ÆäÀÌÁö À̹ÌÁö
PDF
ePub
[blocks in formation]

SONG 797.

Written by Mr. HAWKINS.

TO fpeak, my mufe, fweet Charlotte's praife,
And all her charms explore;

How far beyond thy feeble lays,
On themes like thefe to foar!

In her is ev'ry grace combin'd,

Divefted of all art;

An angel's form, with fenfe refin'd
To captivate the heart!

A temper open, mild and free,
A heart replete with truth;
In her we ev'ry virtue fee,

Refplendent with her youth.

Thrice happy he who gains the maid,
For wedlock to incline;
But happier 1, could it be faid

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,
Shall quit London's fweet town,
To live in thine own country.

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.

[blocks in formation]

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
To take the cool and ev'ning air,

With joy I hail thy latest rays,
That thew me where my Chloe trays.

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,
Remind her youthful heart of love;
And ev'ry breeze convey a figh,
And whisper 'tis for her I die.
O! sweet, tormenting love, I feel
Thy wound, which reafon cannot heal:
Thy fire, conceal'd within my breast,
Deprives my flutt'ring heart of rest.

At ev'ry glance of Chloe's eyes,
My boafted refolution flies:
And ftill I'm diffident to name
My inward racks, and fecret flame.
While Philomela fad complains,
And pours out all her plaintive ftrains;
I likewife mourn, in lays fincere
As ever reach'd a female ear.

Thou fon of Venus, hear my pray'r,
And with thy dart transfix my fair;
With her fond swain, O! make her prøve
The lafting blifs of ardent love.

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,
When you were made for pleasure?
The petty pow'rs of hell deftroy,
To fave's the pride of Heaven;
To you the firft, if you prove coy,
If kind, the laft is given.

The choice then fure's not hard to make
Betwixt the good and evil;

Which title had you rather take,
My goddess, or my devil?

[blocks in formation]

Written by Mr. HAWKINS.

YE fhepherds adhere to my woe,
And pity the anguish I bear;
Oh! did ye my forrows but know,
Ye furely would grant me a tear:
My Phillis, that gladden'd the plain,
And formerly gave fuch delight;
Has left me to languish in pain,

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;
While around us the herds were at feeds
Or we heard the tweet warblers fong.
But now I am fad and forlorn,

My pleasure and pastine are o'er ;
For Phillis rejects me with scorn,
And never will think on me inore.
I met her one day in the dale,
And tenderly told her my care;
But oh! the rejected my tale,

And bade me go droop and despair.
She told me that I was unkind,

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?
Remember, one eve in the grove,

With freedom you valu'd my truth;
In tears you then plighted your love,
And ftrongly regarded my youth.
Then why will you leave me to weep,
Nor pity the anguish I find?
Will Phillis her cruelty keep?

Ah! will the be ever unkind?
Awhile, oh reflect on my woe,

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.

[blocks in formation]

TO FELICIA.

Written by Mr. HAWKINS.

THY plaintive pipe, Felicia, flows,
Like Philomela's in the fhade;
My heart with ardent rapture glows
At thy enchanting ferenade."
Both melody to thee belong!

In thee my fair it doth refide;
The tuneful accents of thy tongue
Shall ever be thy shepherd's pride.
Euterpe's child, dear maid, thou art,
And fofteft foother of my care;
Thy accents ftrike like Cupid's dart,
Thou fweetly-charming, lovely fair.
Then fill thy Damon's heart with blifs,
Ah! let him hear thy melting ftrain;
Deny him not a boon like this,

Come chear your flave, and chear the plain, So doubly tune thy vocal tale,

And rid me of corroding trife;
Oh! let me on thy charms regale,
And make thy fhepherd bleft for life.

[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]

I ask not the man to opinion a flave,
Nor volatile rattle, nor one who's too grave.

I ask not the gamefter, the fet, nor the fool;
Nor he who's to party or faction a tool:
The man, mighty pow'r, would chufe for

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:
His tongue thould the dictates of virtue obey,
And reafon reclaim him whenever astray.
If fuch I could meet, I would constantly strive,
Untainted to keep the dear blefling alive;
And when thou shalt bid me relinquith mỳ.
breath,

I'd chearfully fmile upon friendship in death.

[blocks in formation]

OF all the things beneath the fun,
To love's the greatest curse:
If one's deny'd, then he's undone ;
If not, 'tis ten times worse.
Poor Adam, by his wife, 'tis known,

Was trick'd fome years ago;
But Adam was not trick'd alone,...
For all his fons were fo.

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;
And pray, what's all this trouble for?
Why, truly, for a wife,

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!
Each maid's an angel whilft fhe's woo'd,
But when the wooing's done,
The wife, inftead of Reth and blood,
Proves nothing but a bone.

Ills, more or lefs, in human life,
No mortal man can shun;

But when a man has got a wife,

He has them all in one.
The liver of Prometheus

A gnawing vulture fed;
A fable, that the thing was thus,
The poor old man was wed.
A wife, all men of learning know,
Was Tantalus's curfe;
The apples which did tempt him fo
Were nought but a divorce,

Let no fool dream, that to his share

A better wife will fall;
They're all the fame, faith, to a hair,
For they are women all.

When first the senseless empty nokes

With wooing does begin,
Far better he might beg the ftocks
That they would let him in.
Yet for a lover you may fay,
He wears no cheating phiz;
Tho' others looks do oft betray,
He looks like what he is.

Mere joys a glass of wine doth give
(Wife take him that gainsays)
Than all the wenches, fprung from Eve,
Ere gave in all their days.
But come, to lovers here's a glass,
God-wot, they need no curfe!
Each wishes he may wed his lafs;
No foul can with him worse.

If I would not give up the three graces,

I wish I were hang'd like a dog,
And at court all the drawing-room faces,
For a glance at my fweet Molly Mogg.
For those faces want nature and fpirit,
And feem as cut out of a log;
Juno, Venus, and Pallas's merit
Unite in my fweet Molly Mogg.

Were Virgil alive with his Phillis,
And writing another Eclogue;
Both his Phillis and fair Amaryllis

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,
And fo I fhali lofe Molly Mogg.

I

[merged small][ocr errors]

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;
Half a crown there will get you a Molly,
A Molly much better than Mogg.
The school-boy's delight is a play-day,
The school-mafter's joy is to flog;
A fop's the delight of a lady,

But mine is in fweet Molly Mogg.
Will o' Wifp leads the trav'ler a-gadding
Thro' ditch, and thro' quagmire and bog;
But no light can e'er fet me a-madding,

But the eyes of my fweet Molly Mogg.
For guineas in other men's breeches

Your gamefters will paum and will cog;
But I envy them none of their riches,
So I paum my sweet Molly Mogg.
The heart that's half-wounded is ranging,
It here and there leaps like a frog;
But my heart can never be changing,
'Tis fo fixed on fweet Molly Mogg.

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,
And I fill all my paper with writing

Of nothing but fweet Molly Mogg.
I feel I'm in love to distraction,
My fenfes are loft in a fog;
And in nothing can find fatisfaction,

But in thoughts of my fweet Molly Mogg.

[blocks in formation]
« ÀÌÀü°è¼Ó »