft,
By day and night exiling reft

From him whofe mind is fold...
If he can boast a quiet mind,
Domeftic bleffings he fhall find
Under the roof that keeps out wind,
And all the weather's harm.
The fpear that glows in honour's field;
The fword that skilful warriours wield;
Nor yet Achilles' well-wrought fhield,
Need he with fuch to arm.

Place me far diftant from those plains,
Where stands no cot, where pipe no fwains,
Where blow bleak winds, where fall the rains,
And breathes a dang'rous air.
Place me, O Bacchus, near fome cask,
For ever forc'd to fill my flafk;
With pleasure I'll renew my task,
And blefs my daily care.

SONG 711.

YOUNG Damon and Chloe were mutually fond,

They kifs'd and they toy'd all the day; Kind Hymen confented to finish the reft, And join them for ever and aye. Some fiend interfer'd, and the rites werd delay'd,

By a circumftance few would fuppofe; For thoughtless young Damon, one day as he play'd,

Prefented to Kitty-a rose.

Alarm'd at the gift, Chloe rated the youth,

Fill'd with jealoufy, rage, and difdain; She call'd him falfe-hearted, perfidious and bafe, And instantly quitted the plain. He endeavour'd his innocence vainly to prove, No words could her paffion compofe: Such prefents, the faid, were fure emblems of love,

And Kitty accepted-the rofe,

A a

To the church, or the wake, or wherever fhe

went,

He follow'd in hopes of relief;
Obdurate the fair, and regardless beheld

The type of his pen tence-grief.
Tho' feldom, if ever, the deign'd a reply,
'Twas only to add to his woes!
No art fhall e'er win me again to comply;
Remember, young Damon, the-rofe.

-For ever refus'd, when he knew that his heart
To Chloe was virtuous and true,

He thought 'twas too much; fo neglected the fair,

Another more kind to pursue.

This treatment at length fo afflicted the maid,
She fought him her mind to compose;
He gladly confented, and foon they were wed,
And Chloe ne'er thinks of the rofe.

SONG 712.

DORINDA was youthful, and blooming as May,

Would dance, and would fing, and would frolic, and play;

Yet fome how or other, it came fo to pass,
In fecret the often was heard cry Alas!

Her companions in vain did the meaning explore,

She promis'd, indeed, the would do fo no more;
Yet her promife was frail, and as brittle as glass,
For immediately after the cry'd out Alas!

In fecret to figh, as old goffips declare,
Js an evident fign of fome terrible care,
And in time will deftroy e'en a form ftrong
as brass ;

Yet Dorinda continu'd to figh out Alas!

Her friends and acquaintance convey'd the news round,

That Dorinda was fick, but of what was not found;

That certainly flesh was no more than the grafs, And Dorinda would certainly die of Alas!

Young Damon, a shepherd, that liv'd in the place,

Who by accident heard of her terrible cafe: Determin'd to try if it might come to pafs, And ventur'd himself for the cure of Alas!

He kifs her, he prefs'd her, he vow'd and he figh'd,

And shortly prevail'd on her to be his bride: This circumftance only has alter'd the cafe, And Derinda is cur'd from fighing Alas!

SONG 713. BEFORE I faw Clarinda's face

My heart was blithe and gay, Free as the wind, or feather'd race That hop from fpray to fpray.

But now dejected I appear,

Clarinda proves unkind,

I fighing drop the filent tear,
But no relief can find.

In plaintive notes my tale rehearse,
When I the fair have found;
On ev'ry tree appears my verfe
That to her praise refounds..
But the ungrateful fhuns my fight,
My faithful lové difdains;
My vows and tears her scorn excite,
Another happy reigns.

Ah, Thyrfis, though my looks betray
I envy your fuccefs;
Yet love to friendship fhall give way,
I cannot with it lefs.

SWEET Sally to fuffer ordains me,

To languish, to figh and despair; By her looks, I perceive the difdains me ; So cruel the is, tho' fo fair: What fate is as wretched as mine is, If Sally my love does neglect! And tho' in my eyes the divine is,

Yet to gain her I ne'er can expec. If from Sally a fmile I difcover,

It foftens my prefent distress; Tho' I fear fhe is loving another,

Yet ftill I'm in hopes of fuccefs: But when I reflect at my leifure,

I perceive my endeavours are vain ; For how can I gain that bleft pleasure

The gods for themselves do ordain. Was to me, then, my Sally but giv'n,

Oh! what would my pleasure destroy! For nothing on earth, nor in heav'n,

Could equal that moment of joy : For fince I have known the dear creature, This reafon I have for my fears; Sweet Sally's a goddess in feature,

Tho' the but a woman appears.

SONG 715.

CUPID DROWN'D.

YE rofy-fac'd fons of the rich purple juice, Attend to the catrol I now fall produce; What fubject fo noble to chaunt o'er our bowls, As that which we know will make happy our fouls.

To make me in love, and appear like an afs, And kneel at the feet of each proud forward lafs, The goddess of beauty had long ftrove in vain, For love while I've liquor fhall ne'er give me pain.

At length quite enrag'd that a mortal like me Should laugh at her power and yet remain free, The urchin young Cupid the bade quickly fly, And never return till he made me comply.

Reffective play'd upon the azure main,
As late I wander'd on the fhelly fhore,
Where not a gale infpir'd the wavy roar;
Where filence feem'd her awful court to keep,
And ocean to partake oblivious fleep;-
When lo before my fear-aftonish'd eyes,
I faw a form of angel brightness rife :
Fair as the goddess of the briny flood,
Supported by a spear, upright the stood:
Around her feet the nereids joy'd to play,
And waves, as the advanc'd, to form a way.
Her port majestic, foon, and penfive fmile,
Betray'd the Genius of Britannia's ifle:
O'ercome with awe, I prefs'd the humble ground;
When thus the fpoke, in heav'nly breathing
found,

And bade me learn the ftrains, and tell the world around.

AIR.

Awake! my fons, to empire born,
Shake off defpondency and fear;
'Tis yours to make the treach'rous mourn,
That oft have drawn my briny tear.
Again the British flag unfurl,
Destruction on proud Gallia hurl,
And ftrike with dread the diftant world.

Have I not feen your navy ride
Triumphant o'er the boundless main,
Confefs'd the terror and the pride
Of all that cut the liquid plain?

Again the British flag, &c.

And will you lefs exert your sway,

When glory calls, and ardent fame!
Say, can my fons mistake the way,
When rouz'd by Keppel's honour'd name!
Again the British flag, &c.

Tho' laurell'd Hawke, and Briftol, bear
No enfigns on the foaming tide,
Some valiant heroes ftill prepare

To spread your awful thunder wide.
Again the British flag, &c.

'Tis Heav'n that orders Britain's race
To check each vain afpiring foe;
To raife th'opprefs'd, with manly grace,
And foothe the wrinkled face of woe.
Again the British flag, &c.

Then hafte, O hafte! and bid your arms
Their flaming terrors fhed afar;
Harrafs each foe with fierce alarms,
And give a loose to crimson war.
Again the British flag, &c.

'Tis fell neceffity commands;

You stand upon the verge of fate :
And future times will curfe the hands
That for Britannia fought too late.
Again the British flag, &c.

Tho' peace, with olive-branches crown'd,
Long hover'd o'er this happy ifle,
She finks he finks-in tumults drown'd,
And bids you think of warlike toil.
Again the British flag, &c.

For peace and war my fons are fit,

In arts and arms they fhine the fame ;
And time will raife another PITT,

To add fresh fewel to their flame.
Again the British flag, &c.
Know! he that in his country's caufe
Th'infernal fword of treachery braves,
Tho' doom'd to fate, fhall gain applaufe
While Britain fees encircling waves.
Again the British flag, &c.

The fculptur'd monument shall tell

The martial prowess of his arm; And emblems pointing how he fell, Shall youth with emulation warm. Again the British flag, &c.