SONG 797. Written by Mr. HAWKINS. TO fpeak, my mufe, fweet Charlotte's praife, How far beyond thy feeble lays, In her is ev'ry grace combin'd, Divefted of all art; An angel's form, with fenfe refin'd A temper open, mild and free, Refplendent with her youth. Thrice happy he who gains the maid, That Heav'n had stamp'd lagi! SONG 798. Sung in the Honest Yorkshireman. COME hither my country fquire, Take friendly inftructions from me: The lords fhall admire Thy tafte in attire, The ladies fhall languish for thee. Such flaunting, gallanting, and jaunting, And frolicking thou shalt fee, Thou ne'er, like a clown, A fkimming-difh hat provide, With little more brim than lace: Nine hairs on a fide, To a pigtail ty'd, Will fet off thy jolly broad face, Such flaunting, &c. Go get thee a footman's frock, A cudgel quite up to thy nose; Then frize like a fhock, And plaifter thy block, And buckle thy shoes at thy toes. Such faunting, &c. He figh'd, and he swore by the pow'rs over head, If fhe'd bless him to-day, to-morrow he'd wed. She heard his falfe vows, fhe believ'd his foft tale Ah! virgins, ne'er venture alone to the vale! Leaft you, like Paftora, fhould mourn all the year For a bloffom which only a virgin can bear! O'er the maids of the hamlet, the hill and the dale, And the maids of the town, may my precepts prevail! May the fwain who'd deceive them his vices repent, And the bofom of Damon despair of content! Alas cruel rake, may his fields wear the blight, May his vines never bear the juice of delight! I could with, (but 'tis pity his lambkins fhould bleed) Some rover would ravage his fold for the deed. SONG 800. Written by Mr. MAVOR. THOU fetting fun, that calls my fair With joy I hail thy latest rays, O, let no clouds obfcure the kies, Or noxious exhalations rife! But may fweet flow'rs uprear their heads, And roles bloffom, where the treads. Let ev'ry tenant of the grove, At ev'ry glance of Chloe's eyes, Thou fon of Venus, hear my pray'r, SONG 801. AH! bright Belinda, hither fly, And fuch a light discover, As may the absent fun supply, And chear the drooping lover. Arife, my day, with speed arise, And all my forrows banish; Before the fun of thy bright eyes All gloomy terrors vanish. No longer let me figh in vain, And curfe the hoarded treasure: Why should you love to give us pain, The choice then fure's not hard to make Which title had you rather take, Written by Mr. HAWKINS. YE fhepherds adhere to my woe, And banish'd me quite from her fight. Ah! once he was mild as the dove, No nymph was more faithful and free; And I thought her the goddess of love, So fweetly the fmil'd upon me: Together, in grove or in mead, Delighted we travers'd along; My pleasure and pastine are o'er ; And bade me go droop and despair. Yet, trust me, } fcarce can tell why; And hop'd that fome fwain the should find That never would caufe her to figh. With wonder I gaz'd at the maid, For to her I was ever fincere; Yet the frown'd at whatever I faid; So faithlefs, alas! was my dear. Oh! think, cruel maid, I reply'd, What vows you have proffer'd to me! Then why am I feorn'd and deny`d, While thus I'm diftracted for thee? With freedom you valu'd my truth; Ah! will the be ever unkind? Your malice no longer invoke ; I'm wretched you farely must know, And die with fo fatal a ftröke. 'Twas thus I unbofom'd my grief, Though fruitless I found was my plea; For ftill the ne'er gave me relief, Nor longer will file upon me: Then, fhepherds, fo rural and gay, Since my charmer will never be won, Oh! give a kind ear to my lay, And pity a youth that's undone. SONG 803. THAT all men are beggars, we plainly may fee, For beggars there are of ev'ry degree, Tho' none are fo blefs'd or fo happy as we, Which nobody can deny, deny; which nobody can deny. The tradesman he begs that his wares you would buy, Then begs you'd believe the price is not high, And fwears 'tis his trade, when he tells you a lye Which nobody can deny, &c. The lawyer he begs that you'd give him a fee, Tho' he reads not your brief, or regards not your plea, But advises your foe how to get a decree. Which nobody can deny, &c. The courtier he begs for a penfion or place, A ribband or title, or fmile from his grace, 'Tis due to his merit, 'tis writ in his face. Which nobody can deny, &c. But if, by mishap, he should chance to get none, He begs you'd believe that the nation's undone; There's but one honest man, and himself is that one. Which nobody dare deny, &c. The fair-one fhe labours whole mornings at home, New charms to create, and much paint to confume, Yet begs you'd believe 'tis her natural bloom. Which nobody should deny, &c. The courtier he begs the dear nymph to comply: She begs he'd be gone; yet with languishing eye Still begs he would stay, for a maid she can't die, Which none but a fool can deny, deny; which none but a fool can deny. SONG 894. AH! how vainly mortals treasure Hopes of happiness and pleasure, Hard and doubtful to obtain ; By what standards false we measure! Still pursuing ways tɔ rujn, Seeking bifs, and finding pain. SONG 805. QUOTH Strephon to Flora, Your charms I adore, You're witty, you're pretty, you're pleasing all o'er; Your lips are like rubies, your cheeks like the rofe, And your breath far more fweet than Arabia blows: But tho' charming, alas your delight is to teize: Yet all the reply'd, was, Sir, juft as you please. Oh! think, he return'd, of the pains I endure, And as you 're the caufe, O extend me the cure; My paffion's fo ftrong, that my reft I forfake, And a paleness o'erfpreads, now, my once rofy cheek; No longer be coy, then, but give me fame ease: Yet the careless reply'd ftill, Sir, juft as you please. Enrag'd that the paid him no greater regard, When his paffion he knew was deferving reward; He boldly advancing, faluted the fair, And vow'd that fuch treatment no longer he'd bear. No longer declar'd he would fue on his knees: Yet the careless reply'd still, Sir, just as you please. TO FELICIA. Written by Mr. HAWKINS. THY plaintive pipe, Felicia, flows, In thee my fair it doth refide; Come chear your flave, and chear the plain, So doubly tune thy vocal tale, And rid me of corroding trife; I ask not the man to opinion a flave, I ask not the gamefter, the fet, nor the fool; my friend, Should be one on whofe faith I could always depend; Who'll not favour the caufe that he knows is not right, Nor will flatter an afs to be reckon'd polite; Who dares to be honeft when times are the worft; Such a one could I meet with, my friendship I'd truft. His mind I'd have fraught with a store of good fenfe; Well read, and his manners be free from offence: I'd chearfully fmile upon friendship in death. OF all the things beneath the fun, Was trick'd fome years ago; Lovers the frangeft fools are made, When they their nymphs purfue, Which they will ne'er believe, till wed, But then-alas! 'tis true: They beg, they pray, and they adore, Till weary'd out of life; How odd a thing's a whining fot, Who fighs in greatest need, For that which, foon as ever got, Does make him Agh indeed! Ills, more or lefs, in human life, But when a man has got a wife, He has them all in one. A gnawing vulture fed; Let no fool dream, that to his share A better wife will fall; When first the senseless empty nokes With wooing does begin, Mere joys a glass of wine doth give If I would not give up the three graces, I wish I were hang'd like a dog, Were Virgil alive with his Phillis, He'd give for my fweet Molly Mogg. When Molly comes up with the liquor, Then jealoufy fets me a-gog; To be fure fhe's a bit for the vicar, I Written by DEAN SWIFT. SAYS my uncle, I pray now discover What has been the caufe of your woes, That you pine and you whine like a lover? I've feen Molly Mogg of the Rofe! O nephew your grief is but folly, In town you may find better prog; But mine is in fweet Molly Mogg. But the eyes of my fweet Molly Mogg. Your gamefters will paum and will cog; I know that by wits 'tis recited, That women, at best, are a clog; But I'm not fo eafily frighted From loving my fweet Molly Mogg. A letter when I am inditing, Comes Cupid, and gives me a jog, Of nothing but fweet Molly Mogg. But in thoughts of my fweet Molly Mogg. |