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In fuch an heav'nly form, I cry'd,
Sure all perfections meet!

I thought her conftant, free from pride,
Fair, virtuous, and difereet.

But foon my judgment falfe I find,
Pride fwell'd her fcornful breaft;
Say was the constant?—as the wind:
But was the not the reft?

Can godlike virtue be her guide,
Who turns with every wind?
Or can difcretion reign, where pride
Unbounded (ways the mind?

Can fhe lay claim to beauty's pow'r,
Whofe face is all her boaft?
Alas Vaneffa is no more:

As foon as found fhe's loft.

Ixion thus his arms had caft

Around his fleeting fair;
His fancy'd Juno prov'd, at laft,
Delufive, empty air.

SONG 767.

A Good repute, a virtuous name,
Philofophers fet forth,

As the unerring path to fame,
If fame confifts in worth.

This precious ointment, gently fhed,
O'er mental ill prevails;

And where the fragrant med'cine's spread,
It animates and heals.

Yet hard it is to use it right,

Tho' beautiful to view;

It fhines diftinguishingly bright,
How tranfitory too!

Like glafs it glitters, foon 'tis crackt,
Irreparably frail;

All moralifts allow the fact,
So I apply the tale.

When things inanimate cou'd speak,
Fire once agreed with Water,
A friendly jaunt one day to take,
But where, 'tis no great matter.

It happen'd that, the day before

Each left their different ftation, They chofe a third, worth twenty more, And that was Reputation.

The three companions now reflect,

If chance thou'd once divide 'em, How each their letters might direct, Or who fhou'd fureft guide 'êm.

Says Water, Friends, you'll hear my name,
Tho' loft upon a mountain;
Enquire at any murm'ring ftream,
Or feek me in a fountain:

Sometimes from deep cafcades I pour,
Thro' meadows gently glide;
1 drop a dew, defcend a shower,
Or thunder in a tide:

Where marshes flagnate, bogs extend,
Green reeds and turfy fods,
Direct a path to meet your friend;

A path the bulrush nods.

Your reftlefs make (quoth Fire) I know,
Juft like your parent ocean;

I love to rove as well as you,
My life confifts in motion:

In poets all my marks you'll fee,

Since fmoak and flash reveal me;
Sufpe&t me always near Nat. Lee,

E'en Blackmore can't conceal me.
In Milton's page I glow, by art,
One flame intense and even;
In Shakespeare's blaze a fudden ftart,
Like lightning flash'd from heaven:
In many more, as well as they,

Thro' various forms I fhift;
I'm gently lambent while a Gay,
But brightest when a Swift:
From fmoak fure tidings you may get,
It can't fubfift without me;
Or find me, like fome fond coquet,
With fifty fparks about me.

The beft of flaves I'm call'd by men,

When bound in proper durance;
But if I once do mifchief, then
I'm heard of at th' Infurance.

Alas! poor Reputation cry'd,
How happy in each other!
Such fignal marks muft furely guide
Each ftragg'er to his brother.
'Tis I, alone, muft be undone,

Such ill has fate defign'd me ;
If I be loft, 'tis ten to one,
You never more will find me.

SONG 768.

Sung at the NONSENSICAL CLUB.
ALL whimsical people, come hither,
And chufe a nonsensical strain;
For who'd be a wit in hot weather,
Tindanger the lofs of his brain?

'Tis nonfenfe we fing, and we deal in,
And generously dole it about,
And if common-fenfe chance to steal in,
We kick the precife rafcal out.
Whereof, forafmuch, notwithstanding,
Moreover, to wit, furthermore;
Sure never were words fo commanding,
So sweetly adapted before.

Thus free from reftraint, on we rattle,
EnЛlav'd by no precepts nor rules;
Whilft thofe who in form prittle prattle,
Are nothing but fenfible fools.

Should nonfenfe from human kind fever,

What numbers must straight away run! The beau pick his teeth muft for ever, The chatt'ring coquet be undone.

The bards would have little to write on,

The lawyers have little to say, The criticks would nought have to bita on, The non-cons not know how to pray.

Befides, for a plague wit is fent ye,

It's owners for ever are poor;
Whilft nonfenfe is vefted with plenty,
Whereof you may fee now therefore.

SONG 769.

ANACREONTIC.

THE mufes once intent on play

Young Cupid roving caught,

With flow'ry wreaths they ty'd his hands,
And bound, to beauty brought.

Fond Venus ranges all the plain
To feek her little joy,
And foon a pow'rful ransom brings
To free th' imprison'd boy.
But tho' releas'd, the captive god
Refus'd to quit his chains,
And fill to beauty's gentle fway
A willing flave remains.

SONG.770.

THoughtless of all, but love and you,
From place to place I range,
But ftill no happiness I know,
Nor pleasure by the change.

The murm'ring ftream, the fruitful field,
The plain, the fhady grove,
Alike to me, no pleasure yield,
When abfent from my love.

Yet if my Delia but appears,
How chang'd is all the scene!
Nature a gayer livery wears;
And I forget my pain.

The murm'ring ftream, the fruitful field,
The plain, the fhady grove,

Alike to me, all pleafure yield,
When bleft with her I love.

He'd make her fame eternal,
In Magazine or Journal,

And fing away her cares.
The lady then reflecting
Whose parts were most affecting,
Thought fpark of tuneful merit
Outweigh'd the biuft'ring spirit,

And thus her mind declares.

My honour wants no Hector
To be it's ftern protector;
No Myrmidon to frighten,
But Phaon to delight in;

So, captain, march along.
'Tis gentle wit and breeding,.
Is worth a lady's healing; heed
No hopes our hearts of gaining,
Without first entertaining;

So let me have a fong.

But just then in the nick, Sir,
A fquire of filver quick, Sir,
With gold-knot on his rapier,
Who well cou'd cut a caper,

Now play'd before her eyes.
His air and drefs fo taking,
Without the pains of speaking,
This most engaging youngster
By far out hone the longfter,
And danc'd off with the prize.

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Sung at VAUXHALL.

NEAR a hawthorn, I met on the plain
Young Molly, the ev'ning was ftarryj

I talk'd in ftrong terms of my pain,
Tho' I never intended to marry.
Her modeft demeanor was fuch,
More than half it prevail'd over Harry;

I love her, I own, very much,

'Tis true, but I never fhall marry.

My companions all loudly complain,

With them that I now never tarry;
They have found out the caufe of my pain,
And fancy at last 1 fhall marry:
Believe me, they know not my heart;
This face much longer can carry;

I can bear a vaft deal of love's fmart,
But I ne'er thall be tempted to marry."

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How bounteous is nature; how wond'rous her Such freedom offended, fhe bade me beware,

plan!

This copfe, but a moon or two past, Presented no object attractive to man,

Bat, murmuring, fhrunk from the blast :

For envy (the faid) might be near;

And fcandal, who never fhews things as they

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I thought it but reafon; I bade her not fear: Said nought that was ill fhould befal;

I lov'd her too well to give caufe for a tear, To bitter her honey with gall.

From the daily-deck'd fod then together we rofe,

O'er the meadows I led her alon;;

Such wit and vivacity fhine in her eyes,
That whiift I gaze on her, I'm lost in surprize.
But, ye gods! when the speaks I admire no

more,

But fall at her feet, and her wisdom adore.

Such, fuch is my Delia, and Venus would be Not fo charming, fo fair, nor in lovely to me.

Grac'd my lay with the truth she was pleas'd And if Heaven so kind to my prayers shall prove,

to difclose,

And I gave it the ruftical throng.

SONG 776.

JENNY is a charming creature,
Rich in all the gifts of nature;
Had the thofe of fortune too,
Powder'd flaves wou'd then attend her,
She might figh in ftate and fplendour,
With a wretchedness in view.

But fince Jenny has no dower,
Some poor bee fhall fip the flower,
Butterflies ftill foar above;
Corydon with joy shall take her,
And fhall reap, from one fmall acre,

More content than landlords prove. Since, gallants, 'tis gold must win ye, And the most deferving Jenny

Wants the reconciling pence; Call not fortune blind, nor Cupid; Sparks are felfish, false and ftupid, Merit is above their fenfe.

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Surg at VAUXHALL.

FLOW, murm'ring river, flow;
Whilst on thy borders grow
Gay Flora's richest pride:
And fince thy bounty feeds
The neighb'ring verdant meads,
In ceafelefs tinklings glide.
Upon thy whifp'ring ftream,
May faithful lovers dream,
Whilft fings the humming-bee:
Or let th' impaffion'd swain
Moft fweetly there complain,
Or pipe in tuneful glee.
Upon thy banks I'll stray,
To lull my cares away,

There fhun the noontide beam: Fair quiet here I find,

This foothes my thoughtful mind; I thank thee, gentle ftream.

SONG 778.

THO' to others fome fairer than Delia may be,

Yet none are so fair, or so lovely to me, So free is each motion, so charming each grace, Such good-humour and fweetness appear in her face.

That as I love her, so she also may love;
The rest I will leave with the gods, and require
No more; fince in her, I have all I defire.
Nor nobles will envy, nor kings in their power;
Nor afk for a world, fince in her I have more.

SONG 779.

THE FOX CHACE; AN ODE.

Written by Mr. NICHOLLS.

RECITATIVE.

HARK! from that cottage by the filent ftream,

How fweet the fwallow greets the rifing gleam Of light, that dawns upon the eastern hill, Tipping with grey the fails of yonder mill; And hark! from the farm below the watchful

cock

Warns the dull shepherd to unfold his flock;
His hurdled flocks the fresh'ning breeze inhale,
And bleat for freedom, and the clover vale.
See! how away the fevering clouds are driven,
How gay already feems the face of heaven!
Thofe ruddy freaks foretel the fun is near
To drink the dew, and glad our hemifphere.
O did the fons of diffipation know
What calm delights from early-rising flow,
They'd leave (with us) their down, and in the
fields

Imbibe the health that fresh Aurora yields.

AIR.

Now indolence fnores upon pillows of down,
Now infirmity,' guilt, and difeafe,
Envy the gentle rep: fe of the clown,

And in vain beg the bleffing of eafe:
Whift we honeft fellows, who follow the chace,
Of fuch troubles are never poffefs'd,
The banner of health is display'd in each fate,
To fhew Peace holds the fort of the breast.

Can the flaves of a court, can the mifer fay this?
Or the wretches who feed on distress?
O! may fuch ne'er taste of our rational blis
Till, like us, they difdain to opprefs.

RECITATIVE.

See to the copfe how the dogs feud alang, They've found out the drag of the foe; And hark! how the huntfmen ride houting along,

He's now in the cover below.

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AIR.

Our fathers of old lov'd the fport,
Our nobles rejoic'd in the chace;
They fled the intrigues of a court,

The heart-chearing toil to embrace.
Their offspring was ruddy and ftout,

Curft lux'ry was yet in the bud;
They fcarce knew the pangs of the gout,
Activity phyfick'd the blood.

A fribble they feldom could meet;
But now how revers'd is the fcene!
The creature's in every street

Erecting his butterfly mien.

Could our ancestors rife from their graves, At fight of the gay-fpangled train, They'd fly the degenerate flaves,

And wish to be bury'd again.

May fuch never taste of our joy,

We hunters difclaim the whole race; Whilft time over tea they deftroy,

We re lot in the chaims of the chace.

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SONG 780.

LAVINIA; A PASTORAL.

WHY fteals from my bofom the figh?

Why fix'd is my gaze on the ground? Come, give me my pipe, and I'll try

To banish my cares with the found.
Ercwhile were it's notes of accord
With the fmile of the flow'r-footed mufe;
Ah! why, by it's mafter implor'd,

Shou'd it now the gay carrol refuse?
'Twas taught by Lavinia's sweet smile,
In the mirth-loving chorus to join:
Ah, me how unweeting the while!
Lavinia can never be mine!
Another, more happy, the maid
By fortune is deftin'd to biefs
Tho' the hope has forfook that betray'd,
Yet why thou'd I love her the lefs?
Her beauties are bright as the morn,

With rapture I counted them o'er;
Such virtues thofe beauties adorn,

I knew her, and prais'd them no more.
I term'd her no goddess of lote,
I call'd not her beauty divine:
Thefe far other paffions may prove,
But they could not be figures of mine,

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